Compared to this, the first half of the game was a complete butterfly joyride with lollipops through the imaginary void Scott had constructed.

            Nothing was left to the imagination now.

            The wall of sopping sock fabric behind Scott’s back sucked him into the arched crevice formed by Maggie’s five toes being pressed together to make room so generously for his three-inch body.  He was sandwiched by heinous texture on all sides, nearly causing him to lose his carefully practiced composure of only breathing when necessary.

            Her toes welcomed him up against themselves, cooking him under their fleshy weight.  The sweat poured over him in spurting geysers, no longer impeded by the sock.

            It was absolute.

            In the darkness, under the rummaging terrain of his sister’s toes, he could feel his boxers sliding further and further down his legs again.  Before, he’d been under a frictionless mass of damp cotton and flowing sweat, allowing him to slip and slide with the flow of the action.

            Maggie’s toe prints had pull, though, and their barely perceptible ridges were plenty to tug at the thin pants of their tiny passenger and undress him without her even knowing or caring.

            He pressed his thighs together as tightly as he could to stop them from going further, but it was no use.  The boxers were already trying to ride over his crotch.  He didn’t want to have to release his arms from around his shoulders to fix them for fear of being tossed like a ragdoll again, but the situation was becoming direr.

            Just when he felt there was a good enough delay in Maggie’s long strides that he could make the move, his body was splayed under all the toes at once, which flattened awkwardly across his body, and his underwear slipped away into the thrashing darkness of the soccer star’s enormous sock.

            He was bare, raw, and now totally under the fresh mercy of his younger sister’s tyrannically sweating foot.

            The minutes melted into an immovable sludge.  His naked body was juggled under Maggie’s toes and continually bounced back into the arched ceiling of moist skin each time Scott’s body rebounded down against the tight knee-high.

            His protective mental void was impossible to reach again.  This time, he was stuck in the reality of being mashed again and again and again by a giant cackling sixteen-year-old girl’s doughy, moisture-slogged toes in a pounding rhythm of relentless strength.

            He had ridden in his family members’ shoes innumerable times before, of course, but this had to be the most violent escapade.  This wasn’t even just jogging.  This was full-on sprinting.  Every new step surprised Scott when he discovered he was still semi-coherent and capable of experiencing the stomach-churning leap.

            Each time Maggie’s foot slammed down into the ground he imagined the very earth being crushed under the spikes of her cleats and the heft of her toned thighs.  He knew it was impossible, but he could sense the quake of the ground, trembling under her unstoppable feminine frame, towering above all he knew and could fully understand at this insignificant size.

            Scott thought he understood what it felt like to be on the mental brink, but this was in a category of its own.

            This was a storm.

            This was a complete mindfuck.

            Every sickly breath he inhaled, already poisoned with the repugnant flavor and gummy sudor of his sister’s profusely dripping toes, was instantly robbed from his body as his entire torso was gut-punched from above by the fall of Maggie’s digits.

            Just when it seemed all his senses had been squelched from his abused little nude body, no inch of himself a stranger to the monstrous blackness of Maggie’s sock and ruthlessly mashing foot, he became aware of something new.

            High-pitched, screeching, clawing at his ears.  He he slammed his hands over the side of his head for relief from the sound, but it only swelled up against the ground and reverberated through his sister’s shoe.

            A sustained chirp, a scream, something with longevity and the capacity to shatter entire office buildings.  What was it?  The cries steadily formed inside his pounding skull into a battle cry, formidable and encouraging.

            A final thrust of Maggie’s foot with such force and speed seemed to propel Scott’s mind into a separate dimension, and then he entered immediate sleep.

            Scott awoke roughly to find himself snuggled into what felt like a tightly wound sleeping bag around his lower body, with a soft strap crossing over his chest.  The window right next to his face reflected his exasperated expression, and through it he could make out the sight of buildings and trees whizzing by.  Flinching awkwardly at the realization of no longer being smothered under his sister’s weighty foot flesh, he realized he was buckled in the baby seat on the passenger side of Maggie’s used car.

            “Get a grip, bro,” Maggie chimed snidely, glancing over at her brother from the driver’s seat as she slammed on the gas pedal to make a changing green light in time.  “You’re all strapped in.  You’re not going anywhere.”

            He was surprised to see his sister looking comparatively more person-sized from his perspective, as opposed to the mythically proportioned beast she had been earlier, meaning she had used the PMRD to grow him back to a foot tall.

            Frowning, then, Scott looked down at himself and had to keep from rolling his eyes as he realized the only article of clothing he had on was one of Maggie’s pungent yellow knee-high socks from the game.

            Noticing his awareness of the garment she’d chosen for him, Maggie fought back a chortle.  “Sorry,” she shrugged.  “You were out and I didn’t realize your undies fell off until I pulled my foot out and found them stuck between my toes.  And I didn’t really feel like reaching all the way to the bottom of my sock to get you out, so instead I just made you bigger right inside of it.”

            As uncomfortable as she’d made it for him to be wrapped snugly into the damp, odor-loaded socks that had been vigorously absorbing her toe juices less than an hour before, it was charitable, at least, of her to provide some cover for him at a foot tall, when his family jewels would be more embarrassingly visible to unwanted parties like her.

            Maggie could very easily, of course, have grown the underwear back to his size as well so he could use it, but he knew that was going to be out of the question.  She was enjoying herself too much.  And at least he had a way to keep from slipping out from under the seatbelt toward the floor, even if the whole humiliating contraption was decorated with bright colors and little pictures of cartoon airplanes.

            The baby seat had originally been Maggie’s idea.  Obviously.  His mother Judy had promised to keep Scott at his maximum height of twelve inches as long as he behaved, which presented problems when he needed to be taken out of the house on his once-a-week allotment, because sitting in her purse and rocking back and forth put him at the risk of breaking his neck if the car stopped too soon.

            So, in her apparently infinite efforts to find solutions that benefited her mad desires, Maggie had suggested lugging the old baby seat out of the attic.  The thing hadn’t seen use in years, and Judy seemed to take a glowing delight in strapping her eldest son carefully into it.

            She acted with incredible gentleness when tucking him under the straps.  In a manner more motherly than Scott had seen her act in a long while, she’d lay a hand on his chest to ensure the side of the coarse fabric strap didn’t give him a rug burn, then plant a light peck on the top of his head before brushing his cheek with her thumb and returning to her side of the car.  Although a little odd considering he was three years into adulthood, it was nice to be shown a little kindness here and there, and Scott was grateful for even the smallest reprieve.

            Maggie, being Maggie, tended to use the opportunity of strapping in her brother as a chance to see how tightly she could secure him without it presenting a health risk.  He could see the fiendish glint in her eye as she tugged on the belt stretched across his body.  When they’d arrive at whatever destination they were headed for, she would take her sweet time unfastening him so that she could enjoy the sight of his entrapped body locked into the rainbow-tinted baby seat as long as possible.  And of course, if she could help it, she’d do it in full view of any passerby.

            All things considered, though, this arrangement at twelve inches was infinitely preferable to the alternative, which would’ve entailed being body-slammed under Maggie’s hot post-game sole each time she so forcefully stepped on the gas pedal.  At sixteen, Maggie wasn’t the smoothest driver yet, and as Scott had experienced before, her foot tended to bounce on the gas pedal far more than was healthy, both as a considerate driver, and on Scott’s overall state as the unfortunate companion underneath it.  Luckily for him, Judy had insisted on her daughter refraining from wearing the unfortunate passenger while driving, which the girl had miraculously agreed to without much trouble.

            “We won the game, in case you were waiting to ask,” Maggie announced after a long pause, with nothing but the hum of the road under the tires adding a soundtrack.  “Libby got it from their forward and over to Claire, and then she crossed it to me and I made the goal.  It was flawless.”

            Scott nodded knowingly.  That must’ve been when he was briefly passed out.

            “And how are you feelin’ little cowboy?” she asked suddenly.

            Slightly surprised, Scott had to do a double take.  What did she care?  She’d just pounded on him for over an hour in her oldest pair of lucky cleats for the championship game and brought him a dozen times to the brink of a blackout before delivering the coup de grâce.  Why couldn’t she just let him be?

            “I, um…” Scott began, anxious of making a false move in his continued campaign to endear himself to his powerful sister.  “I’m fine.”

            “Really?” Maggie drawled disbelievingly, raising an accusing eyebrow.

            “Yeah.”

            “Because I know I kick pretty hard.”

            “I’m dizzy, I guess,” Scott corrected.

            “What, from the smell?” she giggled, returning her gaze fully to the road.

            “No, not that.  Just the, um, you know…” he said, swallowing hard.  “…the fainting and stuff.”

            Maggie shook her head, as though she’d been asked a true/false question with a definitive answer.  “You just haven’t gotten used to it yet, that’s all.  I remember when you were like fourteen and you used to freak out when I just wanted to put you in my sock and walk around on you really gently inside the house.  You used to kick and scream the whole time I did it like a little baby.  And now look at you!  Being there for your big sissy on the night of the championship game.”

            “Yeah, I guess,” sighed Scott, knowing the matter was closed.

            “Don’t worry,” she added with a wink.  “We’ll get you some more practice tonight.”

            “Tonight?” Scott croaked, wincing at the thought of it.

            His brief nightly respites were the only way he was able to keep himself from keeling over due to exhaustion during the long days under the employ of his sister, mother, and her friends.

            “Yeah.  I figured you get lonely sleeping in your little puppy bed on the living room couch, so I thought I’d give you some company for the night.”

            “Oh.”

            “I bought these new blue fleecy socks.  They’re so soft and warm.  You’ll like being inside them.”

            “I…”

            “You cool with that?”

            “Um…” Scott gulped, knowing there wasn’t really an option but that agreeing willingly would win him brownie points, the word absolutely killing him regardless: “Yes.”

            “Awesome, then it’s a thing now,” Maggie cheered with an eager grin.  “I also got some strawberry lotion, so I’ll spread a little on my toes before I wear you, just so they smell extra nice for you.  Just one thing: I don’t want you getting my new socks all gross since you were in my cleats for ninety minutes.  We’ll have to give you a bath first.”

            “But…”

            “It’s just common courtesy, Scott.  You don’t touch someone’s new clothes after you’ve gotten all sweaty.  You know that, right?”
            “Right,” Scott sighed, already wishing for another spontaneous blackout so he could avoid being conscious for the rest of what sounded like a damnable evening.  “But does it have to be a bath?  Can’t I clean up some other way?”

            The sixteen-year-old chuckled at this as she turned the car wheel all the way, making a sharp right onto their block.  “Like what?  You wanna be shower buddies?” she asked quietly.

            Trying not to shudder too visibly, Scott shook his head resolutely.  “No, that’s not what I meant, really.  I just meant I can do it myself.  The wash.”  He wrapped his arms around the belt strap as the car bumped on the curb on the way up the driveway, hoping against hope he could win this one.

            “Don’t be ridiculous, Scott,” Maggie scolded jokingly, though her intent was serious.  She put the car in park and slowly sauntered around the garage toward the passenger side to let her brother out of his carriage.  “It would take forever for you to work the faucets and get the soap bubbles going yourself.  Besides, I haven’t gotten to clean you myself yet.  It’ll be a fun little first experience for both of us, won’t it?”

            “Uh-huh,” Scott gawked hollowly as his sister dramatically undid each strap, letting her fists press down against his chest for emphasis with each undoing of a buckle.  “Fun.”

            “Don’t be such a baby again.  I thought you were supposed to be twenty-one,” she said piteously after he’d been freed from the colorful seat.  “It’s called getting to know each other better.”

            Reaching forward, then, Maggie gripped him with both hands, one palm pressed against his chest, and her other wrapped around the sock concealing his legs.  She lifted him as easily as a baby doll from his plastic perch and hugged him into her jersey, squeezing him hard against her ample left breast and clearly not uncomfortable with it in the slightest as she headed into the house.