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Story Notes:

This is a little different than my usual fare.  Thought I would switch things up a bit for a little while!

The future is a funny place. 

As a child, I remember those institutions called "jails" and "prisons."  Now that I'm a college student, things sure have changed.  Commit a crime these days and you will simply find yourself in a "Punishment Palace."  They all essentially work the same, especially since women took complete control over our government and presidency.   

A Punishment Palace works very simply: When a man breaks the law, he is shrunk and forced to undergo torture appropriate to the crime he committed.  Run a red light, and the female officers and judges will recommend a light "crush"; rob a bank, and you could find yourself on the ass-end of a 90-day "sole strap" complete with "occasional oxygen deprivation."  All that is fancy jargon for having a man shrunk and tortured under the feet of female correctional employees.

My ex-girlfriend works at Punishment Palace Phi, a local facility not far from my house.  She's a glorified secretary, and schedules the offenders with the appropriate lady correctional officer, assigning the required punishment and sending it to the officers for administration.  Phi is a good place to work; even my mom works there, as a full-time correctional officer. Nice pay, decent benefits.  The work is easy, she tells me.

I was about to find out.  You see, my ex, Lindsay, called me to her office one day, demanding I return the XVD player she bought me last Christmas.  I was happy to do so--anything to get rid of relationship reminders.  As I entered her office on the third floor of the massive Phi complex, she walked behind me and shut the door.

I placed the XVD player on a nearby leather chair.  She turned to face me, her long blonde hair and tight mini-skirt looking rather coservative for women these days.  They could get away with quite a bit, espeically with the new federal regulations that all Punishment Palace Wardens had to be female.

"Ever wonder how they do it, Bobby?" she asked me with a smirk.

"Do what?" I asked.  She made me uneasy as she reached into a tight pocket located on her skirt.

"Shrink the offenders, I mean.  I guess your mom never told you?" Lindsay produced a thin blue pen and pointed it at me.

"I never asked.  What's that?"  I knew something was up--but too late.

Pressing a tiny button on the pen, a thin red beam extended from its tip toward the center of my chest.  "Simple, Bobby," she explained.  "This red light dehydrates certain molecules, and reorganizes others through micro-compression...well, I think you get the idea."

She was right.  No sooner had the light created a burning sensation in my chest, than I found myself shrouded in the thick bundles of my own gigantic clothing, my body having been shrunk almost immediately.

Lindsay picked through my belongings and picked me up gingerly with her fingers, laying me in the palm of her hand.  "Our relationship is over, Bobby.  But, I want to schedule a special punishment session with one of our...best officers. My treat."  She smiled slyly.


The room containing my Punishment Receptacle (i.e., leather shoe) was a bare room with light blue walls and a thick Berber carpet.  The mule into which I had been placed by Lindsay was constructed of dark blue leather, and contained special straps that now tied my naked, 2-inch body in the middle of the sole.  Unable to move, my arms, legs and torso were tightly bound with a thin fabric, and I faced upward, looking at the shoe's exit so far away from myself.

The shoe itself was attached to the floor via special brackets, so as to stay in place during the Punishment.  The cool, hospital-like air of the room was unsettling.  A voice over a hidden loudspeaker began to emit basic instructions.  The female speaker was clearly a recording.

"You have been found guilty of Punishment Level 6.  In accordance with Punishment Palace Phi's procedures, you will undergo Punishment Cycle S-1.  Your Correctional Officer is Sandy Spelahn."

My heart leapt.  That was my mother!  What had Lindsay done to me? I hadn't committed any crimes, especially ones that warranted Level 6 punishment with my own mother as the officer!

"In further accordance with Phi rules, the officer will not be given your name or specific crime information.  She will merely administer the required punishment as outlined in her data packet.  Any attempt to communicate with her will result in additional punishment."

I struggled against my bonds.  I couldn't believe this! I had to escape before the session began. 

"Further details will be given to you during the session by the officer."  With an abrupt crackle of static, the transmission ended.  This was followed by the hissing sound as the door to the small punishment chamber slid open and then closed.  A giantess form entered the room and sat on the small cushioned chair directly in front of my shoe.

As she leaned over, I recognized her immediately.  The loudspeaker had not been wrong. She was my mother.

Sandy Spelahn was in her mid-40's.  Her shoulder-length blonde hair was styled with a bit of "spiky" attitude; her smooth, lightly-tanned skin and thin frame leaned over the shoe.  I noticed her red lipstick and light make-up.  She certianly dressed professionaly for this job.

She looked down at something in her lap, then began to read, her voice disinterested in the words--bored, even.

"My name is Sandy Spelahn.  I am Correctional Officer 2213.  You have been sentenced to a Level 6 Punishment.  We will begin with light crush procedures.  If, at any time, you attempt to communiacte with me verbally or by biting my foot, you will be sentenced to Level 7."

I wriggled violently against the straps.  Nothing.

"If you ejaculate on my foot, we will repeat the previous punishment until you no longer ejaculate."

I couldn't believe my own mother was telling me this.  I was her son! If only she knew!

"Because Level 6 Punishment involves multiple procedures, a 10 minute break will be given to you half-way through the punishment."

My arms and legs burned with my attempts to free myself from the dark interior of the leather shoe.  The odor of fabric and leather grew around me, perhaps disturbed by my efforts.

"Now, we will begin.  In order to ensure your privacy, I will not directly look at your body.  I am required only to focus on the shoe itself."

My blood pumped furiously in my viens.  Should I yell? Say something? Would that simply cause my mom to administer a higher level of punishment?

Perhaps I should just take what was coming.  Surely it couldn't be that bad!

As if to answer my question, I watched as her left leg came into view.  Her min-skirt rode up a bit as she raised her left leg above the shoe, and then pointed her toes and red toenails toward the sole of the shoe.  I gave up struggling.  Heart pounding, chest heaving, I watched as her soft-looking foot descened. The dim light from the room was almost extinguished as my mom's foot lowered toward me, covering the shoe's opening.

Before her skin even touched my body, I could feel the heat eminating from it.  She must have been wearing an identical, closed-toe mule that made her foot so hot.  The smell from her foot indicated she had been wearing that shoe all day.  The little light that remained revealed a sole flushed with red, sticky skin; the thin lines of her foot became visible as they came closer to my helpless body.  Then, all light was gone in the shoe.

The center sole of my mom's foot came to rest upon my naked, shrunken body.  She slid her foot into place, pressing her toes into the furtherst corners of the shoe.  Hot folds of thick, soft skin were suddenly dumped on my naked chest, face, arms, legs, and crotch. Before I could yell out, an immeasurable, suffocating layer of sticky skin enveloped my body like a raison pushed into a giant pile of thick dough.

Totally compressed into place, unable to move my head after I had turned it to the side, I found that wiggling a finger was beyond my abilities now.  My mother was smothering me with the sole of her left foot.

After her foot settled, the real pressure intensified.  Perhaps she was slightly arching her foot; maybe she simply leaned foward in her chair and placed her arms on her legs.  Whatever her technique, I found my body horribly crushed and compacted, with my bones popping in protest and my ribs cracking lightly as they fought back against the giantess on top of me.

My skin felt stretched, and my muscles were pinched painfully as I lay like a bug under a pane of glass.  Breathing was impossible; I could only stay still and take the punishment my mom was doling out to me.  I simply became one with the pain, imagining her likely-bored face, as she had done this many times before.  To her, this was just another day at work.  To me, this was pure toture.

My mom's foot covered and smashed my body. 

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