Current height: 3'7
As my fascination with my mom's feet grew, it became increasingly difficult to conceal. Their mere presence seemed to command my attention, pulling me into a realm of curiosity and submission. However, this newfound captivation also carried a weight of shame and insecurity, reminiscent of the dreams that had haunted me.
One afternoon, as I sat on the couch, my gaze inadvertently fixed upon my mom's feet. The intensity of my scrutiny did not go unnoticed, and a sly smile played upon her lips.
"Hey, Steve," she said in a soft voice, "Why don't you come and sit on my lap? You're so small now, and I'll bet it'll be cozy."
I looked up at her with a timid expression, but crawled into her lap anyway. Mom wrapped her arms around me tightly, pulling me close. She couldn't believe how small and vulnerable I was, but she tried her best to hide her worries from me.
She stroked my hair gently and sniffled back a tear. "Remember when you were little and we used to do this all the time?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
I smiled warmly at her. "Yeah, I remember. It feels nice," I said, snuggling further into her embrace.
Mary's heart swelled with warmth as she held me against her chest. She could feel a sense of dominance beginning to stir inside her. I was so little now, so helpless, and she couldn't help but feel like I needed her more than ever.
As the minutes ticked by, mom found herself lost in thought. She had always been a caring and nurturing mother, but now that her son was so small, she couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of power and control over me. It was a peculiar feeling, but she couldn't shake it off.
Looking down at me, she realized that he had fallen asleep on her lap, snoring softly. She smiled softly down at me, her heart full of love and protectiveness.
A few minutes later I woke up, still laid on my mother's lap. My whole body was envelop by her, with my tiny legs resting on top of her thicker and stronger legs. As I sit there, I couldn't not look to what lied at the end of her expansive legs, her immense feet. Her toenails painted in crimson red paint, which matched really well with her bronze, tanned skin tone.
"You know, Steve, you've been staring at my feet quite a lot lately," she remarked, her voice filled with playful mischief.
I felt a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck, my cheeks turning red. My mind raced, trying to conjure up an explanation, a diversion from the truth that lingered in my subconscious. But before I could respond, my mom continued, her voice teasing yet strangely inviting.
"I must admit, my feet have been aching lately. Would you be a dear and give them a little massage? I bet it would help alleviate some of the discomfort."
The request hung in the air, a challenge that I both longed for and feared. My mind swirled with conflicting emotions—desire mingled with a sense of unease and submission. The dreams of being small, of being dwarfed by my mom's feet, flashed through my mind like haunting specters.
Reluctantly, I nodded, unable to resist the pull of her request. It was as if an invisible force guided me toward her feet, my hands trembling with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. I got out of her embrace, and sank to the floor before her, a position that emphasized my shrinking stature and further accentuated her dominance.
As my fingers made contact with her feet, a surge of conflicting sensations coursed through me. The touch of her skin was soft, delicate, contrasting starkly with the size and power they represented. Each stroke and caress revealed intricate details—the arches, the curves, the tiny lines that told the story of her every step.
I marveled at their size, how they seemed to envelop my hands, dwarfing them effortlessly. The vulnerability that coursed through my veins intensified, reminding me of my own diminished stature. And yet, a part of me found a strange solace in this submission, a twisted pleasure in succumbing to a role that mirrored my dreams.
As I continued the massage, I couldn't help but notice the way my mom's face transformed, her eyes closing in blissful relaxation. The sound of her contented sighs filled the room, resonating in my ears like a melody of satisfaction. Each sigh was like a sweet symphony, a note of her pleasure and comfort.
Those sounds, like a spell, fueled my desire to pamper her even more. I yearned to hear more of those contented sighs, to be the one who brought her solace and relaxation. It was as if her satisfaction became intertwined with my own sense of purpose, as if my shrinking stature found purpose in tending to her needs.
In that moment, I relinquished the remnants of resistance that still clung to my spirit. The surrender to my mother's feet grew, entangled with a profound longing to please and care for her. I became consumed by the desire to serve her, to devote myself to her every comfort and desire. Still, I felt that I shouldn't be doing this. Deep down, I yearned for my independence.
But no matter what was wrong with her son, my mom vowed that she would always be there to protect and care for me, even if it meant making hard choices.
As the days wore on, my shrinking began to manifest itself in new and unexpected ways. Simple tasks that were once second nature became increasingly challenging, and the act of eating, in particular, became a source of frustration and anguish.
One evening, as I sat at the dinner table, I found myself struggling to grasp the utensils. The once-familiar tools felt awkward and unwieldy in my diminished hands. Each attempt to bring food to my mouth ended in frustration as my coordination faltered, and morsels slipped from my grasp.
My mom, watched with growing concern. Lines of worry etched upon her face as she witnessed my struggle. The combination of her worry and my own mounting frustration created a volatile atmosphere, ready to ignite at the slightest spark.
"Steve, please, you have to eat," Mary pleaded, her voice tinged with desperation. "You're shrinking, and you need to keep your strength up."
The weight of her words bore down upon me, a reminder of my ever-shrinking existence. Yet, instead of evoking empathy or understanding, her concern stoked the embers of anger within me.
I looked up at her with a hurt expression. "I'm trying, Mom. It's just hard because I'm so small now," I said, my voice quivering.
But as I continued to struggle with my food, mom found herself growing increasingly annoyed. She didn't understand why I was having so much trouble, and she couldn't help but feel frustrated.
"Come on, Steve, you're taking too long. Just eat your food!" my mother snapped, her patience finally wearing thin.
My face fell, and she could see that I was getting angry. "I'm trying, but it's hard when you're yelling at me all the time!" I shouted, my voice cracking with emotion.
''I don't need you constantly reminding me!" I snapped, my frustration breaking through the surface. "Stop treating me like a baby!"
The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation and resentment. The look of hurt that flashed across my mom's face cut through me, but I was too consumed by my own anger to fully acknowledge it. My sense of pride, my longing for independence, had become entangled in the web of my shrinking, leaving me feeling trapped and stripped of control.
As the tension escalated, I felt a wave of rage surge within me, building like a tempest. In a moment of impulsive defiance, I pushed myself away from the table, attempting to storm out of the kitchen, to escape the suffocating atmosphere. But my mom, fueled by her own frustrations and concern, stood in my way, blocking my path.
"What do you think you're doing, young man?" Mary's voice resonated with a mix of authority and disappointment. "You can't just walk away from the table like that!"
The sight of my mom, towering over me with an anger I had never witnessed, sent shivers down my spine. My diminished stature made her seem even more formidable, her presence casting a shadow of intimidation upon me.
"I-I just need some space," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't handle this anymore."
Mary's eyes narrowed, her frustration boiling over. "You think this is easy for me? Seeing you struggle, watching you shrink? I'm doing everything I can to help you, and all you can do is push me away!"
As her words reverberated through the room, I felt my body convulse, a strange sensation of shrinking overpowering me once again. I looked up at my mother, now towering over me at a height of 3 feet, my own diminished stature rendering me even smaller in her presence.
Fear mingled with my anger, a potent mix of emotions that threatened to consume me. The world seemed to close in, the walls closing in on me, as I shrank further and further. How could I ever stand up to her when I was reduced to a fraction of my former self?
In that moment, the realization of my vulnerability hit me like a tidal wave. The feeling of helplessness intensified as I witnessed my mother's anger directed at this shrunken version of myself. I had become a mere speck, insignificant and defenseless, in a world that now seemed larger and more imposing than ever before.
As I stood before my mother, diminished in stature at a mere 3 feet tall, a stubborn defiance still burned within me. The clash of emotions, the anger and fear, churned inside, fueling my resistance against her attempts to guide and care for me.
But my mother, Mary, was determined to prove her point. She saw my defiance as a cry for help, a sign that I needed her support more than ever. With a stern expression on her face, she seized the opportunity presented by my most recent shrink spurt.
"Steve, listen to me," Mary's voice resonated with a mixture of concern and authority. "You can't continue like this. You need to eat, and you need to respect me. You're my son, and I'm here to help you through this, but you can't speak to me that way."
I crossed my arms, a gesture of defiance, determined to resist her attempts to assert her authority. The feeling of being babied, of having my independence stripped away, gnawed at me, fueling my rebellious spirit.
"I don't need your help! I can take care of myself!" I retorted, my voice tinged with both stubbornness and desperation.
Mom's eyes narrowed, her frustration mingling with a hint of sadness. She stepped closer, her larger frame casting a shadow over me, a visual reminder of my diminishing stature.
In my anger, I spilled some of my food to the floor, in a futile rebellious tantrum.
''Clean this mess up right now, Steve. And don't you dare spill anything again," she barked, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.
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"Steve, I understand that this is hard for you, but you can't do it alone," she said, her voice unwavering. "You're shrinking, and you need support. I'm here to provide that support, whether you like it or not."
With a swift motion, she reached down, her strong hands wrapping around my shrinking form. Before I could react, I found myself lifted off the ground, suspended in the air, my tiny body held within the grasp of her larger, more powerful hands.
I squirmed, a desperate attempt to regain control and break free from her grasp. But my mother's strength and determination were unwavering. With each movement, her grip tightened, grounding me with an undeniable display of her physical superiority.
"Enough, Steve!" Her voice carried a firmness that left no room for negotiation. "You need to learn your place and understand that I am here to take care of you. You can't continue defying me like this."
My struggles subsided, replaced by a sense of defeat. I was a small, helpless figure in the grasp of my mother's strength, a stark reminder of the power dynamics that had shifted as my body diminished in size.
With a determined expression, Mary carried me to my room, gently setting me down on the bed. She stood before me, her stature still towering above mine, an embodiment of authority and care.
"Steve, I love you, and I want what's best for you," she said, her voice softened with a mix of tenderness and sternness. "But you have to understand that right now, you need my help. It's not a sign of weakness to accept that support''.
I looked up at her, the feeling of intimidation and submission weighing heavily upon me. In that moment, I realized that my defiance, my longing for independence, had led me down a path of isolation and vulnerability.
She quickly stormed out of my room, closing the door behind her. The thunderous sound of the door crashing made my spine shiver.
The realization washed over me, a bittersweet surrender. The walls of my room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a reminder of the boundaries that confined me.
Current height: 3'0