“I heard about Carly’s disappearance,” Dr. Felton utters.  “Do you want to talk about it at all?”

            “Um.  All right.  I don’t know what there is to talk about, though.”

            “Do they know anything new?”

            “They thought maybe she escaped at first, but then they found the guard who was watching her knocked out and tied up in the basement, so I guess someone took her.”
            “How does that make you feel?”

            “I don’t know,” you say truthfully, too conflicted to try tackling the issue.  How are you supposed to feel, anyway?  You wish she’d just give you the answer this one time.  Happy?  Sad?  Enraged?  The sensations are coiled tightly around your synapses and it’s impossible to distinguish now.  “Maybe we should just go for the visualizing thing again, like you said.  I don’t know if I can talk about her… the real her… right now.”

            “If that’s what you want, Jack.”

            “It is.”

            “Then that’s what we’ll do.  Go ahead and lie back.”

            Shutting your eyes and letting yourself sink into the feathery terrain of the pillow atop the psychologist’s desk, you focus on allowing your corporeal form to melt amongst the fabric: the easier to let your mind take its walk around the PTSD-addled block.  Already you’ve lost spatial awareness of your hands and feet.

            “You can do this, Jack,” the doctor encourages soothingly, her words dribbling like warm honey through your subconscious.  “Just let me help guide you through, and remember everything we’ve talked about.  The most important thing: you are your own person.”

            “I am,” you mumble, hardly aware of the words coming out now as you fade completely into the visualization.  “I am my own person.”

            The walls knit themselves together from dusty memory as you find yourself on the buoyant cushions of the living room couch.  It takes a moment to readjust yourself, as it occurs to you you’re no longer the length of a human thumb, but instead returned to your full height of over six feet.  Grasping the pillows in your fists, you lay your head against the back cushion, relishing the instantaneous return of bodily security to your psyche.  You can hardly breathe from the sheer ecstasy of pressing your feet against the carpet from a seated position and looking up to the ceiling above, close enough that you could rise up and touch it if you jumped.  It’s as if the world suddenly isn’t so large that it might accidentally swallow you between the slats of a sidewalk crack.  Almost unfathomable.

            You become aware of a weight, dreamily light but nonetheless noticeable against your thighs.  Steadily, you peel your gaze from the ghostly visage of your house and down to your legs, where you discover a pair of lithe bare feet, crossed at the ankles, resting comfortably in your lap.  The feminine toes, slender and dexterous, sway back and forth, pointing up at you on each alternate wriggle.  The pale white soles scrunch, their wrinkles rippling down to the heels, which choose this moment to nudge provocatively at your crotch through the thin denim of your jeans.

            Following the svelte limbs to the other end of the couch, you find none other than your sister, sprawled happily across you at an equally normal height.  Despite coming in a few inches shy of you by comparison, even now, staring down the length of her athletic frame from the tip of her big toe to her dishwater-golden tresses, she appears larger than life.

            “Well, Jackie-Poo?” Carly drones, ruffling a hand through her wavy locks.  Lightly she bounces her heel against the bulge between your legs, ensuring she has your complete attention, as if she didn’t already.  “Are you going to rub them, or what?”

            “No,” you grunt, shaking your head to confirm this declaration to yourself.

            This is it.  This is what you’re supposed to do.  Resist.  Defy.  Become your own again.

            “Aww, c’mon,” she sighs, batting her eyelashes.  “Just a little foot rub?  For me?  For old time’s sake?”

            “No, Carly, I’m not going to do that.”

            “Are you sure?” she responds with a self-important smirk, nodding at your lap as her twinkling crystal eyes break contact.

            Frowning, you look back down and realize with a bracing start that your hands are already squeezed firmly around your sister’s insistent feet, as though an invisible puppeteer was tugging on strings dangled from the great beyond.  Expertly, your palms glide up the length of her tender soles, riding the soft curve of her instep with your fingertips.  Like a practiced sculptor, you caress over the balls of her feet, giving attention to the swollen remnants of blisters earned in pounding basketball drills.  Each toe crevice you massage with your thumb, digging at the pliable skin using ample pressure, just how you know she likes it.

            Reacting like putty at your touch, Carly sinks lower into the couch, stretching her legs out further and closing her eyes to fully savor your skillful handiwork.  A pleasurable murmur slips out, loud enough for you to get the picture.

            “Mmmm… that’s it, little bro.  Right there.  You’re so perfect at this,” she utters as another moan escapes her throat.  The longer you fondle her supple soles, the firmer her heels press down into your groin, not so much that pain is inflicted, but enough that you can already feel a few unwelcome synapses firing in your brain at the aggressive contact.  No matter how much your mind wishes her to stop, your body is reacting otherwise.

            With disgust at the inability of your psyche to follow through on its mission, you release the hold on Carly’s feet with repulsive force, slamming your palms into the pillows again and gripping them for dear life.  As long as you know where all of your limbs are at any given moment, she can’t use you like that again.  Right?

            Your body is your own.  Not your sister’s.  Not anymore.  Never again.

            “Done so soon?  That’s okay.  There’s more stuff we can play,” Carly says, opening her eyes again.  Her feet remain defiantly slumped in your lap where you left them.  She taps her finger against her cheek, studying you for a moment with amusement.  A thoughtful smile creeps over her lips.

            You’ve gritted your teeth and clenched every muscle you have into the couch as though it was about to be catapulted into the next county.  A bead of sweat rolls down your temple.  By sheer force of will, you manage to put aside the thought of Carly’s soft heels sweeping back and forth across your thighs, prodding incessantly at the guilty package inside your jeans.

            “Jack?” she questions at last, her mind clearly already made up about what to do with you next.  Gingerly she pokes her pinky toe into your stomach.

            “What?” you manage.  You know full-well you’re going to hear her whether you respond or not.

            “Don’t you feel funny wearing all those big people clothes again?”
            “NO!” you scowl.  Already it’s clear where this is headed, and you’re not letting it go that way.  Your knuckles turn white from the effort to hang onto the couch and your sanity.

            “Well, I think you look funny in them.  Like a little fish trying to fly,” she comments, brushing her bangs out of her eyes for a more thorough examination of you.  She wrinkles her upper lip and nods, ensuring her notion is correct.  “Maybe you should take them off.”

            “I’m not doing anything you say anymore,” you growl.

            “Oh, is that so?” Carly chuckles.  “Then why is it suddenly so cold in here?”

            You don’t even have to look down to know it; the damage is already done.  On the verge of surrendering, you bow your head and seal yourself behind shameful eyelids.  Indeed, there’s a chill tickling against your bare skin.  You can feel the cushions of the couch pressed on your back and legs, but most potently of all, you can feel Carly’s rubbery heels propped up against your inner thighs.

            “This is better, isn’t it?” she asks earnestly, watching you tremble at your newfound naturism.

            “No.  I… I don’t want it to be like this,” you mutter, not sure if you’re addressing the apparition of your sister or your own painfully naked self now.

            “That’s hard to believe,” Carly says, jerking you back to attention as she squashes her cold sole against your flaccid member.  You lurch, your throat going dry as you feel her silky instep stroking carefully against you, her toes fluttering along your skin.  It crosses your mind to try grabbing her feet and wrestling them off of you, but you know already it would only end with your limbs involuntarily continuing the earlier massage, this time with her heels resting treacherously on your stones.

            So, you only shudder and hang tight to what little ground you have left.  In almost no time you can feel yourself firming at her coaxing motion, and you hardly even have the energy to feel embarrassed about it now.  It doesn’t take long before Carly’s foot, with her digits scrunched for maximum effect, is jabbing against your full erection.

            “Good boy.  You’re almost ready to play again,” Carly whispers.  She lifts one foot up from your lap and traces her big toe up the bridge of your nose, over the ridge of your mouth, and down along your neck.  She pauses, returning to your mouth with her toe, grinding the squishy toeprint against your lower lip.  Rigid as you are already, you let her do it without rebellion.

            “Please,” you beg quietly, already grasping the inevitable but trying regardless to salvage what remains of your dignity.  Your own physical resistance wasn’t even enough.  This is all you’ve got left.  “Please don’t make me do this.”

            “But you want it,” Carly protests softly.  “We both know you do.”

            “It’s what YOU want.  You made me do it for so long, I just… I just c-can’t…”

            “That’s not true,” your sister snaps.  “For a few minutes, before Sophie took you away from me, you felt it just like me.  You knew you liked it then.  And you were happy.  Weren’t you?”

            “I-”

            “WEREN’T you?” she repeats more forcefully, ramming her heel against your genitals again and earning a cringe from you, though not due to busted balls.

            “Yes.”

            The word could hardly be said to have come from your own mouth for all the input you had on its release, and yet your body hasn’t betrayed you.  There’s not an ounce of fiction in that syllable.

            “Look at me,” she coos.

            You force your eyes open again, looking to your commanding sibling at the other end of the couch, awaiting your instruction.

            “Finish it,” Carly orders kindly.  In her left hand is a glass of bubbling liquid; in her right is a silver rod glowing with a luminescent blue from the crackling business end.

            Not having to spend another instant questioning your destiny, you accept the gifts from your sister and immediately pour the chemical compound over your head, letting it soak into your hair and trickle down your cheeks.  In the same breath you plunge the electrified prod against your bare abdomen, holding it in place as the volts are imparted with seismic intensity into your body.

            Oddly, you experience not even the slightest discomfort nor even a twinge of pain as the room churns around you again, your body drowning down into the expanding folds of the cushions until you’re stranded once again at two and three-quarters inches tall, feeling more natural now than you have for this entire surreal trip.

            The fleshy canopy of Carly’s sole hangs overhead, her toes causing the shadows to dance over you as it lowers.  You make no attempt to flee, just like the last time you found yourself in this position, as your sister’s titanic foot plops onto its tiny target.  Not even a twitch; there’s implicit trust that she won’t end you, and that faith is proven correct.  She knows exactly how to handle you, just like you handled her before at your incorrect size.

            The humidity increases, the earthy aroma of her flowery skin flooding your senses with every sweet inhalation.  Her luxurious skin kneads your little body greedily along the malleable valley of each sole crease, eventually rolling you into the arch beneath the row of her toes.

            For a few tantalizing moments she just grapples with you, squeezing you with rhythmic applications of pressure on the pliable underside of each toe.  You relax every muscle in your body, giving your motion completely over to your sister as she playfully slides your limbs into the doughy crevices between her digits, massaging herself and you with each delicate flick.

            Again and again your face sinks into the marshmallowy flesh, allowing you to sample the loamy flavor sweetened by her fruity lotion.  You allow your lungs to fully inflate each time your nose is pressed against her foot, taking it all in.  Taking her all in.

            Satisfied, then, she adjusts her grip, scooping you against the bulbous big toe and working your upper torso into the space between.  Of course you oblige, allowing Carly to embrace you between her largest and second toes, cramming you into the deepest bend of the crevice.  She works you in, smushing you gently against the skin.  There’s no resistance, either, as her heel pivots on the couch cushion, bracing itself to rise.  You let your arms flop against the soft ridge atop each flanking toe while the rest of your naked body dangles below, confident your sister would do nothing to risk even the slightest fear of falling.  And for perhaps the first time in this encounter, you experience no remorse or self-degradation at all.

            This is her show now.

            “I was right, wasn’t I?” Carly sighs mistily as she stares at you down the length of her smooth thigh and shin and up the slope of her arched foot, into the pitiful space between her toes where you’re pinched comfortably against her warm flesh where you belong.

            You gulp down a lump large enough to be your heart and muster a single nod.  It’s all you’ve got at this point.

            “Of course I was,” she giggles knowingly.  She piteously shakes her head for a few seconds in disbelief, probably for all of that fuss you made before.  Her toes hug a little tighter around your ribs, wedging your chest against her foot.  Instinctively you wrap your arms over each digit for extra support.  “Relax now, little bro.  And stick out your tiny tongue.”

            Obeying without question, you let it hang between your lips and look up to the girl’s gargantuan face beyond like a puppy awaiting the call to scarf down its treat.

            “Lick me,” she intones.

            You don’t have to be told twice.  Resting your cheek against the velvety curve of Carly’s toe, you begin to lap at her skin.  Starting off slowly, slicking up her skin with the tip of your tongue, it takes less than a minute before you’re making out with the pale flesh that surrounds you on all sides in a pillowy vice.  Alternating planting deep kisses and long, dragging licks up the inner curve of the toes, you can feel her familiar flavors trickling down your throat in that sweet-and-sour cocktail of citrusy soap and eager perspiration you know so well.

            From below, you can hear the top of Carly’s other foot sandwiching softly into the sole of the one currently making you its humbled servant.  Ignoring the sound at first as simply a move by your sister to keep her leg propped up, you wince pleasurably at the sensation of two massive wriggling digits nudging your legs as they dangle from between the toes.  With a little rummaging of writhing flesh, Carly manages to slide your miniature erection into the flush crevice between two toes, while the opposite foots remains pinched around your sides.

            Totally at her mercy, you lick more ferociously as you feel her beginning to grind tenderly at your groin.  You’re on the verge of sensory overload with her flavorful skin pressed against your mouth, the fruity sweetness of her lotion clouding the oxygen, and her mammoth toes stroking your member against her doughy flesh, but there’s no way you could possibly slow down now.

            Moving gently at first, Carly gradually builds up confidence and speed, fondling your body into the fleshy folds of her toes.  With your dick squeezed into the undulating crevice, it doesn’t take more than a few seconds to feel it firming again at the immaculately applied pressure, just strong enough to tug a reaction out of you without inflicting pain.  In fact, your entire body is practically floating in a state of ecstasy, your lips now smothered in Carly’s skin and the redolent spice of gummy toejam recently cleaned, and your entire lower body caressed against the twin mythic beasts of her bare feet.  She still knows precisely what she’s doing, and you can tell she’s getting just as much out of it.

            Your sister’s soft lips hang open as she gasps out more cloying breaths, savoring the feeling of your insignificant tongue paying wet homage to her toes, and you can see her hand creeping along her toned stomach and down between her legs to find some release.  It’s as though you’ve become part of some new organism now, given life through the pumping moisture and thrusting flesh of this toe orgy, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of Carly’s naked feet: a dance of pounding heartbeats and sweet sweat trickling from her pores.

            The mood isn’t tainted by even the faintest notion of embarrassment as you climax with squealing abandon, spasming and then falling limp into the cradling embrace of Carly’s toes, which hug you even tighter as your weakened form gives itself completely over to her.  Everything feels just as right now as it did eighteen months ago when you pledged yourself now and for all time to your sibling’s pleasurable and gracious whims.  She really was right the whole time.  You see that now.

            “Awww… see, little bro?  All better now,” the girl sighs happily.  She strokes her bulbous pinky toe along your member a final time that sends an orgasmic quiver through your limbs.  “I hope that wasn’t all you had in you.  We’re about to go again.”

            “Well?” Dr. Felton’s voice cuts through the haze, drawing you out of the visualization again.  “How did it go?”

            You’re doing your best to process the wild event you just put yourself through, but upon realizing the cumulative humiliation would probably put you into a state of vegetative shock, you instead resolve to blank out your thoughts completely.  Shifting your eyes around the room to anywhere but the woman’s gaze, you clench your hands together on your stomach and curl your legs into your abdomen in order to conceal the throbbing hard-on your dream-state sibling managed to coax out of you with just a few magic words.  Unfortunately, the stain spreading over the front of your pants may be just as incriminating.

            “Not… so good,” you admit.