The door slammed shut behind Sophia, and Harry turned to face his 16-year-old daughter, who was now a full two foot taller than him. Since the talk with her mother the previous evening, Clara had had a smile permanently plastered on her face, and now she was left alone to look after her father for a whole day.

“So what do you fancy doing today kiddo? How about pizza for lunch, a few movies, some…”

“Oh no” she interjected, “you heard Mum – I’m in charge today. You have to listen to people who are bigger than you, it’s for your own good.”

“Darling, it’s going to be a fun day. Just you and me, we’ll get to…”

“Do you need me to teach you a lesson, already???” she frowned.

“What are you on about? I’m just trying…”

“I really didn’t think I’d have to punish you so soon Dad” she said, pushing him to the floor and taking a seat on the sofa above him.

Harry looked up at his daughter in disbelief. What had this change in power balance done to her? She was clearly revelling in the control she had over her diminutive father. She was wearing a tight crop top and short skirt which accentuated her long, toned legs. He couldn’t help but admit she was strikingly attractive, a thought he swiftly put to the back of his mind as he remembered she was his own flesh and blood.

Turning, she extended the long legs and lowered her feet to his level. “You’re going to lick my feet.”

He tried to get up, but she aggressively pushed him down with her feet, forcing him back down to the ground. Further attempts at resistance proved futile as he was met with the same force and fell to the floor repeatedly. Finally he decided obedience was the best course of action – his daughter was going to get a lot, lot bigger from his perspective – she might remember his good behaviour. Defeated, he extended his tongue and lapped at his daughter’s foot.

She giggled, “It tickles. That’s good Dad, keep going.” He continued to lick for a short while longer, disgusted by the musty dried sweat on his daughter’s foot, before he backed off a little.

“Now that you’ve given me a ‘punishment’, can you please remember I’m your father and stop treating me with such distain, young lady?” he said, with a wave of defiance.

“A punishment?” she looked down, surprised. “Oh, that’s not a punishment, that was a little treat for you – you got to lick my gorgeous soles you lucky guy. You’re coming with me,” she said, heading upstairs towards her bedroom, dragging Harry behind her.

Clara’s bedroom was large, with posters of her favourite pop stars adorning the walls. They approached the bed in the corner of the room and sat down.

“It’s time to show you how small you really are,” she said looking down at him in a sinister way. He was, by now, incredibly small – around three foot four he estimated, the height of a four-year-old. Harry dreaded finding out just how she was going to emphasise that point to him.

Without another word, she got up and led him to the opposite corner of the room. On the floor ahead of them was a wicker basket. Harry’s stomach dropped as he recognised this as the laundry basket each member of the family had in their room.

“Get in” she ordered, eyes cold and deadly serious.

“What? Surely you don’t mean…”

“I said, get in” she reaffirmed.

Remembering the last time he defied her, Harry stopped his questioning and sullenly crouched down, removing the lid. The waft of dirty laundry rose to meet his nostrils and he took in the sight of bras, visibly soiled underwear and gym kit crammed into the tight space. He knelt in the pile of clothing before curling up and assuming foetal position. She smiled down on him, visibly satisfied that he was now obeying without question, and replaced the lid.

He felt the top of the basket compress as Clara sat down on top, trapping him inside. The stark realisation hit him that he was the property of his daughter now; hers to do with as she pleased. This was Clara, his beloved little girl – the one he had hoped would take care for him. He might have expected this of Poppy but certainly not her.

Feeling a wetness on his cheek, Harry realised the gym kit was still damp from her most recent workout. The heat and smell soon became too much for the shrunken man as he slipped into a state of unconsciousness.

After collecting Poppy from school, Sophia returned that evening, unsure exactly what scene would await her.

“Where’s your father?” she said quickly to Clara, a shot of panic in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, he’s here,” Clara responded triumphantly as she pointed to her feet. There, on his knees, head between his hands, was Harry. Clara’s legs balanced daintily on his back as she watched TV – the perfect foot stool.

“It isn’t fair,” shouted Poppy, threatening a tantrum. “How come Clar gets to look after daddy and I don’t?”

“Calm down Poppy” said her mother “it’s your turn tomorrow.” Harry gulped. He had become the family pet.