Bacon and eggs felt like heaven to me after the night I spent in Allison's hellish boot. I stood on the step-stool I've had for years to help me reach the counter at my not-so-seven-year-old size. Cooking was something that I picked up on from a nanny of mine when I was (actually) a kid, and I'm lucky I did, as I never would have guessed I'd spend the beginning of my adult life acting as my mother and sisters' slave.
I served their plates to them as they talked amongst themselves at the table. I took a seat with them to enjoy mine.
"Excuse me?" Alyssa barked, "Should he be eating breakfast when he has work to do?"
My mother interjected, "Knock it off, Alyssa. He needs to eat. He's being punished, not starved."
I locked eyes with Allison, who gave me a devious half-smile after her evening with me.
"But," my mother added, "the help should not sit at the table with their employers."
I scrambled to grab my plate and hop off the chair, fearing being shrunk again. "Oh, I'm sorry, m-mommy..."
"If you must sit," my mother scooted her chair back, "sit under the table while we go over your chores for the day."
I only hesitated a moment, enough that I don't think anybody noticed. "Yes, mommy," I said as I crawled under the table with my breakfast.
"Say thank you," my mother demanded.
"Thank you, m-mommy."
"Good boy," she responded, scooting her chair in to trap me, surrounded by the legs and feet of my family. "Now, Alyssa and I spent the evening trying to recall everything the maid did when we had her."
"You don't know what you had until it's gone," Alyssa joked.
"That's right," mother continued, "Which is why making this list was so difficult. I'm sure there's plenty the old maid did that we missed," I hated her use of the word 'maid,' "but I think you'll grow to notice these things that need done and take some initiative."
There was silence from the world above me. Alyssa gently stepped her high heel into my food, no doubt to tease me. I wasn't sure if they were waiting for a response, so I answered, "Yes, mommy."
Mother continued, "Now, to the list. Today, we want you to keep up with the dishes-- I want NO dirty dishes in the sink, understood?"
"Yes, mommy," I promptly answered, swallowing a bite too soon to stay quick in response.
"Good boy. That's more of an all day task to keep up with. As for today's specific chores, you'll be vacuuming, scrubbing the floors, scrubbing the toilets-- just clean the bathrooms overall, tidy up the bedrooms, organize the recycling, take out the trash if needed-- if not, then at the end of the day."
"Yes, momm-"
She cut me off, "I'm not done," I assumed that was the case. "Skim the pool, check the filter if it needs changed, get the mail, organize the mail, do laundry-- that should be higher on the list... oh, and clean our shoes."
Upon that last chore, Allison placed her foot on my back-- no doubt to signal to me that this one was her bright idea. At the very least, I knew my senses would be back to normal at this height. I just hoped the smells weren't as bad.
In a display of bravery, to put a damper on Allison's power over me, I confidently (and extra daintily, as mother liked) responded, "Yes, mommy."
"Good bo-" the clash of my plate cut her off, as she accidentally stepped her red-heeled foot on the rim, tilting it and spilling it over. "Whoops, sorry sweetie." She didn't acknowledge the mess any further-- I assume because she knew she didn't have to deal with it. She stretched her leg out to avoid the plate again, resting it on my shoulder, "There we go," I'd assume she did all this on purpose just to mess with me, but it was her, "Oh, that's nice," that lead me to believe otherwise.
My sisters finished their meals, leaving their plates on the table. My mom continued to lounge, using me as her dinner-table-ottoman further. I did my damndest to ignore the darkness up her skirt.
Time felt like it dragged down here, so I had to ask, "M-mommy?"
"What is it, dear?" she answered.
"D-don't you have to go to work soon?"
"Oh, no honey. I'm working from home today."
Great. That puts a wrench in any plans I may or may not have had to escape these psychotic women I called family. "Then why are you dressed so nice?"
"A webinar I'm giving on the shrinking pill I developed," mother answered, "Gotta look the part, even if they don't see down to your shoes. Which, by the way, could you rub mommy's feet for her? These heels kill me."
She placed her heeled foot onto my lap, "Yes, mommy," I answered, hiding my begrudged emotion.
"Thank you. I may just have to go without those. Not like they'll see my feet anyway." Mother sat back to lounge as she conversed with me, so uncomfortably casually as her son rubbed her feet beneath the dinner table-- like it was normal. "I had a company I interned for back in college that would make us send a picture of what we were wearing whenever we worked from home. I think he just wanted a picture of your mommy cause she's pretty."
I listened, but kept my focus on her feet, not responding to her remark, and not expecting her to expect me to.
"Ethan," she sternly caught my attention.
"Y-yes, mommy," my voice clamored.
"I said I think mommy's old boss thought she was pretty. What do you think?" My mother teetered between fishing for compliments, and manipulating me.
"Y-yes, mommy... very pretty."
She cooed, and relaxed further, "Good."
All this time rubbing mom's feet got in the way of my time to get these chores done. The dishes from breakfast were still up on the table above me, not to mention the ones I used for cooking.
"M-mommy..." I spoke, timid and cautious.
"What is it, Ethan?" She didn't much acknowledge me.
"I should really get to my chores today..."
As careful as I spoke, the scrape of the chair against the hardwood floor made me jump, afraid of getting in trouble. But that wasn't the case, as my mother slid back and answered, "You're absolutely right, you have a lot to do today." She stepped on a bit of egg of mine she spilled on the floor earlier, causing it to stick to her nylon encased foot.
The foot delivered the egg to my face. I struggled to hide my grimace when mother suggested I take, "One more bite to keep that energy up. You'll need it."
Her eyes stayed locked onto me; her little eighteen year old son, trapped in a seven year
old body, cradling her foot by the heel and pressing his face against her toes to eat the egg from them. I felt like a baby bird, and she was my mother who regurgitated my breakfast out for me.
When I finished, I knew what she'd want to hear; "Thank you, mommy."
She smiled, devious and triumphant, "You're learning so fast. Kiss mommy's foot before I get to work."
I obliged, and she stood to her feet to stroll upstairs to her office.
"I'll ring when I need you," she said as her voiced trickled off up the stairs.
Right away I got to work, cleaning up the dishes to avoid any sitting in the sink long enough for mother to notice. A subtle chime invaded my head, interrupting my scrub of Alyssa's plate. I could hear it from upstairs. I quickly realized now what she meant by "ring" when she needs me.
I clamored up the stairs to her office, where a little bell rested idle on her desk. "Yes, mommy?" I greeted so begrudgingly sweetly.
"I left my coffee downstairs," mother started, "go fetch it for me."
"Yes, mommy," I answered, cringing at her use of the word "fetch."
I got it and went back upstairs, only to be denied, "Stop," in the doorway. "I expect anything delivered to me to be on a silver platter with the lid. Go try again."
Silent irritation simmered in me, "Yes, mommy. My apologies."
I ran back downstairs, found the platter set she was talking about, and made my way back to her office as quick as I could while balancing the plate.
"Here you are, mommy," I spoke in the dainty tone she expected, revealing the coffee to have spilled over a bit.
"It's spilled," she stated so blunt.
"S-sorry, mommy..." I wasn't sure how to respond.
She rolled her eyes, "It's probably cold now anyway. Go pour me a fresh cup."
My irritation built, but I kept my composure, "Right away, mommy."
As I walked out she suggested I, "Keep your posture straight to keep it from spilling this time."
I obliged, poured a fresh cup, and returned, revealing the unspilled cup of, "Black?" coffee. "That's not how I drink it at all, son."
"I-" my patience grew thin, but I knew I couldn't argue, "I'm sorry, mommy."
Her hand pinched the chastity tube from outside my pants, "You're gonna have to learn these things if you ever want out of chastity," she explained, "how we like our coffee, how we like things organized-- hell, even our preferred shower temperature."
I listened intently, taking mental notes, now fearing the possibility of getting it wrong. "I'm sorry, mommy. Could you tell me how you like your coffee?"
"It's okay," she let go of the tube, "this time, at least. Two creams and three sugars."
And with the snap of her fingers, I took off to the kitchen to re-reprepare my mother's coffee, and return, upright in posture and careful not to spill.
I entered her office, heart pumping in hopes that I finally got her coffee right. She didn't say a word, anticipating the unknown. I lifted the lid of the platter for inspection. No spills, good color in the coffee. So mother took the mug for a sip.
"Perfect," she said, filling me with relief. "Now, back to your chores."
"Yes, mommy," I said, adding, "Thank you, mommy."
I finished the dishes, and started some laundry. Everything has always been a struggle for me at my height, so this line of work was difficult. But I managed, suppressing the anxiety of not finishing on time, already behind after my mother's post-breakfast foot rub and her coffee--
The ring of the bell summoned me back to her office to fulfill any request. I truly felt demeaned by this whole situation, but I believe it's just what she wanted.
"Yes, mommy?"
"Mommy's feet are cold. Could you fetch my shoes for me?"
It took me a moment to remember where she left them, but I recalled our breakfast, promptly obeying with a "Yes, mommy."
I fetched the heels and returned, only to be denied because, of course, mother wanted everything delivered on a, "Silver platter, remember?"
I backed out of the office, located the platter and lid, and returned to her office, feeling pathetic as I was about to deliver my mother's high heels to her on a silver platter.
Upon my return, mother already started her meeting with her colleagues. I was hesitant to approach, but she waved me on. I tried avoiding the line of sight on the camera, but mother coaxed me over, no doubt on purpose. I awkwardly stepped over, avoiding looking at her monitor as I didn't want to see my shame and all those who would witness it.
I opened the platter to reveal her high heels, prompting a response from a fellow researcher of hers, "Wow, look at you Monica!" and another remarking, "Yeah, you're like a queen over there," and a third person, "Who's that sweet little boy serving you?"
Mother laughed and answered, "This is my son," and leaned in to tell them, "he's grounded."
A choir of understanding, "Ah,"s turned me red, as another person in the meeting said, "So he's kissing up to get ungrounded, huh?"
"Well," mother started, "I'd like to think that that IS his punishment. But it's all a learning opportunity. I'm gonna teach my boy how to treat his momma," she winced in a smile as she pinched my cheek, generating a collective coo of affection from the online crowd. "Go ahead," she turned her attention to me, "put momma's shoes on for her."
I paused, but realized any protest would be useless, as these people have seen me in my pathetic state. I dropped to my knees, and placed my mother's heels on her feet.
One person remarked, "You're Cinderella, Monica!"
Mother laughed and added, "I think Cinder-Ethan might be more fitting."
They all laughed.
I stood back up, awaiting orders. "Good boy," mother started, "Now run along, back to your chores."
"Yes, mommy," I said, red in the face at what just happened.
Some people laughed at how I addressed my mother, some tried to contain it but couldn't. I walked out of her office wondering if they knew what she did to me. The meeting had to do with the shrinking pill, so they must know that she gave it to me, right? I would have thought somebody would have brought it up. Unless she didn't tell anybody. Maybe snitching on my mom was the key to my freedom. But I couldn't do anything about that now, with her right there speaking to them. After all... I have chores to do.
I took to the bathrooms for cleaning, scrubbed the hardwood floors, vacuumed the carpet, rotated the laundry, tidied up mother's bedro-
The ring of the bell summoned me again. This time, I had my platter ready. "Yes, mommy?" I said, a bit more carefully, weary that she was still in her meeting.
"What's that for?" she asked in reference to the silver platter I had prepared for anything.
"Oh, I just... brought it just in case," I lifted the lid to reveal the empty plate.
"Okay..." she seemed weirded out, "Well put it down. You only need it when I ask for something." I obeyed, and set the platter on a nearby table. "Besides, mommy needs your hands."
"My hands?" I questioned.
"Mhm," mother answered so short as she stood to deploy her shrinking gaze upon me.
"W-wait... m-ommy...?" Fear filled me, "D-did I do something wrong?"
"No, honey " she said as she approached me as I shrunk, "Why would you think that?"
"B-because you're shrinking me!" I shouted, knowing I'd have to for her to hear me.
"Well yeah," mother responded, so matter of fact, "because I can."
Mother plucked my shivering body from the floor and placed me on her desk. "Momma needs a foot rub, sweety." Her high heeled feet rose and plopped onto the desk before me. I was nearly the size of the spiked heel itself. As I waited for her to take her shoes off, she grew impatient expecting me to. "Come on now, take 'em off. I have another meeting in fifteen."
I jumped at her command, and grabbed the heel to tug. I was able to pop the back of her foot out, at least, but had to use all my strength to lift the rest of the heel from over her toes. I felt the warmth of her nylon foot radiate onto me. My shrunken nose and heightened senses enhanced the musky odor. Not as bad as Allison's boot, but still unpleasant. The beads of sweat neared the size of my hands; which she needed, like she said.
"Get to it," mother ordered so matter of fact.
So I got to it. I was able to get used to the strong odor that wafted from her mighty feet, but kept my head to the side to avoid it as much as I could.
"Allison tells me you're more sensitive to sensory input the smaller you get," mother said, leaning back in her office chair to lounge. "Do mommy's feet smell at that size?"
I wasn't sure if I should answer honestly, or lie; but I figured a lie might be hell to keep up with in regard to mother's smelly feet. So I answered, "Y-yes, mommy... they smell."
She snatched up a heel, "Well, I don't smell anything," and brought it to her face for a whiff, grimacing, "Oh... never mind," and set it back onto her desk. "Maybe she was right to suggest you clean our shoes today."
I didn't want to agree, but she was right. If I was going to be stuck as their servant, de-stinkifying their footwear would benefit me. So I answered, "Yes, mommy."
"I kinda like the smell," she said with a devious grin, "Not the smell itself, but what it symbolizes."
My mother brought her feet to the floor, and grabbed one of her heels, placing it over my body like a tipped canoe. The sticky air of her rank shoe encompassed me, becoming the awful air I breathed. It was easier for me to keep my cool thanks to the quality of her shoe, and my (arguably) larger size. Still, my eyes watered as if I sat in an onion.
"That smell is hard work, son," mother explained. "Something you have to learn about. Something I am going to teach you about."
Muffled within her heel, I responded, "Y-yes," coughed, and said, "Yes, mommy..."
"Breathe it in, son. I want to hear you inhale, and appreciate the hard work I go through to support you."
I hesitated; not to process her request, not to protest, but to collect my strength needed to bring myself to huff in mother's awful foot air. I made a large, audible inhale within her shoe, coughing at the result, and gagging in response.
"That's it," mother cooed, "that's a good boy. Breathe in momma's hard work. I want you to thank me for working so hard for you."
I swallowed my pride, (running empty), and answered, "T-thank you, mommy..." I took in another big breath of her musk, held back a gag, and continued, "Thank you for working so hard to support me."
Mother freed me from the shoe, lifting it up off of me and rejuvenating the fresh air in my lungs. She placed her feet back on the table to, "Continue," her foot rub.
I placed my palms on her soles and kneaded the flesh. Massaging her toes was like massaging a foot at my normal size. The nylon felt damp, and stuck to her foot from the sweat.
"I think you really need to learn how to appreciate us, Ethan," mother started, "Accepting the smell from our hard working feet isn't enough." Mother was tying a knot in my throat with her words. "You need to learn to enjoy it."
I worried about what she meant, and asked her, "W-what do you mean," mindful to address her as expected, "mommy?"
"I think I'm going to have to condition you," she explained as she picked up the bell she used to summon me, "like Pavlov's dog," ringing it to tease me. "Only, I don't think a bell is going to work."
Mother commanded me to, "Disrobe," for her so she could grow me back to regular size and remove the chastity device before shrinking me back down. I dreaded every second of what was to come. The fresh air on my freed cock was enough to induce a mild arousal.
"Lean your whole body in to my foot, son," she demanded.
I obeyed, resting my cheek on the ball of her foot to avoid contact with my nose.
"Press your face into it," she said, "I want you to associate this freedom from chastity with mommy's foot smell."
"Mom..." I groaned, feeling so incredibly violated.
"Do not argue with me, son." Mother sounded stern, and impatient. "You are going to learn to love mommy's smelly feet, whether you want to or not."
I wept, holding back my tears to smell her foot. I was at a point that the scent didn't bother me as much as the overwhelming manipulation she instilled on me.
"Kiss mommy's feet, son," she demanded, "And tell me that you love my smelly feet after every kiss."
I kept my mind fixated on nothingness, trying to go into some autopilot state where I might be able to keep my dignity, hoping that it would keep her conditioning at bay.
With each tortured kiss I planted on her nylon sole, I stated, "I love your smelly feet, mommy," throwing in some, "Thank you for letting me smell your feet, mommy,"s in for variation. "Thank you," I kissed, "Thank you," I kissed, "Thank you for working so hard for me, mommy," and kissed, "I love your smelly feet, mommy," and kissed, "I love them."
My mother watched my tears stream down from her molestation of my psyche. "There, there, sweet boy," she said in a soft, comforting tone, "You're going to learn." She pet my head with the toes of her opposite foot as I kissed. "You're going to learn to love mommy's smelly feet, one way or another."
When her downtime was up, she increased me back to normal size, locked me back up into chastity, and let me put my clothes back on.
"Now, go back to your chores, son," she directed. "Mommy has some work to do," she said with a wink.
I wiped the tears from my face, "Yes, mommy," and returned to my housework.
Mother's constant requests from me throughout the day, in addition to the violation of my psyche, slowed down my work immensely. Laundry wasn't done, the pool wasn't skimmed, and their shoes weren't cleaned.
When my sisters returned home from work, I feared punishment.
Giantess World
