Carefulness was becoming a permanent part of my psyche; always keeping me attentive of the world around me, especially when my family was in the room with me. Silence also started to become the norm for me, only speaking when spoken to, and more times than not being, "Yes, mommy," and "Yes, princess." I was quickly becoming the devoted, servant son any mom would be happy to have.
I got my sisters ready for the day with breakfast and a packed lunch, and cleaned up the kitchen as they left. I skipped breakfast today, as my jaw still hurt from my night spent with Alyssa's big toe filling my mouth.
When it came down to mother and I, now just the two of us in the house, she gulped down her orange juice and stood from her seat. I stood on my step stool at the counter, washing the dishes as she said, "I want you to come to my office when you're done with the dishes."
She strolled away before I could even say, "Yes, mommy," with her in the room.
I entered her office after the dishes were caught up, and knelt patiently at her deskside with my hands neatly placed on my lap, awaiting instruction as she finished a phone call.
It didn't take long for her to catch my attention with the ring of her little bell. I feared the person on the other line hearing it, so I was swift in response to follow her finger pointing to her feet in the ground.
I truly felt trained by my mother when I took to her feet beneath her desk without hesitation, removing her high heel to...
I looked back up at my mother for further instruction, only worried about the person on the phone hearing her say, "Foot rub," when the words left her mouth so clearly.
As I massaged my mother's feet, I felt my body start to shrink. I panicked internally, tearing up but keeping my composure. What was she to do with me? Why do I have to be small? I'm being a good boy.
To keep up with her good side, I didn't stop rubbing her feet, no matter what size I dwindled to. My hands shrunk against her sole that appeared to expand before me. Thank god for the morning; my mother's freshly showered so her feet don't stink. I can't say the same for the nearby high heels, but I was thankful that my hands were touching clean feet.
After a while of performing a foot massage with my tiny hands, the bell rang again. I dreaded it each time I heard, as I was certain the person on the phone with her was wondering what that was.
Looking up toward my mother's face from under her desk, I watched a wooden ruler make its way down to me, guided by my mother's hand who directed me to, "Grab on."
I obeyed as she lifted me off the ground, filling me with fear of falling. Mother placed the ruler on her desk for me to hop on. She lounged her feet, crossed up on the desk on the opposite side I stood.
A snap, a finger, and a "Kiss," directed my attention to scurry over to my mother's feet, relaxing on her desk as I kissed to her heart's content during her phone call.
The embarrassment of the person on the other end hearing her filled my throat. The hypothetical was confirmed when I heard her say, "No, sorry I was talking to Ethan." The way she used my first name hinted to me that whoever she was speaking to knew me. I dreaded the thought of anybody finding out about me.
"Oh yeah," she continued, "I've been putting him to work." They had to know. I started shivering at the humiliation. Dreaded what-if?s loomed further as she pleasantly suggested, "Oh yeah, we'll have to get together sometime... I don't care, here or there works for me... Yeah, same..." I wasn't sure if the topic was still on me at this point, but my mother's responses made me fear that it was, "I know how it goes, I always have to double check my calendar too." A laugh followed before, "Okay, love you, sis," confirmed she was speaking to aunt Paige. Why did she have to get roped into this?
The call ended as I continued to slave away at my mother's feet, suppressing any hypothetical for my future. I kissed her soles as if I heard nothing. My mother stared me down, and I pretended not to notice.
"So," my mother began with a sigh, "you never got to cleaning our shoes yesterday, Ethan."
"I'm sorry, mommy," was all I could say, still keeping my attention on the task she currently assigned me.
"You still have to get it done," she explained, "but I DO have to punish you, son."
Getting better at hiding my hesitation, I responded, "Yes, mommy," so quickly.
"Unfortunately," she looked at her wristwatch, "I don't think we have time for both. So," she took her feet from me, causing me to fall over as I was midway to landing another kiss onto her toes, "here's what we're gonna do, son."
I brought myself to my knees before my giant mother as she explained; "I'm giving you the whole day to get our shoe clean, okay?"
"Yes, mommy," I answered. "Thank you, mommy," I added.
"But you have to remain at this size," she added, filling me with dread at the, now seemingly impossible, chore she assigned me. "That way I can properly punish you while you get your chores done." As if chastity wasn't punishment enough. "Do you like that idea?"
I answered how I assumed she'd want me to; "Yes, mommy."
Mother laughed at my dishonesty, "Shut up, no you don't. I know when you're lying, son." A single finger pet me on the head. "But, I'll leave it up to you; you either spend the day cleaning our shoes at this size, or get another month in chastity-- whether or not you pass a drug test."
My mouth dropped open at her threat. Another whole month? For missing one chore? No contest, "I-I'll stay this size, mommy."
Red lips curled, revealing a hint of mother's pearly whites that bit down on her tongue in the slightest. "Good boy. You're really shaping up to be a fine, obedient little boy with that chastity device on," she tapped it from outside my pants with her long red fingernail, clicking so lightly at my tiny size, "you make it hard even consider ever taking it off of you."
My heart pounded at the thought of being trapped in this thing forever, at the whim and beck and call of my mother.
"But," she added, holding her hand out for me to hop on, "a deal's a deal." Mother lowered me to the ground and explained, "As long as you take your grounding like a man, and pass a drug test at the end of the month, you're on the path to freeing your poor little dicklet."
I responded, "Yes, mommy," by force of habit, even though I knew she couldn't hear me.
"Now run along," she waved her hand to shoo me away, "you have a lot of work to do today, little boy." And with that, she topped my embarrassment and dread with a cherry full of laughter.
Traversing down the hall didn't take nearly as long as I expected it to, so long as I ran. Fully sprinting just about equaled my normal-sized strides. I figured I'd start with mother's room and...
Upon reaching mother's room, I realized I didn't know what I was doing. I don't have so much as a rag, let alone soap and water. I caught my breath and scurried back to mother's office, where she was having a video conference.
"--and..." she noticed me standing there, and an annoyed look quickly took over her face, "Hang on," she spoke into the camera before directing her attention to me, "What?"
My size grew only enough for her to hear me; about a foot tall. "W-well... s-sorry to interrupt your m-meeting, m-mommy, but--"
"Come on, son, mommy's very busy. What do you want?"
"I-I-I-" I was truly afraid and regretted my decision to return for further questions, "I d-don't have anything to clean them with..."
"What do you mean, Ethan?" mother asked in a tone that made the answer seem obvious to her.
"W-w-well, I don't... I don't have anything like... like a wash cloth, or..."
"Just lick them clean, son," she said so matter of fact.
I froze at her demand, "You... y-you want me to..."
With that, I started shrinking again, "Just get it done, Ethan. Take your punishment and get it over with."
Before I could protest or argue my case, the point in which she could hear me was long gone. And to top it all off, she left me smaller than before.
Mother couldn't tell, but I cried at my awful, day-long chore before me. I left the office and, with tears in my eyes, got to it; my first stop-- again-- being mother's closet.
At the very least, her shoes were well organized and reachable. I started with the nearest flat that only further pushed the point home about the hell I was in.
Black toe prints echoed further proof that these shoes were old and rancid. In fact all of these shoes lined up in mother's closet were familiar to me. No doubt none of these neared any standard of "fresh" by any means.
My lungs filled with stale vinegar with each shoe I entered, burning from my mouth to my lungs and everywhere in between. An added sting built as my tongue lapped up the black sweat stains that shaped my mother's foot; nearly impossible to remove regardless of tongue grease (as opposed to elbow grease). My only real tool for removing this salty shoe gunk was time, as these stains did indeed come out after what felt like hours of licking.
I emerged from a once-visibly dirty tennis shoe of mother's. My teeth felt filthy from the dirt and mud that my punished little tongue picked out of the crevices of the rubber bottom sole. One closet down, two to go.
Two to go.
I started crying at the thought of going through that two more times. I wept at how used to the stench I became, overcoming the gagging that was once constant when first introduced to smell at this size. I sobbed at my dry mouth, unsure of how I would even tackle one other shoe, let alone two more whole closets of filthy shoes.
In a desperate cry for a drink, I returned to my mother's office where she groaned as she expanded me up to a foot.
"What is it this time?" Luckily there wasn't anybody listening this time around.
"I-I need a drink of water... m-mommy..."
Mother scoffed, "So, I take it you're putting that tongue to good use, hm?"
"Yes, mommy," I responded, ready to say anything to cleanse my palate.
She stared me down for a moment, leaving me wondering what could be going through her twisted maternal head. "Well," she started, "a drink does sound nice right now." Without growing me any further than the foot she left me at, she demanded, "Go fetch me a glass of water."
Really? None for me? I figured if I obey, maybe she'll give me some as well. After all, I'm teetering off her good side, and need to totter my way back.
So I answered, "Yes, mommy," and proceeded to the kitchen, not questioning my lack of size.
Even with my step stool, a mere glass of water was quite the task at my size. But I did it with a bit of extra work. The water looked so cool and tantalizing. I was mindful to return with the water in the silver platter my mother demanded I use. The plate and lid were comical being so slowly and carefully carried up the stairs by my little one-foot body. The weight nearly took my arms, but I made it.
"Wow," mother praised, making me feel good, much to my humiliation, "you remembered the platter. You really ARE learning how to become mommy's good little servant."
Even worse than the good feeling I felt from her praise, I felt it further; shining through my "Thank you, mommy," that emerged so enthusiastically and naturally-- almost like an instinct.
Mother took the glass of water and chugged it down, placing the now empty glass now on the platter. My smile didn't change on my face, but switched from genuine to forced. I was so desperately thirsty with my filthy mouth, dirty from the bottom of my mother's running shoe.
"Let's see now," mother directed as she cocked my head up so slightly with a finger, "show me your teeth."
I smiled with my teeth, revealing the filth still on them.
"Oh my," she said through a laugh, "you really are becoming mommy's good boy." My filthy teeth acted as proof that I didn't sneak a drink of water without her permission. "Okay now, go fetch mommy another drink of water, son."
Another? Really? None for me? Was this a test?
I responded, "Yes, mommy," and took to the kitchen to repeat the above steps.
Upon returning, mother checked my dirty mouth again, and pat my head with a "Good boy," of praise. "Now, come here," she said, pointing under her desk.
I approached, and as I walked closer, I watched her pop one of her high heels off-- now ripe from hours of wear-- and tip a glass of water over her warm, clammy bare foot to drip into the fragrant high heel like a coffee maker.
My eyes winced as I watched the drink of water that she'd expect me to swallow. The bits of fuzz and filth made the water cloudy. To my personal horror, it still enticed me.
Mother brought me to an inch tall-- to my delight, bigger than when I tackled her closet. "Drink up, young man," she directed, "You still have a lot of work ahead of you," and laughed as I drank from the nasty high heel like a puppy. She bit her lip at the sight of me swallowing it down with all the dirt left in my mouth from her shoe-- all without her direction. "Better get back to it soon, thirsty boy," she mocked, "the clock is ticking, and you still have your sister's closests to get to."
My feet met with the floor, satisfied and disgusted as I saluted with a bow, "Yes, mommy," and took to Alyssa's closet next door to mother's.
Lucky for me, Alyssa was fond of open footwear; sandals, flip flops, etc. The smell easily dissipated without anything to trap it in. That didn't change the difficulty of licking up the toe prints she left behind. The bottoms weren't so bad either--
A chime caught my attention. Really? Today? Now?
I returned to my mother's office, suppressing my irritation, but ready for instruction. When she brought me to my normal height, I asked, as rehearsed, "Yes, mommy?"
"It's lunchtime, sweetie," (thank god, still half the day left), "go make mommy a sandwich, and yourself something too..." before I could oblige, she added, "Unless your belly's already full," with a smile and a wink.
And it was, indeed, full of all the nasty, sweaty shoe funk and grime. So I made mother a sandwich-- did it wrong-- made it again repeating her preferences to myself to instill it into my psyche, and returned with the silver platter to deliver her lunch.
"Good boy," she praised, "now, rub mommy's shoulders while she eats."
"Yes, mommy," as much as I didn't want to get back to work, I wanted to get back to work so I may ensure that this punishment goes no further.
I kneaded her shoulders as she enjoyed the sandwich, and continued for the lunch hour before returning to an inch tall and my shoe-licking duties.
Upon completing Alyssa's closet, unnervingly confident in my debasing effort, I took to Allison's, passing what was once my bedroom not long ago. I stopped at the doorway and stared into the empty room. All my furniture was put into storage with the plan being that I would take it back when/if I found a place of my own before/during/after college. While I spent the last two nights under far-less-than-ideal sleeping arrangements, where would I sleep if I were a good boy?
The already cracked office door creaked open further, where my mother emerged to use the bathroom. The sound snapped me back into focus, running to Allison's room to start on her closet.
"Working hard, son?" my mother inquired.
"Yes, mommy," I answered, even though we both knew she couldn't hear me.
She laughed at my little, pathetic body, running into Allison's bedroom for the sole sake of performing this humiliating chore put in place for me. She loved seeing me like this.
Allison's closet was a nightmare. There was little to no organization in it, and worse of all; she had a wide collection of boots that really kept the horrid stench and flavor in. The darkness they brought with them didn't help me either, as I had no way of knowing how clean the insoles were. The only sense I could go off of was taste. Once I no longer tasted the hot, stale, vinegary salt flavor, I assumed I was done. I truly feared the consequences if I wasn't.
The stench that stayed trapped in these boots made me dizzy and hot. I thought I was going to pass out from the cloudy stench that surrounded me-- becoming the air I breathed more than oxygen. Was this all really an effect of my reaction to Allison's boot smell two days ago? All the shoe licking and foot worship? Are they putting me through this because Allison found out I hate it? Who wouldn't hate it?
When I reached the end, the mess that was Allison's closet attacked; my manipulation of the pile I maneuvered causing a disruption to the method of Allison's organizational madness. I found my little body sealed inside of a hot--and growing hotter-- musky leather thigh high.
"No, no, no, no no..." I screamed, and tried to push the opening, pinched closed by the sole of another boot landing on it.
When hope was lost, I screamed louder for what felt like hours, "Mom!" fearing death by suffocation, "Mommy!" wondering if death wouldn't be so bad in my situation, "Mommy, help me!" then remembering that I can't in this state.
My screams were not futile, as I heard the closet door open and the world around me shift. The light of Allison's bedroom beaming into her closet blinded me when it reached the bottom of this boot.
"Aw," mother cooed, "Did my poor baby get stuck in big sister's shoe?"
"Y-yes, mommy," I cowered, "P-please, help me, mommy."
She scoffed, "So sweet and pathetic," and dumped the boot over, sending me free falling and screaming until I reached her palm.
"I honestly can't believe it," she said, rubbing my tiny body with a finger, "You actually did it."
"T-thank you, mommy..." I said, catching my breath with fresh air as opposed to Allison's foot funk. "Did you really hear me screaming from in here?"
Mother laughed again, "No, honey I actually came in here to check on you because I have to head to the lab for something real quick. I didn't hear you until I opened the closet."
"Thank you for saving me, mommy." As humiliating as my situation was, I was still so thankful for my mother saving me as opposed to Allison.
"Of course, honey." Mother's eyes darted around the closet, "Your sister leaves this such a mess."
With that, she started growing me back to my normal height. My heart fluttered and relief blanketed me as my awful chore was complete.
"Go ahead and organize Allison's shoes for her while I'm out. I should be back by the time you're done, if not before."
I dropped to my knees the moment I reached an applicable height, and answered, "Yes, mommy," kissing her feet goodbye for some extra brownie points.
Mother placed a hand on her heart and cooed at my display of loyalty, "You really ARE learning to accept the role you put yourself in." I knew she was well aware of her choice of words. "What a good boy."
With that, she left for the lab, leaving me home alone for the first time in days.
And there I was. Home. Alone. For the first time in days. Alone.
I gave it a couple minutes upon her departure, to ensure she reached some distance before I bolted for the door. Maybe I didn't have the key to my chastity, but I didn't care at that moment. I'd go to a hospital and have it removed if I had to. I needed to get the hell out of here. I needed help.
The warm air, perfectly tempered to perfection by the Sun filled my body with joy from the outside in. I didn't have a car, a phone, or anybody to turn to in time.
Except for the police car I saw down the street. Oh my god, the police car down the street nearly made me cry with relief. Maybe I could have these insane women put behind bars.
I approached the car, where the officer rolled down her window; her eyes hidden by mirrored sunglasses. "Everything okay?" she asked what she thought was a seven year old boy.
"Please, you have to help me! My mother tortures me in there and I need to be someplace safe! Please!" I nearly begged this woman.
The officer thought for a moment before asking me to, "Get in, kid," pointing to her backseat. I didn't care if I sat where criminals once did, I just assumed I had to sit there because of some technicality; some rule cops need to follow or whatever.
When I settled in the back of the squad car, I asked, "Where are you gonna take me?"
The officer typed away on the laptop installed in her car, "Not sure yet, that's what I'm trying to figure out." I couldn't see what was happening on the screen, but assumed she was contacting her superior, or CPS or something. "We'll get you where you need to be, buddy. Don't worry."
For once, my deformity that kept me looking seven years old worked to my advantage. If I had to keep up the child act, I would for the sake of freedom. I would ditch the past eleven years of my life and restart as a seven year old, so long as it got me out of my mother's grasp.
And there she was. I ducked down in the kind officer's car to hide away from my mother as she pulled into the drive way, and in the garage. I shivered in fear until I felt the cop car pull forward. Thank god, she as taking me away from...
... my freedom.
Giantess World
