JacksmithShrinkStories
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Unknown and Unlucky (Chapter 8)
🕑 Added 2024-10-24 14:00:13 +0000 UTC(re-uploaded to be in Patreon guideline compliance)
While a blackout hovered at the fringes of my consciousness, approaching again as slowly but surely as the last occasion I was put to sleep underfoot, of course this time I had an added dose of panic unhinging my systems with the knowledge that if I failed to stay conscious, I would shrink again. Still, all the desperation and adrenaline in the world couldn’t have given me enough fight to resist the absolute latent strength of her humid lightly-greased sole simply hovering in place while her toes and fingers flossed us together.
“Oh, wow, you’re so close, aren’t ya?” she said, the commanding tone cutting through my semiconscious delirium like a specter. “So close, and you’re holding back. I feel how stiff you are, and all that wiggling isn’t just because you’re like a little fish somebody took out of the water. This is the best you’ve ever had. I can tell. And there’s even plenty of all-natural lube to help you. But still you can’t finish. Want to know I think that is? You’re forgetting this is a game, and games are meant to be fun. It’s a race, see? Are you going to fall asleep first, or are you going to give my foot some lotion? Hmm, who can tell… I can’t, and I bet you can’t either. Only here’s the thing: if you can cum before you pass out, I’ll let you breathe. Simple as that. Which means you might want to start working on pampering me as soon as humanly possible, before you pass out, shrink, and then I have to pinch the goods out of that thing myself with a pair of pliers anyway. Imagine that, I’m having to actually BRIBE you, a shameless little foot-fucker, into successfully fucking my foot. How the tables turn, huh?”
They certainly had turned.
However, this flash of hope for buying some air helped me wrestle back from the edge of forced slumber. At least now I had something productive to do, sick as it made me to picture, but combating her foot with anything other than my cock was only going to yield a knockout. I couldn’t help myself by masturbating, as her sole weighed too heavily on my arms to reach my crotch, though the stranger likely would’ve considered that cheating anyway. Instead, I just had to allow the sensuality of her foot to push away all thoughts of the mortal risk here, which was difficult when my lungs were on the verge of turning inside-out, but I had no other option. It was adapt or die. Hideously, I did actually want this now, too.
As was often my nighttime routine, ironically also just before a “sleep,” I imagined a beautiful sole caressing my facial features and member, though of course in this case I didn’t have to just imagine it, plus the foot was touching everything in between those places too. By some miracle, and with what limited brain capacity remained, I focused only upon the tactile joys of her foot flesh swabbing my most sensitive regions: the brunt of it equally supple as it was muscular, a tad soggy now from our shared sweat, and its distinct pheromones bewitching my olfactory centers.
My grunt of effort was gagged entirely by the wrinkle-curves wrapped over my mouth like giant lips unto themselves. As my already-blackened vision was overwhelmed by internal shadow just seconds before a shutdown, I gave up the most difficult and necessary (but also somehow desirable) climax of my life to what would’ve otherwise been the greatest footjob yet, if not for the fact that I was about to drown inside her stocking. My offering made its way into the sole ridge around my reluctant hard-on, and the instant it did, the woman demonstrated her well-trained senses again by opening the borders between her toes and letting the stocking slide back into place over her calf above.
I gorged myself on air as I never had before, tasting it like fresh mountain-spring climate when in fact it was still the same recycled sweat-and-perfume pollution of before, but next to literal nothing, it was akin to inhaling paradise. As before, though, it took a while to relearn how to fill myself up, and instead I hyperventilated again, with tears streaming out of my eyes and my limbs still twitching in preparation for airless abyss. I doubted I’d ever looked more pitiful in my life, which for once made me glad that the woman and I weren’t directly laying eyes on one another’s faces. But since she’d had a pretty good look at me while I shrunk and slept, and was able to perceive my slightest flinch or horrified exhale, she probably had a decent idea anyway of my bittersweet horned-up misery.
“That… actually does feel good. I didn’t think I’d be able to feel it, either, but there it is. I guess dragging it out a little makes all the difference,” she said. “And hey, think of this as a free lesson! Most dudes blow their loads way too fast, and I’m sure foot-creeps do it even quicker. The girl hardly gets to have any fun that way, you know. You’re different, though! I mean, you won’t actually be able to use this lesson on anything ever again, since I’m not planning on getting rid of you anytime soon, but maybe with enough practice, you’ll start to just have fun keeping my skin moisturized, and not get so caught up on the fact that if you take too long, you’ll fall asleep and get smaller. But then again, where’s the fun in all this without that little bit of danger to keep things interesting for us both?”
My face hadn’t probably de-blued yet, and my body was still quaking, but I had to do something. I had only this brief window between act, because it was clearer than ever that I had many more anti-oxygen foot-jackoffs left in my possibly-limited lifetime to look forward to, if I couldn’t convince her otherwise. And indeed a major part of me didn’t want to talk her out of that conclusion, even as I cried out unintelligibly. My mewling stutters were interrupted not by a booming retort, but the threads at my back swishing to coil tighter around her foot, which meant only one thing. A pulse-beat later, I was ensconced back in an ample, cantaloupe-soap-and-skin-oil-scented field of sole, and feeling rather certain I was bound for flea-height if not death’s door. After so little time to recover, my lungs were in no shape for being experimented upon again for such an extended vacation without air. Somehow, though, the stranger had accounted for this residual weakness in me, no-doubt feeling the calamity of my wriggling in barely ten seconds, and released me again.
