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Fantasy Foot League (Chapter 6)
🕑 Added 2024-10-09 12:00:03 +0000 UTCCody looked up at last, upon hearing another set of footsteps entering the space, not as confident or stomp-happy as Kayla’s, but still noticeable. It was Bri, mostly occupied on her phone as she shuffled forward into the room. Unfortunately, he knew Kayla was correct when she said that the rest of the family was on-board with this entire immoral scenario, and so Cody couldn’t count on aid from the petite often-distracted blonde. But still, considering Bri didn’t loathe him as much as Kayla did – so far as he knew – he’d hoped she might at least treat this year of his weekend shrinkages with passive indifference.
“Why don’t you kick back? Stay a while?” Kayla invited her half-sister, patting the couch pillows beside her.
Bri shrugged, nodded yes, then wordlessly took a seat, scarcely even looking in Cody’s direction. He supposed it was better that way. Because now every time anyone in this house looked at him, they must’ve been imagining him reduced down to a pathetic inch or two in height, or worse, with his anatomy transformed into some shameful perspiration-seeping filth golem made from the grayed gunk that formed between Kayla’s toes after a workout. He much preferred to be ignored.
“You know, Cody was just telling me what a good job of licking your feet he’s going to do once he’s tiny again tomorrow, Bri. Why don’t you let him give you a little preview?” Kayla casually questioned out of the blue, much to Cody’s heart-racing disgust. Bri herself again barely acknowledged the oddity of this statement, only raising her eyebrow and looking over to the condemned man in the armchair. “He’s been practicing really hard, you know. I think you should give him a chance.”
“H-Hey. No. I don’t… have to do that today,” Cody interjected, hearing the embarrassing quiver in his voice, but unable to stop it. “It’s Saturdays and Sundays. That’s it. And she knows I wouldn’t ask for that anyway.”
“That’s absolutely true,” Kayla said, friendlier than Cody expected her to reply, which worried him. “You’re one hundred percent correct. You don’t have to do a single thing that you don’t want to do until tomorrow morning. It’s in writing and everything. That’s your freedom, Cody. Just like it’s my freedom to have a whole lot more FUN with you tomorrow than I was already going to, if you don’t get on your knees right now and show Bri what a good job of licking her feet you can do. By the way, in case you didn’t figure it out, when I say FUN, I just mean fun for ME. Not for you. Just something to keep in mind. Here, want me to make it even clearer? I will go so much harder on you tomorrow if you don’t get with the program, and realize that you’re the resident foot bitch to everyone in this house on EVERY day of the week all year, no matter what your size is. Got that?”
Cody looked pleadingly at Bri, knowing she was his only chance to get out of this. To his crushing disappointment, but ultimately not surprise, she smirked back at him with obvious amusement over her big sibling’s cruel-humored domination tactics. Then, making Cody feel all the worse, Bri stretched both her soft earthy pale-soled feet out and placed them accessibly on the tabletop beside Kayla’s. They were “only” size-6s, which should’ve made them seem less intimidating, but even from here, Cody could spot flecks of granular shoe grime and semi-dried moisture slicks dotting the doughy contours of her mid-arch and puffy-padded toes. Feeling Kayla imperiously staring him down, and no-doubt starting up an unspoken countdown clock before he earned himself some worse consequences, he quickly hunched in front of the table and brought his face directly in front of Bri’s bare peds. They weren’t quite filthy as her sister’s often were, but indeed palpably tropical in climate, with plentiful lint crumbs and hints of dampness in need of tonguing up. Cody had hoped this act would be easier if he just leapt right into it like this, without having to wait for further humiliating instruction from Kayla, but it turned out to be a demoralizing chore either way.
Strangely, Cody was already more than a dozen licks deep into servicing the undersides of Bri’s lithe feet before it occurred to him that this was the first time he’d ever been forced to worshipfully attend someone while at his normal size. Nor did he ever dream he’d have to do this, since the weekends had been designated as his shrunken sentences alone, but he realized now that he’d been foolish to think Kayla wouldn’t blackmail every possible second of lowliness out of him that she could. As he’d suspected, Bri’s soles didn’t taste nearly as sour and ripe as some of the indigestible rankness he’d had to lap off of Kayla’s often-slimy soles while they loomed above his shrunken form, which should have been a plus. Unfortunately, any benefit Cody might’ve received from raking his taste buds along the plush lightly-leathery funkiness of Bri’s curvy but milder arches was taken away by the stinging awareness of both women watching him so intently from the sofa. He’d never thought he might actually prefer to be small for this activity, but it turned out Cody would’ve given anything to be almost-invisibly puny right now, if only to avoid their dignity-robbing gazes.
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A voice in the back of Cody’s head told him to get in his car right now and drive until he’d outrun all his problems, just before he reluctantly knocked on Kayla’s front door anyway for yet another weekend marathon almost certain to be spent in regretful sole-pressurized stench-poisoned torment of some variety. His personal soon-to-be-colossal tyrant let him in, already with a grin on her lips and a twinkle in her eye. Cody realized with bitter hatred how hard it was to look at Kayla now and see anything but a skyscraping giantess whose every pounding footstep demanded heart-stopping respect, even though he still had all his ordinary human stature for a few more precious minutes. No matter her scale now in comparison to him, astronomic or not, she radiated power and dread-inducing superiority, and it actually worked, forcing him to suppress a pathetic tremble out of sheer intimidation.
How had he ever gotten so unlucky, Cody wondered? Was he just born that way? It really was dizzying to think of the string of unfortunate turns that had to consecutively transpire to put him in this loathsome position. First his fantasy league had to choose the sickest punishment yet for the future loser. Then his picks had to all eat shit. Then he had to be discovered for rental by the absolute last person alive he’d ever want to have him shrunken at her mercy. And then finally the store owners had to have the most psychotic customer satisfaction policy in the history of retail.
Humbly hanging his head, and biting his tongue to keep himself from saying anything to Kayla that might inspire her to screw with him worse than she doubtlessly planned to already, he stoically awaited whatever sadistically fun-filled plans she had in store for him, like a convict being led toward the gallows. She let him stew for another conversation-free minute, just giggling under her breath as she watched him perspire and imagine and fight the shivers, before at last she nonchalantly handed Cody a pair of her overly-loved mocha-hued leather flip-flops, with the thongs seriously fraying, the treads losing their definition, and the insoles visibly drooped in appropriately rounded impressions from so many grinding footfalls, as well as darkened to a deeper shade of smoothed-down sweat-eroded griminess like wet burnished wood.
“Hang onto those a second for me, will ya, slave?” Kayla asked, as if Cody had a choice. Even when she said it with a note of cheerful taunting, she never seemed to tire of reminding him in as many ways as possible that she effectively owned him for the next forty-eight hours. He did so, going cold under the skin with excruciating anticipation, while Kayla fiddled with the transmogrifier right in front of him for much longer than was necessary – again, she just liked to watch him squirm. “You like those, huh?”
Cody blinked, knowing that staying as dully neutral was his best chance to keep her from adding to his burdens: “They’re fine.”
“Just fine? Not GREAT? What, you don’t think they’re super chic?”
“Okay, then they’re great.”
“Hmm, not sure I’m convinced, but it’s a free country! You can feel however you want to feel about my shoes! By the way, I think I’m going to make you become them for the whole weekend. I’ve been needing a good excuse to wear them, anyway, and it’s hard to think of a better excuse than the chance to step on your face a million times in a row. Hold still, now.”
