Kissing Practice Shrunken First Semester chapter 19 by maximally

As usual, Lupe noticed the way Max’s tiny body tensed the second she mentioned the rule. She smiled down at him, that knowing, grandmotherly smirk that always made his ears burn. She’d given him this offer for the last five days in a row, and he’d chosen kissing practice every single time.

He told himself it was because it was easier than spending a full hour rubbing her feet—but deep down, they both knew the truth. After years of being a kissless loser who’d never even held a girl’s hand, making out with Lupe’s warm, slightly sweaty, vinegary foot was the closest thing to real intimacy he’d ever experienced. And some sick, pathetic part of him liked it.

“Lulu it is, then,” she said softly, already shifting her massive legs. Her right foot — Lulu — flexed invitingly on the rug. “Come on, mijo. She’s waiting for her good morning kiss.”

Max’s face went hot. He stumbled forward on shaky legs, the cool morning air prickling his naked skin as he dropped between her feet. Up close, the smell hit him immediately — warm, earthy foot sweat from a night under the covers, mixed with the faint lingering trace of yesterday’s Zumba class and whatever beans she’d eaten for dinner. It should have repulsed him. Instead, his tiny cock gave a shameful little twitch against his thigh.

He stepped up to the ball of her right foot, placed both hands on the soft, smelly, slightly calloused skin, and leaned in.

The first kiss was soft. Just lips against the plush pad of her big toe. Then another, lower, right where the pad met the arch. The taste bloomed across his tongue — salt, skin, that faint sour-sweet tang that was pure Lupe. He pressed closer, arms wrapping around the thick digit, and started kissing in earnest. Slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses. Tongue tracing the natural ridges of her skin. Nose buried against the warm crease where toe met foot, breathing her in.

Lupe hummed approvingly above him. She reached for her phone, the couch creaking as she settled back. The screen lit up as she scrolled, one leg bent, the other foot still planted in front of Max like a living date.

“That’s it, mijo,” she murmured. “Lulu loves how eager you are in the mornings.”

Max’s cheeks burned, but he obeyed. His tongue dragged slowly across the pad of her big toe, tasting the faint salt of her skin. He sucked gently on the tip, lips sealing around it, and felt her toe flex in response. A tiny bead of sweat rolled down from between her toes and onto his chest. He didn’t wipe it away.

As he worked, his mind drifted — the way it always did lately when he was this close to her.

He’d seen the real girl who'd inspired all of this two more times at the bodega since that first awkward introduction. Selena was still with her dirtbag boyfriend — Kyle, or whatever his name was — the one who cheated on her and spent all day in his mom’s basement smoking weed and playing Fortnite. She’d barely glanced at Max when Lupe proudly fished him out of her cleavage to show him off again. Just a polite, slightly pitying little smile, like he was some exotic pet her abuela had acquired.

“Cute,” she’d said the second time, before immediately going back to complaining about her boyfriend’s latest fuck-up.

Lupe, undeterred, had tried setting Max up with a couple of her Zumba friends’ granddaughters—beautiful, curvy Latina girls around his age, the kind who would have made his high-school self’s knees weak. One had even been genuinely sweet, with long dark hair and a soft, round figure that made his tiny heart race. But every attempt had fizzled. The girls were polite, sure, but they clearly saw him as Lupe’s tiny, naked accessory—not dating material. One had even laughed nervously and said she “wasn’t into that sort of thing,” eyes flicking between him and Lupe’s massive, smiling face like she was watching a very weird family sitcom.

While some people might have seen all this as evidence to give up, Lupe had only doubled down—and since last weekend, she’d subjected him to several more “practice dates” with her foot. Morning kisses that turned into long, sloppy worship sessions. Evening “goodnight” rituals where he was expected to kiss and lick every inch of the sole while Lupe watched telenovelas and occasionally flexed her toes to cradle his face. She always framed it the same way: helping him get comfortable with the idea of eventually dating a real woman.

But somewhere along the way, the line had blurred so badly that Max could no longer tell where practice ended, and something else began.

He caught himself thinking of the foot as “Lulu” even when he was alone. The way it flexed when he praised it. The little twitches of pleasure when he used his tongue just right on the sensitive spot under the ball. The way Lupe’s low, approving hums made his chest feel warm and stupidly full. It felt less like training and more like he was building something real with it. Something pathetic and one-sided, but real.

He was starting to genuinely feel like he was dating his grandmother’s foot.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t even sure he wanted it to stop.

While he worked, Lupe tapped away on her phone. Every so often, she chuckled at something on the screen. Max tried not to think about who—or what—she might be texting. He just kept kissing, kept licking, kept grinding his naked body against the warm, living sole like it was the only girl who would ever let him touch her.

After a few minutes, Lupe’s voice drifted down again, amused.

“Hold still, mijo. Abuela wants to show the girls how well you’re doing.”

Before he could react, her phone angled down toward him. The camera clicked.

Max froze, lips still pressed to her toe, arms wrapped around it, his tiny naked body on full display. The flash went off once, twice. Lupe’s toes wiggled playfully against his face.

“There we go,” she said, satisfied. “Perfect. Now let’s see what everyone thinks.”

She tapped the screen, sending the picture off to the family group chat. Max’s stomach dropped. He knew exactly who was in that chat: Victoria, Izzy, and Aunt Fanny.

Lupe didn’t make him stop. She simply angled the phone so he could see the screen.

“Victoria says… ‘Oh my God, Mom. He’s actually making out with your foot? That’s… wow. He looks so into it. Poor baby.’” Lupe chuckled, warm and teasing. “She added a little heart emoji. How sweet.”

Max’s face burned hotter. He kissed harder, trying to hide his shame in the warm flesh of Lupe’s toe.

“Izzy… let’s see. ‘LMAOOOOO lil bro is GONE. Look at him. He’s actually tongue-kissing Abuela’s crusty toe like it’s his girlfriend. I’m saving this forever.’” Lupe’s voice stayed light, almost fond. “She sent three crying-laughing emojis and a middle finger. Classic Izzy.”

Another notification pinged.

“And Fanny… oh, she’s got thoughts. ‘Damn, Lupe. You really broke him in fast. He’s got that same look Max used to get when you made him rub your feet after church. Except now he’s tiny and naked and clearly enjoying it. Proud of you, hermana.’” Lupe snorted. “She said she’s looking forward to coming over some time so she can get a massage, too.”

Max kept kissing. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The humiliation rolled over him in hot waves, but so did something else — something warm and sticky and dangerously close to comfort. Lupe’s foot flexed gently under his hands, her big toe curling just enough to cradle the side of his face.

A few minutes later, she let out a soft, amused sigh.

“Alright, mijo. That’s fifteen minutes. You can stop now.”

Max blinked, dazed. He hadn’t even realized how long he’d been at it. Again. The recurring theme lately — losing himself so completely in the task that time slipped away.

Lupe’s voice was warm with pride. “You did a good job. Really good. Lulu’s a lucky girl.” She set her phone down on the rug right beside him, within easy reach. “Here. You’ve earned it.”