...she was about to slurp the sweat from his toes.

Monica approached, stepping into the shadow of his soles, and leaned in, pressing her lips against the base of his toes on the right foot. Salty, musky, thick flavor hit her tongue, making her cringe. She puckered her lips and sucked the thin layer of liquid in. Monica swallowed.

This has been a routine thing now. On the second day of them living together Adam explained it to her in a very simple way. She was up on the couch, waiting for him to come by so that they could watch TV together. He arrived, looked at her with a surprised expression and then told her to get off the couch. Obviously, Monica refused, even if a small part of her found it intriguing and strangely alluring to be ordered around by this handsome youngster. Adam repeated. She refused. He swept her off the couch and, before she could stand up, sat down himself and plopped his massive soles right on top of her, pinning her against the floor. “Much better”, he said then. “Now stay”.

Adam had a philosophy. Shrinking, in his mind, only happened to those who deserved to be shrunk. It was showing them their proper place in the world. In his case, it worked out pretty well. He liked reinforcing the idea of that “proper place” in girls and women in his life by reducing them to servants. Maids. And his favorite way to interact with them from then on was with his feet.

With Monica, he didn’t have to try hard. She feared him. Her pride was injured badly, but she found a shameful bit of satisfaction in it; there was something relieving in being nobody, nothing, just someone else’s toy. She lacked that in her professional life. There, she had to think and conceive new ideas and fight for her ascension to the top of the corporate ladder. Now, she was just a shrunken bitch, forced to slurp the sweat off a jock’s big feet.

She moved her puckered lips around, sucking, swishing around with her tongue, then swallowing; sometimes she had to open up her plush lips and take a lick or two. She went on her tiptoes to reach between the toes, licking up more footsweat and simultaneously flossing there with her face and hair. She was getting dirty and sweaty, too, and her mouth was burning from all the sweat she drank, but she didn’t stop, she kept it up, servicing him.

“Once you’re smaller”, Adam said all of a sudden, “I’ll just tuck you in there while I work out. You’ll be slurping it up fresh”.
His toes came down and gripped her head, her face muffled as a result; she could only reply in protesting sounds. Adam scrunched his toes, then released her; she fell to her knees. The huge feet in front of her shifted around and she was presented with the second one, the sweat still glistening there, ready to be slurped up.

“Maybe we can get you to subsist on it”, Adam mused far above. “What do you think?”

She thought it was absurd, she was educated and rich, she had a luxury apartment in the city center, a car, and no more loans to pay; she was supposed to become a partner real soon and then the world would be her oyster. She was not the sort of person who was supposed to live any part of their life between a giant jock’s toes, kissing, licking and munching on toejam and lint. But she didn’t even raise her head. A couple of silent tears rolled down her cheeks. No matter what she thought, she didn’t have the spirit to tell him “no”. Her pride and social status had been her only defense, and he stripped those away when he first showed her how simply he could turn her into a footrest. Monica didn’t even know what would she do if she grew back right that second. She’d probably kneel. Maybe then she’d have his cock in her mouth instead of his feet.

Probably not, though. She used to be 5'1'', Adam was at least 6'4". He'd have no trouble just stomping on her head and keeping her there. Somehow, she felt like that would be exactly what he would do. She probably would't resist too hard; why bother?

And she suspected he knew all that. He knew just how much he’d been able to change her. He knew how overwhelmingly small she felt whenever his meaty feet rested in front of her.

“I asked, what do you think?”
“I think you’re right, Sir”, Monica whimpered. “I’ll subsist on your foot sweat”.
“Repeat that”.
“I will subsist on your foot sweat”, she said, lowering her gaze.
“That’s right”, he mused. "You'll just get lost down there".

There was a bit of a... shuffle somewhere above. She knew what it meant; Adam was pretty... consistent with how he treated her.