Thursday, November 12, 2020

Countertransference - A #KinkyScribble

 Lately I've got a few writing projects, that are big, and ambitious, and consequentially difficult to start.  The hardest thing when beginning a long journey, is to take that first step.  

When I'm feeling overwhelmed, I often turn to a #KinkyScribble.  Everyone seems to have their own take on the rules for them, but for me it looks like this:

  • Put out a call on Twitter for followers to submit simple story prompts
  • Pick whichever prompt feels the most inspiring
  • Write a 300-1000 word story, limited to one sitting for writing, one sitting for editing
I got lots of suggestions this time around, and decided to go with a prompt from Undersquid, who I have often found inspiring.




Countertransference

681 words

Tags: F/f, dubcon, noncon, mental health, gas lighting


“If you’re ready, then let’s begin.  When was the first time you saw it?”

Catherine sighed, gripping a cup of hot chamomile in trembling hands.  “Was it two weeks ago?  Three?  Probably more like two and a half now.  I’m rambling, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.  You’re safe here.  Just relax, take a deep breath, and slow down.  Tell me, what did you see?”

“Eyes, glinting in the dark.  By my bedside table.”  She lay back into the big cushy chair, forcing herself to  remember.  “I’d heard something.  Like a mouse, scurrying along.  But not the right rhythm for a mouse, if you understand.  I thought I was just being paranoid, like always happens.  But then I looked, and I could see the glow of streetlight in their eyes, could see the outline of their face.”

“Then you turned on the lights.”  From her seat just behind Catherine’s shoulder, her therapist shifted.  “What did you see then?”

“A leg.  Definitely a human leg.  Disappearing behind the lamp.  Thought I must be going crazy.  I searched and searched and couldn’t find anything.  Must’ve been seeing things, I said, but two nights later, the next time I tried to… when I was… um.  Well.  When I did the same activity, she came back.”

“I see.  The same… activity.”

Catherine shut her eyes, holding the mug to her chest for support.  “Do I have to say it?”

She sensed her therapist lean in closer behind her.  When the woman spoke, her voice was gentle.  “I think it would be healthy for you, yes.”

In the corner, the  grandfather clock ticked away.  She felt each beat in the pit of her stomach, felt her body vibrate with the force of it.  She swallowed.  “I was… touching myself.”

“I see.”  The sound of a pen making a short mark on a clipboard.  “Thank you for admitting that.  And tell me, what did you see that night?”

“I got a better look.  I saw tiny fingers wrapped around my light cord.  They had wild black hair.  Tiny lips, painted red, curled up in a smile.  They were watching me.  WATCHING!  Enjoying the show.  I’m sure of it, I’m sure!”

The therapist clucked her tongue.  “That confirms my diagnosis.  Classical hysteria, manifesting through poorly mediated libido drive.  Likely stemming from sexual shame in early childhood brought on by overbearing parents.  Tell me about your mother.”

“No doctor!  It was real, I swear!  I knew you wouldn’t believe me, that no one would believe me.  That’s why the third time, I set a trap.”

“Oh dear.  Denial, retreat into fantasy.  I’m afraid we have our work cut out for us.”

“I almost caught her the third time.  I made sure to go really slow with myself.  Make lots of, um, you know, noises.  Put on a… a show for her.  And I knew they were there, I could hear them breathing.  I waited, waited until they got close.  Then, BAM!  I flipped on the lights, grabbed the little goldfish net I bought, and… oh boy, they looked so surprised!”

“I’m certain.”

Catherine sank back into her chair.  “But I spent too much time looking at them.  She was so pretty, and delicate.  Hair, neat and combed this time.  Bright green eyes.  Older than I expected.  They looked wise, and friendly, and….”  She laughed nervously.  “Now that I think, she looked like… you.”

“I see you’re having a breakthrough,” her therapist replied.  Catherine could actually hear the woman’s lips curling into a smile.  “But your time is up.”

Catherine tried to rise from her seat.  Her clothes were so heavy, the mug in her hands growing too big to hold.  She heard her therapist stand, and with slow, languid movements, the giantess came to stand before her.  Three times her size.  Then four.  Green eyes twinkling, with glee, and malice.

“I’m afraid I’m too close to this case to continue treatment.  Yet another case of countertransference.”  The woman opened her purse.  Catherine found herself still shrinking as she was lifted.  “Thankfully, with our professional relationship terminated, we can explore other options.”

Friday, September 25, 2020

Keep Dreaming

 Tags: NSFW, Giantess growth, Muscle growth, breast expansion, beautification, reality, systemic racism


We’re in the living room, and Kiara is growing, and she asks if I’m okay.

 

She’s frowning, and there are tears in her eyes.  Those tears are for me.  As if it’s my life that’s ruined.  As if this isn’t my fault.  I tell her not to worry, that it’s not too late, but she shakes her head.  Then she moans, and grows again.  Her head is almost to the ceiling now.  The scent of her is filling the apartment, making it hard to think.  I watch her biceps swell bigger, watch her chest grow until each breast is as big as my entire upper body, watch the sadness fill her eyes.    

 

She doesn’t want this.  Not anymore.  But I can’t make it stop.  I’m apologizing and she doesn’t say she forgives me, because it doesn’t occur to her to blame.  She asks if a part of me is still dreaming.  I say, it must, it must be, but I can’t wake up.  She knows.

 

Dreams.  I was having them for months.  Kiara, my petite little fiancĂ©.  But.  Bigger.  At first, I wasn’t ambitious about it, even in fantasy.  Making her just big enough that I could rest my chin on her head without bending, big enough that it was a challenge to sweep her into my arms.  Later, I made her my height, or a little less.  That seemed to make her happy.  Lately, she was big enough to step over skyscrapers.  


One thing was always the same in those dreams.  God, if she could’ve seen them.  What a one-dimensional character she became in my mind.  A chalk outline, colored in by unbridled and unstoppable lust.  She ached for me.  Yearned.  And at her size, she didn’t have to beg—she could take.

 

Then one night she’s holding me, and I’m not dreaming anymore.  Says I’d been talking in my sleep.  Moaning.  Kiara asks what I’d been dreaming about, and I’m too groggy to lie.  She laughs, and said yeah, I thought so.  


You kept calling me Goddess.

 

I’m embarrassed, but I want to know.  Does she like it, that word?  She doesn’t know.  But I can hear the coy smile on her lips, even if I can’t see it.  


I ask if she wants to try it on.

 

She pushes me, and I don’t resist.  Let her lay me back, let her stroke me.  In the dark I sense her stripping out of her panties, and I can smell how wet she is.  I’m still hard from my dream, from her hands on me, and Kiara crawls on top.  Tells me to say it.  Call me your Goddess.

 

I do, and I do, until I can’t because her thighs are clamped around my ears, and her body is rocking me against the headboard.  It isn’t words by then, but I’m still saying it.

 

I notice she’s was different, even that first night.  Of course.  But when the colors are inside the lines of your fantasy, you don’t question.  


Except one thing: she tastes different.  Darker, headier.  And there’s so much of it.  So I question, yeah, but only a little, because I’m trying not to drown, and I’m trying to worship.  And it’s good, it’s so good.      

 

It’s only later when I remember the impression of muscle she wasn’t supposed to have, as she squeezed my face between her thighs.  The weight that doesn’t belong to her, yet it forces me down.  Kiara is—was—tiny, and look, fifty inches or fifty feet, she’s my Goddess that night.  Even as she screams, clamps down too hard for me to breathe, and baptizes me from nose to navel, I don’t question.  Even when she lets me be the little spoon.

 

In the morning, I’m shocked and she’s serene.  Six whole inches, in one night!  She just shrugs, and tells me five four is a perfectly reasonable height for a woman, and I tell her that is hardly the point. 

 

She asks if I like it.  Then she poses for me.  Says she wants an informed opinion.  There are hard edges of new muscle when she folds her arms behind her back.  When she stands on tip toe, pretending to grow all over again, a shaft of sunlight hits her ochre cheek.  She smiles, because she knows it’s divine intervention.

 

Then she makes me take off my pants, right there in the kitchen.  Wants to see first hand how she’s won the argument.  Then she tells me to call her Goddess.

 

If you’re supposed to be a Goddess, how come you’re on your knees?

 

I think it, but I don’t say it.  This is Saturday.  It’s early on when we start, but by the time we tear ourselves apart from each other the sky is purpling and the cicadas are chirping.  Her stamina, my Lord.  Even when I flag she just lays beside me, moaning and touching herself and gently grinding against my hip.  A man can only take so much of that before he has to get involved again.

 

The dreams come back that night, stronger than ever.  Crisp, and real.  I swear I can touch her, taste her, smell her all over me.  Swear I can hear her voice too, and when I wake up in the dark I can still hear it because she’s whispering in my ear.  Something like.

 

You want me so much bigger, don’t you?  Want me to grow stronger, and sexier for you.  Yes, just like that.  Oh, I’m going to make you feel so good Kyle.  I promise. Just imagine it for me.  Just dream.

 

Then she laughs, and her voice is deeper, so much deeper.  She knows I’m awake.  Because it stopped.

 

The bedside lamp makes her shadow evil and enormous as she kneels over me.  She smiles, and says she’s sorry.  But she wanted it to happen again.  Wanted to see if she could control it.  When she stands, my head isn’t even up to her shoulder.  She wanted to be a proper Goddess for me, she explains.  None of this kind-of-pretty crap.  She wanted my dream to come true.  


Her arms are thick with muscle, her thighs toned and developed.  An Olympic athlete, but an impractical one—such a slim little waist, such wide and giving hips.  Her chest too big, too inviting.  Her hair’s longer.  Her skin clearer.  Her eyes unnaturally bright.

 

She hoped I wasn’t mad.  But, would I do her one favor?  Such a small thing?  


Would I call her Goddess?

 

My voice breaks with the weight of it.  So I say it twice.

 

Kiara is on me then, too fast, pinning me to the wall.  Lifting so she can kiss me without bending, and I’m saying it, I’m saying it over and over, and she’s smiling so big.  Says she wants to make me feel good, that she promises she’ll be gentle.  Her hand is on my cock.  Big, and soft, and impossibly good, and I’m lost in her, feel so tiny in her grasp.  I think how even if she was my size she would still be stronger than me, could probably still lift me like this, and then she’s laughing because I’ve already cum.

 

I’m sleepy, but she says she’s my Goddess, and I’m not done worshipping.  So I do, with lips, and tongue, and hands, until I recover enough to worship with other parts too.  She smells different.  Tastes different.  It isn’t thin and floral, the way it was when she was my sweet little Kiara.  Goddess is like a freshly tilled field after the first thunderstorm of spring, when dark things beneath it first begin to stir.  Goddess is the Earth.

 

I want to take her to breakfast on Sunday.  Then I want to take her to brunch.  Then the moon is rising, and I’m taking my first steps of the day anywhere other than the bedroom or the bathroom.  Kiara follows, ducking under the doorframe, the floorboards creaking under her feet.  Even a Goddess needs to eat.  The fridge is nearly empty, so dinner is a foraged patchwork.  She takes me straight to bed after.  Wordlessly, she takes the last bit of my stamina, all I can willingly offer.  Then she lets me lie still as her giant hands take everything else.  Then I can’t keep my eyes open.  She wishes me sweet dreams.

 

Monday dawned, and the woman beside me was too big for the bed.  She wanted to celebrate how she could rest her palm on the ceiling, how my head didn’t even reach her thumb-thick tits.  But my phone was dead, and we’d missed our alarm.  We hadn’t gone grocery shopping so there was no coffee.  Kiara could hardly fit in the shower, never mind her business casual.  I drove too fast while she hugged her knees to her chest, hunched over in our hatchback.  I dropped her off, then got chewed out for a no-call no-show.  


But Kiara’s day was worse.    


Security admitted that, yes, she resembled the employee in question.  Carefully checked their records, confirmed that, yes, Kiara Johnson works here, but is clearly listed as four ten in the employee database and not as some freakish amazon, huh, what do you know.  She was patient, mindful not to raise her voice, the same way she’d walked on eggshells around authority her whole life, but someone called the cops anyway.  


Things went downhill quick from there.  I was her phone call, but I didn’t learn that until I found my phone between crumpled sheets, and even then it had to charge before I saw the voicemail.  At least she had a cell to herself, she laughed, and her sad smile filled my rearview mirror as she tried to make herself small in the backseat.

 

She asked me not to dream tonight.  Begged me.  But I’m weak.

 

Another spurt, and head smacks into the ceiling.  Kiara winces, and holds my hand.  Tells me it’s going to be alright.  But I’m awake, and she’s still growing.  I can’t make it stop.  And she says it’s okay, that I’m going to be okay.

 

I always found her attractive, I tell her.  Even when she was tiny.  She says she knows.  Even as she’s swelling past ten feet, and her body is developing into a parody, the purest distilled essence of male want.  She asks if I still do.  Find her attractive, she means.  But I don’t answer, because we both know it’s a nonsense question.  Like asking if up is up.

 

She picks me up.  She’s sitting on the floor now, and she spreads me out across her lap.  Still trying to comfort me.  With those giant hands, with that body that is paradoxically soft and firm, thin and powerful.  I’m sorry, I say.  I’ve done this to her.  The fantasy is too strong.  I can’t pick reality anymore.  She just laughs, and shushes me, and runs that enormous hand between my thighs.  Cups me.  Tells me to say it for her.  One more time.

 

Goddess.

 

She moans softly, and hugs me closer, squeezing the breath from me, taking it like a little tribute.  The first of many, I think, but I still don’t know where that thought came from.  I don’t recognize her smell at all anymore.  It’s fecundity and the first blood of summer, and she asks if I want Goddess to make me feel good.  I say I do.  Her fingers are so delicate as they strip me.  Her fingers are so delicate as they take me between thumb and forefinger, and she’s stroking me, and I’m gasping for air.

 

Goddess asks how I want it.  In your mouth, please Goddess.  If I’m worthy.  It’s so high above me, getting higher all the time.  Goddess leans back against the wall.  Invites me to climb.  Past the chiseled stone of her twelve-pack, between breasts larger than her head.  Leaving a trail of eagerness on her torso as I struggle up her too-perfect body, and another as I slide back down again when my grip fails.  She smiles that sad smile.  And helps me ascend.  


Her mouth is so sweet and good on me.  Her tongue, between my legs, easily forcing them apart.  On my thighs and my balls and the base of my cock.  She’s growing too fast now, but I can’t stop.  I’m thrusting.  The fantasy is too strong.  When I call her Goddess for the last time, my voice doesn’t break.

 

She sets me on the couch, and pulls the blanket over me.  Pats me on the head.  She barely manages to crawl out the door, and I watch as another growth spurt hits, the strongest one yet, then she’s as tall as the house.  


I want to follow her.  I know I can’t.  


She bends, puts her face as low as she can, and looks at me through the window.  She smiles, but there’s something else in that smile now.  Something I don’t recognize.

 

Keep dreaming, she tells me.

 

She’s growing again.  So Kiara stands.  And walks into the night. 

 


Saturday, September 5, 2020

Magic Remote - A VR Size-Changing Playground

 A few years ago, I became an early adopter of VR.  I did this, specifically because I hoped there would be sizeplay experiences available.  The closest thing to the realization of the fantasy - until we get Holodecks, of course.  There were a few options available, but nothing that allowed the kind of open play and customization I wanted.  So I set out to build my own.


Magic Remote v1.1

Use the remote to modify your partner, and explore whatever you'd like in scene. Alter her size, curves, and athleticism. Changes take roughly one minute to get to the maximum range, so place the stylus down on a button and watch the fun. If you're into giantesses or tiny ladies, this is the scene for you.


Do I need VR for this?

No!  Just a PC.  See step 3 below, there's a Desktop Mode.


How do I get this game?

Magic Remote is a scene  which plays inside the Virt-a-Mate VR environment.  It's an amazing hub for creating, and experiencing, pornography in virtual reality.  There are literally thousands of user-created scenes uploaded to a central website, easily searchable by tags.  To play my scene, you ONLY need the teaser version, which comes in at a lean $2/month.  This also unlocks content from all around the community.  Higher tiers allow you to customize Magic Remote to your heart's content - or even make your own.

1. Sign on as a patron of Meshed VR: https://www.patreon.com/meshedvr/  You'll get a key in your email.  Download and install the program.

2. Download Magic Remote v1.1  Extract the zip file, and copy both the "Custom" and "Saves" folders. Go to your VaM root directory, and paste. If prompted to overwrite files, click no. Open the scene as a normal save file. It looks like VaM doesn't allow custom poses in packages at this time - this is a simple little work-around. Please DM me on Twitter if you have a better solution.

3. Open VaM.  By default it opens in VR, but there should also be a file in the VaM directory "VaM (Desktop Mode)" which you can open instead.  Press Open Scene, scroll down.  You'll see Magic Remote.

4. VaM is a complicated program.  Feeling confused?  Check out the wiki!  https://www.reddit.com/r/VirtAMate/wiki/index


How Does This Game Work?

There will be a remote in front of you.  Press the buttons, watch what happens.  Changes take about one full minute to go from the minimum level, to the maximum.  You can leave the stylus depressing the button, and explore while your partner goes through their transformation.  The scene is full of things to discover.  Look around!


I Found a Bug

There's a few.  VaM isn't really meant to support this sort of thing, after all.  I've spent a long time trying to make it as stable as possible, but it's not perfect.  Rapid size change can lead to clipping or other issues.  If there's a serious problem, just reload the scene.  If you find other bugs, feel free to drop me a DM.


I Have Ideas For Improvements

Tell me!  I've got a few myself.



Tuesday, September 1, 2020

Inherit the Kingdom

 The following was my entry to the July 2020 Size Riot story contest, #HistoricalJuly20.  The piece comes in at exactly 2000 words, for a 2000 word contest maximum, which I believe is what the kids call "sweaty."  


The story won first place for Sexiest-in-Show, as well as "Story which made you want to read everything the author has written."  Of these two wonderful compliments from the community, I think I'm slightly prouder of the latter.  Quite a few people punted on the "Sexy" category this time around, but there were an enormous number of brilliant and innovative pieces.  Plenty of things that made ME wonder just who exactly had written THAT, and where I could find more of it.


I got lots of lovely feedback, but there was one recurring theme: people seemed confused as to exactly when this story was taking place.  What its place was in history, in other words.  This... isn't a great problem to have, when you're writing for a history story contest.  Early versions of this story made the period and setting more explicit.  I ended up cutting much of this to come in under the length limit, without a single word to spare.  I also originally had more period-appropriate dialogue--this I eventually decided just made the story hard to understand.  So here you have a simple, elegant story, that I'll admit missed a bit of the point.  Thus, at this risk of telling, and not showing....



Inherit the Kingdom


Setting: Boston, 1660


Tags: F/m, shrinking, NSFW, dubious consent, non-consensual, mouthplay, insertion, entrapment



She was awake long that night, listening to the evensong of birds outside her window.  She was lost in thought and fantasy, and so at first took the gentle knock at her window as but a figment of an overworked imagination.  But then, small hands pressed against the glass latticework, and a tiny, perfect man stepped inside.

 

“Faith Wheelwright?  How pleased I am to make your acquaintance.”  No more than a foot in height, he bowed, then hopped, uninvited onto her bedside table.

 

This was a dream, for certain.  Yet a fair dream, and why not indulge it?  Faith glanced over her shoulder, checking the door was shut firm, then leaned down to get a better look at him.  “What cheer, little friend?  Pray keep your voice down.  Father doesn’t approve I have guests at this hour.”

 

 “I should think not.  A woman of your virtue, entertaining a male caller?  What scandal!  Especially as I am here to steal you away.”  He gave her a roguish grin.  “Richard du Loc, at your service.”

 

“Richard du Loc.”  She pursed her lips, trying the feel of it.  “A knightly name, if I remember my fairy tales.  But too grand for you, coming to me like a little thief in the night.  And to come unclothed?  For shame!  Nay, I shant call you by such a title.  How dost thou feel about… ‘Dick.’”  She gave him a knowing look.

 

He moved to cover himself, and managed to look bashful.  “You rightfully mock my appearance, good lady.  Both in stature, and undress.  I came in haste.  The draft I took was meant to reduce my form.  I thought nothing of attire, until it was too late.  I do beg your forgiveness.”

 

“My ire is matched by the size of the offense,” Faith replied.  “From what I can see, there is very little to forgive.”

 

The little man coughed.  “The night is cold.  It is a temporary condition, I can assure you.”

 

“Temporary?  That is well.  I had wondered how you meant to ‘steal me away.’”  She reached out a fingertip, and poked playfully at his little bicep.  “Good strong arms you have, Dick du Lac.  Yet I doubt in your ability to carry me across the threshold.”

 

Again, that delightfully roguish smile.  “The threshold, indeed.  Then you have seen through to my intentions.  I must again ask you forgive my impertinence.  I have come to ask you to be my wife.”

 

She laughed, an unrestrained bark of a sound, far too loud.  They both winced at it.  In the silence that followed, they listened as the house creaked in the autumn wind.  In the hearth, the last log of the evening cracked and smoldered.  Nothing stirred.

 

Faith leaned closer, whispering low.  “Do you know my predicament, Mr. du Loc?”

 

The little man nodded.

 

“Then you know I am promised to another.”

 

“Not so!”  He rushed to the edge of her table, fist held high.  “Two banns have been published for the congregation, without my lady’s presence or consent!  Three are required.  Until next Sunday, when none have objected to your union, you are promised to none!”

 

“And will you object, Dick?”  She gave him a sour smile.  “Even if you could raise your tiny voice to be heard.  Nay, none will object.  My father has waited long to have me wed.”

 

“I know it.  Even myself a poor traveling merchant, I have heard your story.  How you have twice before been promised, to men great and noble.”

 

“Is my tale such a byword, to be shared in every tavern?  I had hoped that my shame might be private.”  Faith gave a tragic sigh.

 

“I must tell you what is said of your newest suitor.  A rake.  Unworthy of a visible saint such as yourself, the purest and most righteous of women.  It is even said he caused the disappearance of those other two who sought your hand.  That by murder and treachery he seeks your bed.”

 

Faith drew herself up, letting herself tower over him, regally pulling the blankets about her.  “I am not a fool, Mr. du Loc.  I have heard the rumors.  Yet what am I to do?  Nothing that is holy could prevent our marriage.”

 

He held up a timid, placating hand.  “I know you are not foolish, Faith Wheelwright!  Forgive me, yet again!  But if nothing holy may save you, mightn’t I suggest… the unholy?”

 

Silence.  Outside, a whip-por-will called.  Faith scarcely breathed.  She lowered herself to him.  Close enough that she could smell the sweat of a hard day’s labor on the little man, see the streak of soot upon his brow.  “Speak.”

 

“I confess, ‘twas nothing holy that brought me to you in this state.  To speak with you thus, I stuck a pact with a consort of the devil himself.  Yet I so longed to be in your presence, fair lady, and if my plan be to your liking, we may yet find salvation.”

 

Faith wet her lips, mouth suddenly dry.  For a moment, it was as if she could taste him.  “I will hear your plan.”

 

“This very night I made a deal with a young woman, a wicked fiend, yet a member of your very church.  With her aid I stand before you thus.  I thought of no other way to meet in private, and offer my hand.”  He held his tiny palm out to her, imploring.

 

“Let us say you might earn it.”  Faith reached out her smallest finger, and placed the tip of it into his hand.

 

He beamed.  “Four potions I acquired, with my meager salary.  One robbed me of my size.  Another will return it, when our night is ended.  A third I will arrange to deliver onto you, tomorrow at sunset.”

 

Faith leaned closer still, lips nearly upon him now.  “Will it make me small, as you?  For you to carry me away in your pocket, safe and secure from those who would harm me?”

 

The tiny man seemed surprised.  “Indeed, dear lady.  The journey by ship is long to the Chesapeake, yet in my care I will keep you as a little queen, your every need met, until I might return you to normal.  Then, together as man and wife, we shall put this unholy business behind us.”

 

“Such sin is beyond forgiveness.  We will surely be damned for all time.”  Faith shook her head.  “Yet, I am with you, Dick.  For the salvation you offer, I will throw myself into eternal hellfire.”

 

He took her giant finger with both hands, and pressed his lip to her knuckle.  “We may yet be forgiven.  Satan, the great dragon, is mighty.  But in our devotion the lord gives strength to slay him.”

 

“Then perhaps I should test your devotion, oh smallest of knights.”  Faith grinned mischievously.  “Though tonight, let I be your dragon.”  Her hands closed around his waist.

 

“My lady!”

 

He was warm, as he struggled in her grasp.  “Doth my knight fear me?  I do not deny, I am towering, and hungry.  Never was there a greater dragon.  Yet for your cunning and bravery, tonight I might also be your garden.”

 

Faith watched as her words took effect.  Saw him tremble, and then relax.

 

“Would you explore the garden, worthy knight?”

 

He answered in moans, as her lips found his soft, bare, skin.  Tasting him, like forbidden fruit fallen ripe from the tree.  He hesitated, then opened to her.  Little legs spreading with ease.  His tiny forehead rest upon her brow, his hands upon her temples, as she kissed him.

 

“Good lady, are you certain about this?”

 

“Call me ‘good lady’ no more.  I am Faith to you.  Faith be the name of thy garden.”  She lifted him higher, letting her lips part.  For but a moment, she gave him succor upon his most sensitive part.  He whimpered, grasping her hair in little clumps, and groaned when she pulled away again.

 

“Repeat your lesson,” she breathed.

 

“Faith,” he panted.  “My garden be Faith….”

 

She smiled, and gave a reward for his studiousness.  Then, lying back, she lifted the blankets and set him upon her chest.  The night was chill, yet as was her habit, she wore no bedclothes.  She let her body warm him, let him take comfort in her.  He began to move upon her breast, and in the darkness she bit her cheek to remain silent.  Faith let her legs rub together in anticipation, knew that the scent of her desire must neigh overwhelm the little knight. 

 

He explored her with slow, worshipful care.  Her body grew hot, and her need for him went wild.  At last she could wait no longer.  She took him in her hands, and beneath the blankets, helped him to descend.  With instruction gentle yet candid, she told what she required. 

 

He tended her.  Faith found herself unable to fully silence her cries of exhalation.  Yet any who heard may have thought it but the mournful song of a passing night bird.  And her knight was worthy to his task.  As he entered her garden in full, she wondered that she had ever thought him too small.  His size was perfection.  Divine providence.  Thus, she bloomed for him.  

 

Thus, she burned.

 

After, he lay beside her.  He smiled with the wonder of a man who has caught a glimpse of paradise.  Faith favored him, holding him to her breast, as though he were a man in full. 

 

“One thing yet troubles me, Dick.”

 

“Do you say so?  And please, may I not be Richard to you?”

 

“Forgive me.  Richard.  You struck a deal for witchcraft, from one within my congregation?  I pray, tell me who?  If we expose them before we flee this place, it may go far toward our salvation.”

 

The spent little man looked grave.  “Aye, from one high upon the very body of your church.  A devious lass, by name of Agatha Vane.  A mean and hungry look she gave to my request, and though she prodded me for my intentions, I would not say.”

 

Faith shook her head sadly.  “Agatha.  Poor dear.  She never learned her lessons well.  We shall have to destroy her for this.”

 

“As you say, Faith.”

 

“In the first place, it is forbidden, offering service to outsiders.  Rumor may spread, putting all my sisters in danger.”

 

In his stupor, he was long in responding.  “Your… sisters?”

 

“In the second, deceiving you was petty and cruel.  An antidote?  For your condition?  My sincerest apologies, my grand little knight, but no such exists.  You must forgive me, for I, too, have deceived you by silence.  Yet my aims were just, and once you were delivered onto me at this size, I had but one recourse: to test you.”

 

He tried to stand, but his body was lethargic from his efforts in the garden.  She caught him, adoring yet firm, and held him aloft.

 

“Yet Agatha’s greatest and most unforgivable sin was her poor craftsmanship!  Though I am not sorry in the least to have met you at such a great size, her work was shoddy indeed to leave you so large.  Ah, however am I to keep you hidden?”

 

Faith pulled open the drawer.  Two tiny, masculine voices screamed up from the darkness, begging their salvation.  She ignored them, and withdrew a small, red vial.  Frowning regretfully, she allowed a single drop to anoint her little knight.  He screamed, and began to dwindle in her arms.

 

“Nay, worry not.  You have proven yourself tonight.  I will not forsake you, as I have the others.  Faith will keep you, and cherish you.  You may end tonight smaller by far than the rest in my charge.  This, I cannot help.  But you shall be the greatest.  And wait only until Sunday!  I promise you, when my new husband joins, I will make him smaller still.  For your virtuous deeds, I shall give you lordship and dominion over all.”  She kissed him once, and set him in her kingdom.

Thursday, July 23, 2020

A New Toy - Commission

The following is a commission I completed for the wonderful Elle Largesse (@mightytinygiant)  Her own work, which ranges from #KinkyScribbles of only a few hundred words up to long form think-pieces about size and sexuality, can be found at http://ellelargesse.com/

Tags: Shrinking Woman, NSFW, Gas lighting, dubious consent, non-consensual, fear, control, pain, emotional heart ache, insertion, polyamory

4572 words




A New Toy


She’s had this dream before.  Her bedroom door is opening.  There are footsteps on the floor.  Then he’s pulling back the covers, sliding into bed beside her. 

She pretends to be asleep. 

He touches her shoulder, presses his chest against her back.  Strong, rough hands.  Exploring her body.  Fingers lifting the hem of her night shirt.  He’s reaching up to cup her breast.  Hot breath against her ear. 

She’s moaning.  Arching her back toward him, encouraging.  Eyes closed, trying to hold it, to savor the fantasy.  The dream can’t last much longer.  She takes his hand, squeezes it, wanting him so bad, hoping he’ll never leave her….

“Lara.”

Her eyes flutter open.  It should fade.  It doesn’t.  Suddenly, it’s all too real.  His hands, his body, his presence.  His whiskers against his cheek.  The scent of alcohol on his breath.

“Carl?” she hisses, in the dark.  “What are you doing?”

His hand slides lower, presses to her pubic mound.  Massages her so, so gently.  “Want me to stop?”

She doesn’t.  It’s the last thing she wants.  She knows this, and knows he knows it too.  But….

“What about Mandy?  I don’t… is she okay with this?”

He chuckles, takes her earlobe between his teeth.  Gives her a little tug.  She’s melting. 

“Mandy is never going to find out.”

“Carl, no.  This isn’t right.  We’ve talked about this.  I like you.  But I can’t… I won’t….”  She’s pushing him away, but her heart’s not in it, she’s half hoping he’ll press the issue.

“Hey,” he says, in that honey-sweet voice, and she freezes. 

“Hey.”  Her heart, pounding, too loud.  The sense of his body, her need for him, overwhelming every other thought.

“This is all going to be okay.  Better than okay.  I promise.”  His nose tickles her ear.  She can feel him smiling.  “Do you believe me?”

She does.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“What?” she breathes, relaxing into his arms, the battle already lost.

“Give yourself to me.  Will you do that, Lara?”

He’s palming her breast, grinding himself against her hip, thrusting suggestively.  “Yes!”  The word is practically torn from her, and the relief of it, of relinquishing whatever comes next, makes her feel giddy.

“Good.”  He kisses her, not quite on the lips.  “Then.  Here’s what’s going to happen.  Lara.  You.  Are going to get.  Smaller.”

She doesn’t understand.  She feels her mouth opening, trying to ask, but all that escapes is a moan.  She’s too warm.  Tingling, like her foot is asleep, only it’s her entire body.  His hands move again, stroking her, massaging her breast, and his hand is so big.  It shouldn’t be this big.

He’s looming over her.  More than a head taller.  Hugging, but it’s different now, like he’s compressing her, forcing her down. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, and a giant hand parts her thighs.  Her pj’s, they’re so baggy, gigantic on her.  He’s pulling them down, getting them out of his way, and he laughs.  “Smaller,” he says, again, and that fading sensation of warmth comes back, stronger than before.  She’s sinking, receding.

“What are you doing to me?” she tries to say, but only the first word escapes.  The rest is stifled as a rough finger presses to her vulva.  She moans, feels it expand as he strokes in a long, slow circle.  Feels so good, can’t fight.    Everything so heavy.  She swallows, finds words, forces them out.  “No.  This is… you can’t be shrinking me.  This is wrong!”  Her voice sounds so tiny, so weak.  The squeak of a mouse.

“Smaller,” he insists, and her body helplessly obeys, hips snapping toward him like a puppet on a string.

Carl is sitting up.  Pulling her, lifting like she weights nothing, and then she’s in his lap.  She’s so small, not even half his size.  He finishes undressing her, not patient about it, and she gasps and pants and doesn’t fight.  Lara’s head is spinning.  She can’t make her eyes focus.  The room is too big, the room is too big.

“Mandy,” Lara whimpers.  “What about Mandy?”

“You’ll see her soon.”

She doesn’t have time to process this; he’s pushing her forward.  She falls and doesn’t catch herself, lands on her face and knees on her giant bed.  Then he’s spreading her legs.  Then he’s opening his pants.  Then he’s inside her.  She squeals, God it’s huge, more than she can stand.  There are tears, some of pleasure, she’s weeping as she grits her teeth, pushes back against him with all her might, wanting it deeper.  Gasping and moaning and—

“Smaller.” 

She screams. 

He’s filling her, ever last millimeter, impossibly big, and bigger, and bigger with each thrust, until he’s finally too big, and he’s laughing at her withered cry as he pulls out.  She doesn’t have time to catch her breath before…

“Smaller.”

And then he’s fisting her, but that’s his smallest finger, his SMALLEST finger!  He’s going to wear her like a ring, a tiny piece of jewelry, a worthless bauble, but then he pulls out.  Carl gives her ass a demeaning little slap with a hand the size of her torso.

“Stand up.”

She does, somehow, panting and ringing like a bell.  Her legs are unsteady.  Even though he’s sitting, she’s looking up into his eyes.  Tiny, and afraid, but she needs him now.  She knows she should run, or cry, or beg, but if she does she’ll only beg for more, she knows it.

“Smaller.”

She moans her thank you.

He laughs.  It isn’t a kind laugh.  He reaches for her, runs his finger over her body.  Questing.  Searching.  Her shoulders, her throat.  She stands tall for him, endures it, accepts his inspection.  His fingertip is wet, smells familiar.   It’s hers, she realizes, her juices on his finger, but there’s so absurdly much,  so much more than she can possibly make at this size, a memento of how much she’s lost.  He shares it with her, lets it press against her lips, and she licks him clean, beyond resisting, beyond dignity, only wanting him, wanting him so badly.  He’s stroking, spreading her wetness over grape-sized tits, over her soft tummy, as she moans and whimpers and pleads with her eyes.

“I think you’re ready.  Let’s go see Mandy.”

He takes her, lifts her.  She’s a doll to him.  Not even a foot tall.  “Carl, what are you doing to me?” Lara manages, even as she hugs her bare little body against him, can’t stop her hips from thrusting against him.  “Why is this happening?”

“We’re going to see Mandy.”

He shifts her like an awkward parcel, presses her face against his shoulder, makes her spread her little legs.  Her tiny hands grip savage-hard into his flannel, breathing in the scent of musk and cheap scotch, letting it be her reality.  She screams as he tries to penetrate her.  It’s too big, can’t fit, hopeless, but he doesn’t know that, or doesn’t care.  He’s forcing it, and she’s shrieking encouragement, wants it, wants to please him.

“Quiet,” he orders, and she’s silent for him, little hiccups of pleasure the only sound that escape as something gives, and that giant finger is inside her now.  He carries his little Lara-dolly through the darkened house, and she holds her breath, shaking, her tears too small to even soak his shirt.

She knows where they are, but it’s distant, disconnected.  Mandy’s room.  The idea that this is a place she knows, that it’s her apartment, is too big for her mind to wrap around.  How could anyone her size belong here? 

The door opens, and the lights are down low in Mandy’s room.  The scent of her roommate, overwhelming in the enclosed space.  She recognizes that smell, from when she’s interrupted Mandy fooling around on the couch, or walked past her door and heard Carl’s low, intimate voice from beneath.  But the smell is stronger, so much stronger.

Mandy is a giantess.  Naked and sweating atop the covers.  She’s breathing hard, arching her back in a hypnotic rhythm Lara can’t help but watch.  Like she’s observing a force of nature, a power beyond her comprehension.  The platonic ideal of unearthly desire.  It makes whatever lust Lara contains feel small and pathetic.

Mandy’s perfect, naked body turns toward them.  A buzzing sound, almost too low to hear, grows suddenly loud.  Her giant hand withdrawing from between her thighs, something hard and plastic glistening in the low orange light.  Lara wants to see, but then she’s moving, falling, as Carl moves her from the honored place at his shoulder, abruptly tucks her shamefully behind his back.  Nothing but a dirty little secret. 

“Having fun with your toy?” he asks, in that low seductive growl of his, that could make her wet even from halfway across the apartment.

“God, yes.  Can I cum, Carl?  Please?  It’s been almost an hour, I can’t keep edging myself.  Please, I can’t take this, I’m going to die!”

He laughs, and squeezes Lara a bit too hard.  “It’s almost time.  Put your vibrator away.  I brought you a NEW toy.”

It all snaps into place in a horrible moment, what’s about to happen.  Her euphoria fades, and she feels the reality of it, trapped in a nightmare.  Lara struggles against the giant hand, kicks, squirms, finds her voice and screams.  “Mandy—it’s me!  Lara!  Carl did something to me, he shrank me, he….”

“Did you hear something?” Mandy sounds confused.  The springs of her old twin mattress squeak.  “I thought I heard a voice.”

Carl’s giant hand squeezes too hard, a warning.  He presses his thumb to her mouth, clamping it down against her teeth, until she can hardly breathe.  She struggles.  He tightens.  She stops.

“Just prepping the toy for you.  No peeking, my love.  Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.  Turn off the lights.  Then lay down, and close your eyes.  Time to make you feel wonderful.”

His tone, heartbreakingly gentle and tender.  Speaking to the woman he loves, who was so much greater than Lara in every way, even before all this.  Carl loves Mandy, and only Mandy.  Lara’s silly infatuation with him, all her desires for something more—it was always hopeless.  All his promises these last months, his gentle words, his offers to intercede.  He was never doing more than toying with her. 

Carl reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, puts on something soft and seductive.  Mood music.  Mandy gives a happy little sigh, spreads out for him, and Carl’s giant hand relaxes.  In an instant she knows the music is meant for her.  Meant to drown her out if she screams again. 

He’s lowering her, now.  Toward Mandy.  Even in the dark, Lara can see how wet she is—an absolute mess, all the way from the cusp of her navel, halfway down her thighs.  Even this part of her is perfect.  Her mound freshly trimmed with carefully attention to detail, all marks of her roommate preparing for a very special evening.  Her vulva a happy shade of red, her fist-sized clitoris pulsing and throbbing for attention.  Smooth, and taut, and eager.  “Please, please,” she’s groaning over and over, wiggling herself like a lure, trying to draw him in.

Lara fights, tries to break free from his grip, even as he lowers her, turns her, presses her face-first against Mandy’s soft, silky lips.  Howling, gasping, until her arms find purchases against Mandy’s perfectly smooth legs.  She manages to push away a quarter of an inch, enough to breathe, but then Carl’s thumb is on the back of her head, forcing her back down.   

“Ooo, what an interesting sensation.”  Mandy giggles, her pussy giving a happy little twitch, and Lara struggles to escape.  “I’ve never felt one vibrate quite like it before.  Not the most pleasant I’ve ever felt, but I like it!  It’s kind of big though, isn’t it?”

“It’s big.  Too big if you ask me.”  Carl turns the tiny woman just enough, so his face fills her vision.  He’s smirking, and Lara sees what’s coming, shields her face, holds her breath.  “Well.  One interesting feature of this toy… is that we can make it… smaller.”

“No!” Lara screams, feeling the too-pleasant heat, the euphoric tingling, as her body instantly complies with Carl’s command.  Inches melt away.  Her roommate’s giant vulva grows and grows beneath her.  Arms spread wide, but her grip is slipping against Mandy’s slick inner thigh, feels herself slipping lower, everything so slippery, like falling into quicksand, and worse, she can’t fight that lust, that part of her likes this.

“Oh wow.  That feels amazing!”  Mandy’s voice suddenly deeper, huskier.  Her titanic roommate gently thrusts her hips, testing, exploring the sensation, and Lara is almost thrown off until Carl grabs her, presses her back to Mandy’s lips, holds her there with two fingers against her back.  “Whatever you just did, I liked it.  Please Carl, do that again.”

“No, Mandy no!”  she wants to scream, but her mouth is full, Mandy’s juices so thick and sweet.  “Don’t say that, don’t make him shrink me!”  She thinks it, but even this feels weak, a hateful lie when the rest of her can’t stop wanting this.

She’s face-first against Mandy’s clit now, screaming, but all it’s doing is making her giant roommate gasp and moan.  “Whatever you say, my love.  After all, the toy’s only purpose is to pleasure you.  It isn’t good for anything else.  Smaller.”

She tries to fight it, she really does, tries to make herself not want this, not obey, but her body is traitorous, a creature of Carl’s, no agency of her own.  Sliding helplessly down Mandy’s sex as she dwindles smaller, and smaller, can’t spread her arms even as wide as her labia now. 

Carl watches clinically, then nods.  “I think that’s about the perfect size.”

“I’ve never… ah!  Heard of a sex toy that you can make smaller like that.”  She can hear the abandon in Mandy’s voice, the need.  Irrational, beyond thinking about anything but the ache between her legs, the desire for more.

Lara knows that fighting is only bringing her roommate more pleasure.  She fights anyway, as Carl pins her arms to her sides, runs her feet up and down the length of Mandy, and the giantess moans as Lara kicks.  Then slowly, deliberately, he slips her inside.  To her knees, and out again.  Then, to her waist.  He makes her teensy little breasts slide and flick against the rough flesh of Mandy’s g-spot, as wide as her entire torso.  Then, all the way, into darkness.  The cum in her mouth is thicker now, like melted butter.  It’s in her eyes, in her nose.

“Fuck… fuck that’s really good!”  The words rumble through Lara’s body, her goddess of a roommate making her body quake with nothing more than a word.  “Can… can you make it… just a bit bigger?  I’ll cum if you do, I’m so close, please Carl please?”

Carl makes her twist, rolling her over and over inside Mandy, until she’s looking up at him upside down from inside her roommate’s vagina.  The evil giant gives Lara a patronizing touch on the chin, his eyes bigger than her whole head, boring into her.  He wants to savors his next words, she can tell. 

“No.  The toy can’t get bigger.  Not ever again.”  He takes a deep breath.  “It can only get… smaller.”

Lara sobs, and moans, and shrinks, feels Mandy’s lips growing slack around her.  She’s too small now to even be a proper pussy toy.

“Aw!  Well that’s disappointing.  I was just starting to enjoy it.  Get something else then, please?  I’m so close, and that one doesn’t feel good anymore.”

“Don’t be too hasty.”  Carl is grinning, his teeth so big, so white.  “The toy has other uses.”

Lara feels him pulling her out, she slips out too easy, Mandy’s lips hardly even gripping her aching little body.  Outside it’s so cold.  She shivers, clings to Carl’s giant hand for warmth even as she despises him, not much bigger than his index finger.  He watches her, amused.  This is getting him off.  More than anything else tonight.  Taking away her size, her dignity.  Taking everything she has left.  It’s like a game for him. 

It’s always been a game.

Mandy is making frustrated mewling noises.  Carl turns the tiny woman, using two fingers to force her thighs as far apart as they’ll go.  And suddenly kneeling, straddling Mandy’s clit, looking up at Carl’s giant, grinning face.

“Oh!  Oh I like that!”  Mandy’s tone is sharp, insistent. 

“Yeah?  I thought you would.”  Carl’s tree-trunk fingers are on her.  One on each shoulder, squeezing.  One on each ankle, holding them together.  “Spread your legs for me,” he commands.

“Like this?” Mandy replies, and Carl rolls his eyes, making sure the little toy knows the instruction is meant for her.

Lara obeys.  What else can she do?    

His gaze heavy, he pulls her down, and down, over the crest of Mandy’s vulva.  She feels the giant jewel of her roommate’s clitoris pressing between her thighs.  Feels it pulsing and twitching, feels the titaness moaning beneath her.  The slick bundle of nerves shifts against her, presses to Lara’s womanhood.  Carl pulls harder on her ankles, and Lara feels it slip, shrieks as it forces its way inside her.  Filling her.  Enormous.  Bigger and thicker than any cock she’s seen, but so soft, so smooth, and throbbing gently as Mandy grinds against her.  There’s no cruelty in it.  Only lust. 

Lara starts to moan.

“Fuck!  Oh my fucking God!  I’m so close!”

“Yeah?  You want to cum, love?  Want me to make you cum?”

“Please, fucking please Carl!  The toy feels so good, I can’t hold back, God….”

“The toy feels good, huh?”  He lowers himself, on his hands and knees at the edge of the bed, a devote worshiper kneeling before an altar, Mandy his goddess, Lara his offering.  “Just remember,” he whispers, his voice deadly quiet.  “It isn’t the toy that’s making you cum.  It’s me.  Who’s making you cum, sweetie?  Say it.”

“Carl!” Mandy says at once, but he’s implacable, staring down at the gasping and shaking little toy.

“Say my name.”

“Carl!” the giantess howls.  “Stop teasing me, please.  Carl!  Carl!  Carl!”

He spreads the toy’s legs wide, as wide as they’ll go.  His tongue lolls out slowly.  An inch away from Lara’s chest, it’s so warm, the heat of it radiating over her, dripping with hot saliva.  She watches it follow the hot arc of Mandy’s lips, watches it drop a millimeter before it reaches her, feels the hateful sting of need as he pulls away from her again.

Carl carefully articulates the words.  “Say.  My.  Name.”

“Carl,” Lara hears herself whimper, even as the word is drowned out in the scream of her roommate.

The tongue descends.  Traces a long, elegant path, parting Mandy’s lips.  Approaching, like some monstrous predator from the deepest ocean.  The giantess groans as he spreads her labia open, as the tongue comes closer, and closer, and then it’s on Lara, too.  Pressing, massaging, seeking.  Somehow it finds the miniscule pinprick button of her clit.  Pathetic, tiny, but no less capable.  She grasps the tongue with both hands as she screams his name again, tries to pull it down where she wants it, tries to lift herself toward it, but he’s too strong.  It goes exactly where he wants it, and nowhere else. 

Again up the length of Mandy’s vulva, the giantess’s cries growing in pitch.  Again, between Lara’s thigh, straight to the hard little nub that makes her scream, and shake, and lose herself.  A speck, a mote, lost on an ocean of pleasure, caught between two Gods, allowed by some accident to partake in the barest fraction of their pleasure, and even that more than she can bear.

Mandy’s clit is throbbing harder inside her.  Growing harder, and hotter.  Pounding like a jackhammer.  She feels the hood of it pulling back, and back, sliding wetly against her ass.  Carl’s tongue, rougher now, moving faster.  Both women screaming his name, in unison, as he brings them together.  Until finally, she feels the Goddess beneath her give way, and her body helplessly responds to the cue of the much larger woman, even her orgasm not her own. 

Carl laughs, accepting his tribute.

Lara can’t catch her breath, can’t stop shaking, can’t make herself stop crying.  Carl’s giant face, smug, too close to escape.  Mandy’s body, warm and present beneath her, rising and falling with each breath.  The echoing sensations of afterglow, as her body tries to return to normalcy, tries to make everything okay again, in harsh dissonance to her new reality.  She feels like she’s going to be sick. 

Carl pinches each of Lara’s little palms between thumb and forefinger, so delicate, lifting her like a tiny ballerina.  Mandy’s colossal clit holds her in place for a moment, then it exits with a sudden pop.  She cries out, her vulva throbbing painfully as Carl lifts her higher.

“God.  That toy was incredible.  You were incredible!”  Mandy starts to sit up, but Carl eases her back down, making intimate little shushing noises.  “The way it was squeezing me, vibrating like it was alive—I’ve never felt anything like it before.  Where did you get that toy anyway?”

Carl’s eyes seem to burn, as he appraises the trembling little woman laying across his palm.  “Oh, this?  It was just lying around.  You wouldn’t believe how easy it was to acquire.  Or how cheap.”

Lara wants to hide, wants to disappear, to shrink away to nothing.  How had she ever convinced herself it was love, what she felt for him.  That he might feel it too.  It’s clear now.  He wanted her heart, but just to know she would give it.  To take it from her, wear it like a medal on his chest.  And even now, with his conquest won, she can see he’s getting bored of her.

“Hey.  Mandy.”  His voice is so soft, so kind.  Lara can feel microscopic tears welling in the corners of her eyes.  “I really want to fuck you.”

“Yeah?”  Her sequoia thighs tense eagerly in the dark.  “I want that, too.  Are you… going to use the toy again?”

His hand squeezes shut around her, rough, like he’d rather not be holding her anymore.  “No.  We’re done with it.  Single use only.  Here, give me a minute.  I’m going to throw it in the trash.”

Lara is seized with animal panic, but there’s nowhere to go, no way out.  She’s so weak, can’t even make herself fight, can’t even scream.

The mattress springs squeak, and she hears her roommate moving, flinches instinctively at the sheer knowledge of her immensity in motion.  “Can I see it first?  Please.  I’m really curious what it looks like.  I can’t imagine what could possibly have made me feel that good.”

Carl’s hand tightens dangerously.  Suddenly light is filtering through his fingertips.  “Mandy, turn it off.  Lie back down.”

“No, come on.  Let me see?  You said tonight was all about me, and I want to see.  So…?”  She giggles playfully. 

There is horrendous motion, as Carl tries to keep her away, but she’s insistent.  Then it’s much too bright, and Carl’s face is snarling down at her.  She can see the word on his lips, read his intention before, he even forms it.  He’s going to shout it, scream it in her face, make her too small to see, take away everything.  “SMALL-“

A giant feminine hand slaps at his cheek.  She feels herself falling, falling, then something soft grabs her from the air.  Then Mandy is staring down at her, face soft and giant as the moon, cradling her in both hands.

“Lara?  No.  Is that… is that you?”

This giantess, this angel, this goddess, is looking at her.  Scared.  Confused.  But so, so kind.  Lara reaches for her, trying to touch her, like trying to touch the face of God, wanting the release, wanting the Grace.  But then it’s too much.  The darkness edges in at the corners of her vision.  Everything goes black.

She isn’t aware of time passing, isn’t aware of anything, until she feels heavenly warmth on her face, smells something sweet and fruity.  Apricots. 

She blinks.

“It’s okay.  You’re safe.  Don’t try to stand up.  But, can you show me you understand?”

Weakly, Lara lifts her hand, waves it.  They aren’t real apricots.  It’s artificial.  Waxy.  Candles.  She bought them for Mandy last Christmas.  Scented.  That explains the heat too.  She groans, rolling toward the sound of breathing.

Mandy is there.  Smiling, tentatively.  Too big.  Too big. 

“Don’t be scared.  I won’t hurt you.  Um, I’m going to pick you up now, so we can talk.  Okay?”

Lara hesitates, then nods.  Mandy is so gentle.  Her hands soft, the faint scent of lavender moisturizer.  “He’s gone, okay?  You’re safe now.  It’s just you, and me.”

She takes a deep breath, clears her throat.  It takes her a long time to remember words.  “What… happened?”

Mandy’s giant lips turn down, the difference between a smile and a frown half the length of Lara’s body.  “I threw him out, the bastard.  He had no right to do this to you.  We’d talked about asking you, sometime?  If you wanted to, you know… play?”   Her roommate looks faintly embarrassed.  “But not like this.  He’ll never show his face around here again, if he knows what’s good for him.  So.  You’re safe Lara.  He’s gone, and he’s never coming back.”

“Can you fix it?”  Lara is so sleepy.  She doubts Mandy can even hear her, but her roommate seems to get the gist.

“Carl told me what happened, how he did it.  It’s meant to be one-way.  He said he isn’t sure when it’ll wear off.  Or, um, if it ever will.”  The giantess shakes her head sadly.  “Why did you have to ‘give yourself’ to him, Lara?  That’s powerful.”

She feels herself starting to cry, a cynical part of her amazed she has any tears left.  The despair is so heavy that she can’t even breathe, but then a fingertip touches her tiny cheek, and she’s hugging it with both arms, with every bit of strength in her body.

“You’ll be okay, I promise.  No matter how long it takes, I’ll keep you safe, and happy, and warm.  I’ll make sure you feel as good as you made me feel, every single day.”

Lara isn’t sure what Mandy means by this.  But she’s blushing.

“You know.  You really were incredible.  Earlier.”  The fingertip is sliding lower down Lara’s body.

Lara’s mouth opens.  She tries to speak, isn’t sure if words come out or not.  She suddenly knows it doesn’t matter.

“Did you like it too, sweetie?”  The finger, almost bigger than her entire body, spreading her legs apart. 

Lara doesn’t resist.  She’s too tired to resist.  “Ooo!  I think you did  Yes you did!”

Mandy is smiling.  It’s a friendly, caring smile, but a dark smile too.  A hungry smile.

“Things will be good.  You’ll see.  Better than before, even.  Because, you were always a wonderful roommate to me, Lara?”  Mandy’s face recedes in the distance, as she slides Lara’s limp little body down her giant chest, past her navel.  Toward the darkness again.  “But I think you make an even better toy.”