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    • littlest-lily

      Out of their Element
      Stories • shrunken woman shrinking story tiny romance relationships handheld • • littlest-lily

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      littlest-lily

      @miss-lillipants I couldn’t agree more! 😍

    • Sir-Raptor

      Sir-Raptor's art galleria
      Artwork • 2d artwork messy nsfw shrunken woman tiny vore • • Sir-Raptor

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      Sir-Raptor

      Starring Irvay owned by Mcbbm: https://www.deviantart.com/mcbbm59485
      and my OC Qetesh with Qetesh being her cheeky self at Irvay’s expense since the latter is mouse sized and clinging to Qetesh’s bikini bottom. Irvay as you can see isn’t happy about this one bit.

      Drawn by Zantchan: https://www.deviantart.com/zantchan

      1 COM 2.png

    • SmolChlo

      What is your earliest memory of having this fetish?
      Size Life Chat • tiny giant shrunken woman • • SmolChlo

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      TakoAlice8

      @Olo Thanks, I remember watching Captain Planet when I was young

    • Olo

      First Among Tinies
      Size Fantasy Chat • shrunken woman giant ownership • • Olo

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      RavenRose4242

      See…the yandere lover in me wants someone wholly obsessed with teasing, toying with, and occasionally taking care of me, as his solitary little prized possession. But the needy social part of me would need someone else around, so I guess I wouldn’t mind a few other girls.

    • S

      The Coin
      Stories • discipline handheld humiliation nsfw ownership shrunken woman snuff vore • • Size_Master

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      RavenRose4242

      @Size_Master 😍 Extreme cruelty without things like being crushed? I’m in love

    • Kisupure

      Petrichor - a novel in "open beta" - [M/f, minigiant, post-apocalyptic dystopia, slavery, military setting]
      Stories • giant nsfw relationships story • • Kisupure

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      Kisupure

      @olo I knooow. But Rice was only doing what she’d asked him to do in the end.

      In the other ending, she was actually going to have to confront Finch first, and kill her. But Wesson was always going be done in by the big guy.

    • Jitensha

      Deepest, darkest fantasies?
      Size Life Chat • anal crush discipline giant humiliation insertion messy non-con nsfw ownership piss shrunken woman snuff torture vore • • Jitensha

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      Giganto82

      Sometimes I have things like threatening to shrink the SW best friend or having sex with the SW best friend with her in my condom. Or actually shrinking her friend and pitting them against each other. Idk I have dark and a lot of gentle ones as well but yeah naughty ones are fun.

    • D

      What was the thing that sparked your interest?
      Size Life Chat • safe for work community kink education • • Deathstrom1850

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      CygnusJkins13

      d34eb097-b786-4ed7-aa91-8b676e730cbf-image.png
      157dfffc-5ef5-4b68-9e5f-f73ab5467469-image.png image url)
      My first exposure was through Transformers Armada when it aired on Toonami, especially the friendship between Alexis and Starscream when he had defected to the Autobots, and I was bummed that their friendship was never mentioned/expanded upon again in Energon and Cybertron

    • Sir-Raptor

      Favorite size for tiny ladies?
      Size Fantasy Chat • shrunken woman tiny community • • Sir-Raptor

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      Giganto82

      @Sir-Raptor Anywhere from 1 to 6 inches.😊

    • i am insane

      Buy One Get Two Free
      Stories • discipline humiliation non-con nsfw nudity ownership shrunken woman story tiny • • i am insane

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      i am insane

      I sighed happily.

      “You know what?” I asked rhetorically. “I’m feeling better now.”

      And I really was; it seemed like that fit had worked off the last of my frustrations. With a clearer head, I considered Miranda, still trapped in my grip.

      Carefully, I began to untangle her from my arms, still keeping my grip in place. “I think we’re about done here. I proved my point, I vented. I’m about ready to go to bed…”

      I trailed off as I considered Miranda, neck and lower back in one hand, her head covered by my fingers, and ass resting in the palm of the other. She was free to move, for the most part, but either what I had done to her in my fit, or the way I was holding her head, had stopped her from doing anything more than tremble slightly in my grasp.

      “But we need one last talk before then.” I finished.

      She flinched at that, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret her fear.

      “I want to make something clear, MIranda. This, what happened here, isn’t going to be your normal standard of behavior. You angered me, and I punished you, and that got mixed with my general… frustrations with how things are going.”

      Gently, I brushed at her hair with my thumb, but she only shook again at my touch.

      “As a pet, I’m taking away choices from you, yes. I’ll use you, of course. At the same time, though, is with less focus on letting you do things yourself, I can do more for you. Take care of you, spoil you, even.”

      Quietly, I lowered my head and exhaled onto her exposed skin. She shuddered and arched in my hands, and I realized that her nipples were hard, that they had been the entire time.

      “We both know, Miranda, that there’s more I could have been doing for you, to you, from the start. But I didn’t, because I was waiting for you. Waiting for you to want them…”

      I exhaled again, slowly, from the tips of her breasts down to her legs, and she moaned almost inaudibly.

      “Or maybe you were just too afraid to ask.” I continued. “Maybe because you were afraid of me, maybe you were afraid of giving up control to me, voluntarily, when you already have so little, and worried about not getting it back. I’m not going to go beyond this, tonight, but I want you to think about something: you being a pet? This is a temporary situation. In a week or two, maybe, I’d be willing to go back to the way things were before, give things another shot. Not force you to fight for things, allow you choices in being picked up or not, and so on. But.”

      I stopped, and this time dropped the smallest bit of spit I could onto her breasts, before I breathed on them once more. This time, she moaned louder, lewder, even as she visibly fought against the impulse.

      “Aren’t you even just a little bit curious?” I asked, whispered really, into her ear.

      “What?” She said, so startled by my question that she responded on instinct.

      “Aren’t you even just a little bit curious how it would feel?” I had leaned in even more as I spoke, whispering so quietly it barely shook her hair even with how close I was now.

      “To give into me, to surrender? You’re fighting me so much, Miranda. Aren’t you tired? Aren’t you tired of fighting so hard to act like something your not? Doesn’t it sound nice to just… close your eyes, and let me take care of everything for you? To protect you from the world? To spoil you? Don’t you want to all the pleasures you haven’t been allowing yourself to indulge in, all this time? I know you’re afraid of me… but in your heart of hearts, did you ever think I’d really mistreat you?”

      I let her consider it for a moment, watched her tremble, her head shaking back and forth in frantic denial under my grip, before I moved in for the kill.

      “You’re not stupid, Miranda. I’m sure you could act like a well behaved, if down on her luck, person, and in that week or so we could try it all again. We can pretend that you aren’t a squeaking little thing that I keep in my house, if you wanted. But that’s what I want you to think about.”

      I moved so my mouth was less than an inch from the tiny, delicate construction of her ear, and when I spoke I could only barely hear my own words.

      “Will you want to go back to that?”

      I wanted to keep going, to push harder, but I had done that plenty today. It was better, now, for her to think about what I said on her own. Instead, I got up gently, even as I lowered my hand down her back so she could see again.

      “Don’t worry, Miranda.” I said reassuringly as she startled again at my movement. “I’m just taking you to the bathroom. I imagine you want to clean up?”

      After a second she nodded, almost reluctantly, and I smiled warmly.

      “I thought so. I’ll just let you take care of yourself now, alright? We can talk more in the morning.”

      I didn’t get much of a response from her, but by the time we reached the bathroom and I flicked the lights on, her gaze had gone from terror filled to bewildered and wary. Gently, I lowered her to the tiled floor, and walked away without another word.

      When I returned to the table, I found Sydney, obediently staying where she was told and kneeling in the remains of the ice cream. I nodded in approval before picking the entire bowl up and carrying it into the kitchen, noting absently how she fell onto her side in the process, further coating her body in the dessert.

      Setting it on a counter for a moment, I started the water to warm in the sink before plucking the Min from where she lay. Absently, I considered her as I rinsed out the worst from the bowl, placing it into the dishwasher.

      “You’re good at listening.” I told her, while my free hand checked the water temperature.

      Sydney flinched, slightly, before realizing that it was a compliment.

      “Thank you, Master.” She said softly.

      “You’d do well to keep at it; keep your head down and do what you’re told.” I advised, turning my full attention to her.

      “You may have noticed that things are a bit unstable here at the moment. Play your cards right, Sydney, and you might find yourself in a much better place than where you started. Do you understand me?”

      She nodded hesitantly. “I understand, Master.”

      I smiled and lowered the pressure. “Good girl. Now hold your breath.”

      I waited a beat, then brought her into the flow of water, allowing it to rinse the worst of the stains from her before pulling her out.

      I looked her over briefly, checking for any areas that were still glaring dirty, before stopping and examining her again, slowly. It was something I had known before, of course, but dripping in water, with the way her gasping breaths jiggled her chest, I was forced to admit…

      “Damn,” I said feelingly. “You really are something, aren’t you?”

      I had been planning to clean her off just enough to keep the house from being a mess, but instead I found myself licking my lips as I trailied a finger up her leg.

      Miranda, I knew, would have jerked away from my touch, at least if she had seen it coming. Sydney, however, moved into it, and without a shred of reluctance.

      There was fear in her eyes, of course, but there had always been fear in her, and it didn’t stop the way she moved to stay in contact with me, even as my finger pulled away, or the silent gasp that I saw more than heard.

      “You’re ready to be a good pet, aren’t you?” I stated more than asked, returning the finger to circle the small of her back, and she shuddered in my hand.

      “Y-yes, Master,” Sydney gasped. “Please, Master. Whatever you want. Wha-whatever you want, Master, I’ll be good. I’ll be yours.”

      I wasn’t sure if she was overacting, or if Miranda was just that good at hiding how much she felt at my touch, but either way this responsiveness was a nice change of pace. Slowly, I dragged my fingertip up her back, gently applying pressure between her shoulder blades for an instant, before I moved it to her neck, and the collar she still wore on it.

      Before she could react, it released and fell into my hand, and Sydney gave a sound of relief that had to be as much physical as it was psychological; they weren’t actually meant to be worn all the time, after all, just as a tool for identification when leaving the home. There was a red ring around her throat already where it had begun to chafe.

      I locked the ends together and tossed it lightly in my palm a few times, before losing interest and placing the collar into my pocket.

      One of my many preparations for Miranda included a bottle of Min-friendly body wash at the sink for just such an occasion. There was a strange irony to the fact I was doing this for someone else, but I had reached at point where I didn’t care: here, at least, a woman lay in my hand, naked, and if she was not eager than she was still willing. Sydney looked up at me with wide eyes, legs spread and almost seeming to pose in my grasp as I squirted out a dab of soap on my index finger.

      “My good pet.” I commanded.

      “Yours.” she begged.

      Sensitivity or not, there was no way she wanted me, the man who had nearly ripped her arm off not so long ago, in any genuine fashion. She still flinched every time she saw me, cringed at my every move. Even if she was into that kind of treatment, it wouldn’t explain such a quick turnaround.

      This was clearly nothing more than a desperate attempt to protect herself with only asset she had available to her, to try and buy herself favorable treatment with her body.

      But that was the thing about Mins, wasn’t it? The feelings didn’t have to be real, just the obedience. Devotion would come in time, after all, with Stockholm Syndrome and Giant’s Allure, and even if it didn’t, even if it continued to be nothing more than an act…

      What did it matter? I didn’t care about her feelings, I just wanted her body and her willingness. There was no way for her to betray me, or harm me, or steal from me, like a traditional gold digger could; I owned her. What else could Sydney do but continue to play along, if only for her own safety?

      I grinned the shark’s grin, and for a moment she froze, facade breaking at what she saw in it.

      “Mine.”

      Once again, Sydney had made a choice without fully understanding the situation. Once again, I didn’t care to correct her mistake.

      As I rubbed my fingers and thumb together, spreading out the soap, her expression return to ‘lustful’, and she cooed appreciative as I began to slowly massage it onto her stomach, twisting and turning in my hand with every indication of delight. Still, the act grated on me, and before too long I cut in.

      “Enough.” I told her finally. She stared at me with genuine confusion, so I elaborated. “The act. I know you’re putting on a show, and I-”

      “No!” Sydney yelled in sudden terror. Then she winced as she realized she had interrupted me, before she kept protesting anyways. “Master! I, I wouldn’t dare to… I mean, I…”

      I rolled my eyes. “Please. Oh, physically you may be enjoying it to some extent…”

      I ran my finger over the stiffened tips of her breasts, before dragging it between her legs, ignoring the way she yelped and squirmed at my suddenly rough treatment. Pinching the liquid now coating it between my fingers, I showed Sydney how it stuck to my skin as she blushed violently.

      “And that’s good and all, but you make it sound like you’re going to cum, here and now, and we haven’t even started the heavy petting. I know you think I’m a madman, but do me the common courtesy to stop pretending I’m stupid as well. I’m using you for my own reasons, you’re letting me use you for yours. I’m not here to make you feel good, Sydney, I’m here to get my own pleasure from using you.”

      Pushing my finger onto her mouth, I held it there until she gave in to my unspoken demand and began to lap at her own fluids meekly. As I felt the tiny little muscle’s touch against my fingertip, I smiled.

      “Just like that. Good girl. You’re nothing more than my toy, Sydney, and you’ll never be anything more than that. Don’t act otherwise. Don’t get airs about your own importance. You can call me Master all you want, and fawn over my every word, begging for attention you’re too afraid to enjoy; we both know you’ll mean it soon enough, even if it’s just an act at the moment. But there’s no point in you trying to fluff up my ego. You can have as dramatic an ‘orgasm’ as you want, Sydney, and you’ll still be in the exact same place as you’d be if you didn’t go through the bother: here. Being held in my hands, being touched and toyed with as I please, and unable to do anything about it.”

      I tightened my grip on her slightly, and brought my other finger up, rubbing it over her face, coating her face in her own drippings.

      “And if you like it? If it makes you feel valued? Safe? Wanted? Good for you. If you feel violated? Used? Worthless? Too bad: that’s your problem, not mine. Your opinions, Sydney, are just as worthless as your attempts to resist me. Your only value lies in your body, and your ability to do as you are told. Clear?”

      At some point during all this her flush had grown and spread until her shoulders and the tops of her breasts were all scarlet red. Sydney looked at me, panting slightly, face still smeared with her own lubricant, and let out a breathy sigh that sounded more genuine than every sound she’d made thus far.

      “Of course, Master.”

      As an interesting note, I’ll admit I took the ‘aren’t you even just a little bit curious’ line from a dark comedy video I found on youtube, and I kind of wrote this to the classic Lavender Town theme.

      As one of those lore-y side notes, Giant’s Allure isn’t something I think will be naturally explained, so I’ll just spell it out. There’s studies out there that say that taller people get paid X amount more than people of average height, right? Giant’s Allure refers to something past that, past the point where the pay gap stops (I… think that’s a thing? If you’re tall enough that stops being a thing? Don’t quote me obviously), to where one person is so much larger than the other that it humbles the smaller person, makes them meek and subordinate.

      It’s a theoretically sweet spot, basically, about how big someone has to be to command someone smaller, as well as a theory to help explain how oddly obedient Mins are to normal sized people, and how easy they seem to fall in love/worship to them, though there’s significant academic conflict if there’s just something biologically different in them, or maybe both. Because of her ‘great’ size, BTW, Sydney is actually of some non-insignificant interest to those who want to try and test to find that point. They hope they can place her in front of a child and find a point where the magic obedience charisma stops working, though for obvious reasons there’s so many other things happening that it never goes anywhere.

    • GiantessLover45

      Tiny Gals, describe yourself!
      Size Life Chat • other nsfw giant advertisement 3d artwork • • GiantessLover45

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      SmolChlo

      @ravenrose4242 haha do you mean the conversation about what I taste like?! 🤣 Yes black licorice would be correct, it wards off giants

    • Sir-Raptor

      Micro-Babe Pinups
      Artwork • tiny shrunken woman shrinking nsfw microscopic furry • • Sir-Raptor

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      Sir-Raptor

      The next micro-babes pinups is a reverse of last month’s with Penelope Pitstop with her now as the big one meanwhile it is now Pandora who is the tiny one. Much to Pandora’s fury as you can see from expression. Not that Penelope seems to mind one bit.

      Further info on the series here: https://www.deviantart.com/sir--raptor/journal/Micro-Babe-Pinups-OPEN-768529125

      Drawn by dinobirdofdoom: https://www.deviantart.com/dinobirdofdoom

      Micro-babe pinups Pandora Pitstop 2.png

    • SmolChlo

      Preferred method of punishment for tinies
      Size Fantasy Chat • discipline ownership tiny • • SmolChlo

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      SmolChlo

      @green Nice, very nice! I especially like the fact that you prefer that she never loses her bratty behavior! If I was ever really shrunk I feel as though I would never be able to stop being a brat completely lol and I would definitely ALWAYS be challenging the pet/owner role. Very cool, thank you for responding 😎

    • Mrgoblinging7

      Slave
      Artwork • shrunken woman photo collage nudity nsfw non-con humiliation giant event entrapment discipline 3d artwork • • Mrgoblinging7

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      Giant me

      @smolchlo awesome, you sound very adventurous, good luck on your journeys and findings. Finding shrinking spores are a plus. 😉

    • nephilim

      Swallow Me, Like Your Little Pill (Slow burn | Intimate| Dark | Size-kink | Erotic Vore)
      Stories • giant non-con oral romance sex shrunken woman snuff story vore • • nephilim

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      nephilim

      Author’s Note:

      This chapter includes verbal abuse, threat; fear play, and intimidation.
      This is a foreshadow for the size-kink, and vore, you can expect to see in this story.
      This is the darker, un-cuddly side. Power struggles, psychological torment, male dominance run rampant within. This may be a trigger for some people. Exercise discretion.

      Chapter 10 Wordplay

      Heather

      Simultaneously:
       
      Heather’s fingers spasmed in fear, sending the wine bottle spinning off the wire rack. It hit the floor.
       
      Exploding.
       
      Plot twist to the plot twist. Chekhov’s rifle goes off.
       
      Heather froze. She looked down at the deep red stain on the floor; it looked like blood. It looked like her mistake: hemorrhaging.
       
      She tried to project calm. She tried to project normal.
      She tried to stand perfectly still as though she could purge the taint of what had just happened.
       
      But she felt remiss and heard herself croaking out:
       
      “I’m sorry. I just… I… I wanted some alcohol. You know. To calm the nerves.”
       
      “You were always a klutz,” he muttered.
       
      She couldn’t look at him; she felt rather than saw him across from her. Between the fringe of her lashes she could see his shape: he filled the entrance, he filled the room, he filled it - he filled her - he filled them; completely.
       
      He felt gigantic in presence.
       
      But for all his gigantism, he made a small, annoyed sound. “I’ll take care of it.” He waved at her dismissively.
       
      Heather broke free of her trance and scampered hickory dickory dock back to the living room.
       
      Beatifically: she sat on the couch. Beatifically: she folded her hands. But she scarcely had time to enjoy her respite when a champagne flute materialized before her with a crisp chink.
       
      The wine looked like blood in suspension. Her mistake: congealed.
       
      Fuck.
       
      “For the lady,” he remarked dryly.

      He retired across from her, the table interposed between them.
       
      Heather studied him. He looked like a devil in the study: his head tilted, his fingers at his temple, his eyes - at regular intervals - gleaming like an animal’s in the glare of twilight.
       
      Heather touched the pill bottle through her cotton robe. She could feel the weight of it; she could feel the weight of him. And suddenly she felt absurd. How stupid was she to think that the piddly little pill bottle in her fleece robe was the fount of his power?
       
      All of him, every inch, was unnerving. Every shape, every line, even the insouciant lounge of his body was preternatural. This was not a man, this was a sensation bearing a man, an embodiment of primal inertia: something loosely coiled, gliding through their encounter.
       
      She could feel him, the magnetism of him.
       
      And there was, she realized suddenly, a coffee cup in front of him.
       
      It was so wildly, outrageously out of place that Heather blurted: “Coffee?!” She repeated: “Coffee?!” Then, with more color: “You drink fucking coffee?!”

      Danny stirred it meditatively. “Ask what you really wanna ask, Heather.”
       
      Heather’s throat knotted up with so much stuff, so much bursting stuff that she could only choke out: "You — " and, taking a deep breath: “You drink coffee.” And there was a poignant tragedy in her voice as her brain backpedaled through a litany of memories. “I-I don’t… I don’t understand.”
       
      “How dare I drink the coffee,” he remarked.

      But, she knew - and he knew that she knew - that he understood, and that his stab at obtuseness had been a put-on.
       
      “Yes! How dare you!” She lowed. “All this time… I-I never even gave it a second thought because, hey, why should I, right? But now, now when I think about it - really think about it.” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Do you even taste it? Can you? I-I can’t even, I can’t even think about h-how ass backwards this all is. You gobble up women like some kind of boogeyman, but yet, here you are, chugging down cheap-ass burnt coffee.”

      For the moment, there was only a still, expansive silence to settle across them; the wooden stirrer whisking woodenly. It felt, unnervingly, like the metronome of his thoughts.
       
      But then he spoke:
      “What you want to know, what you’re really trying to say, what you’re gettin’ up the nerve to ask, is: what do you taste like.”
       
      Heather clapped shut, but he continued: "And, by extension: what do the others taste like. Do they taste like you? Which is just the building blocks to the all-important grand finale, which is - is there a difference between all’a you?”

      He leaned back, cupped the coffee, and took a gratuitous swallow. The movement of his Adam’s apple pulled, incipiently, on her.
       
      That could have been me. Heather thought as she watched his throat undulate. She was half terrified, half mesmerized.
       
      “Maybe,” she said in a small, childish voice.
       
      “Cuz what you’re really asking, what you’re really angling at, but don’t have the balls to say, is askin’ if there’s any human left in there - any at all. Wonderin’ if there’s anything floating around in there that’s redeemable. The part that likes coffee.”
       
      “Maybe,” she repeated in a smaller voice.

      “You’re not ready for that conversation,” he responded flatly.
       
      “Fuck you,” she croaked. “Telling me what I’m ready for when I - I survived.” She thumped her thumb into her chest. “I fucking survived. I survived you. I… I’ve earned more than that, more than what you’re giving me. I’ve earned some sort of fucking honesty from you. Y-you nearly snorted me up your fucking nose for chrissake.”

      He could barely contain his amusement. He shot her an arch look. “Like cocaine?” He returned the cup to the table and resumed swirling the wooden stirrer.
       
      “Speaking of cocaine,” she returned archly, "What you do… what you’ve done: it’s an addiction. Isn’t it. "
       
      The whisking of the wooden stirrer stopped.
       
      “The coffee isn’t for me.” He remarked evenly.

      And for a fraction of a second she was bewildered by his deflection; but, then, she understood. “Hunger suppressant?” Heather felt disembodied when she asked this, as though they were talking about someone else and that someone else’s appetite would latch onto that of someone else.
       
      “You have no idea,” he murmured.

      “That explains why you leave a trail of coffee cups wherever you go.”
       
      “Speaking of,” he pronounced crisply. “What happened here? I mean, while I 'preciate the gesture, it’s not my color, I don’t think.”
       
      He twisted the coffee cup around until the lipstick marks were visible.

      Heather’s heart jumped. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It made manifest the two realities. It was the suture holding together the two evenings that had — in succession — seen her normal; then seen her small. The impetus for all of this felt like the coffee cup: the one she had pockmarked with her lips.
       
      “I…” she started hesitantly. “It happened when I broke into the warehouse —”
       
      — “Obviously.”
       
      — "I had seen it and… and… "
       
      Heather squirmed at the thought of having to confess. It made her feel silly, it made her feel stupid; and worse: she knew that to extrapolate her reasoning, she’d have to center their conversation on his mouth, and focus them there: together. It felt dangerous.
       
      “I wanted t-to… put in my mouth, something that h-had been… in yours.”

      He started.
       
      “Why?”
       
      “To-… I don’t know. It’s silly. But at the time… I was thinking to myself… that… maybe if I did that, if I put something in my mouth that had been in yours, I’d… understand you better…or something. And I left the lipstick on there cuz… you gotta let a motherfucker know, y’know? Heather was here.”

      A million - a million and one - expressions went across his face; then, it settled into something arch. “I had no idea you were that interested in my mouth, Heather.”
       
      I’m not. Her brain shot back. I swear to fucking God, I’m not.
       
      To protect her innocence she pushed back: “I’m not dumb, Danny. I know that this is more than just an incident of 'open slot: insert.’ This is… this is way more involved than that.”
       
      His neck jerked.

      Undeterred, Heather continued: "Is that why you do what you do? Is your hunger normal? It’s kinda coming together now, with the coffee and everything. Are you some kinda hypervore? Or, is what you f-feel… is it what normal people feel? Is it a craving? Or - or is it a way to get… to-to you know, get, like, a high. Or a hit. Or a rush. Or are you just… feeding? Or… both? "
       
      There was a twitch: faint, right along his upper lip. "Hypervore? Please. I’m all ears.”
       
      But, Heather knew him enough to know – feeling the tone of his voice settle across her –  that this was not the time to patronize him.

      So, she changed tact. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m sorry for both of us. I’m sorry for our addictions. I’m sorry for-for… everything. It’s not easy,” she said, with great, exhausted wisdom. “It’s definitely not easy. I thought I had it bad. At least my addiction isn’t tied up in some sorta biological imperative.” (He shot her a look of genuine surprise). “Is-is it a choice? What you do?”
       
      “Yes, and no,” he remarked.
       
      “Well?” Heather urged, leaning forward, willing a response.
       
      “Well what?”

      Heather threw her hands up. "Oh for fuckssake, Danny. Just be fucking real with me. I got this far. I survived this long. I survived you -
       
      “Oh, baby girl,” he crooned, cutting across her: “Cut that wokist shit. Goin’ on over there like you’re some sort of survivor. You didn’t survive shit. There’s nothing you’ve said that I haven’t thought about myself at some point. You didn’t survive. No; I let you live.”

      “Did you decide that before or after you jumped me?!”
       
      He crossed his arms.
       
      “Exactly,” she hissed. “And this is why we’re here, this is why we’re in this fucking mess. I’ve said it once, I’ve said it twice, and I’m gonna say it again. Can you control it.”
       
      After a beat: “Sometimes.”
       
      “Sometimes what. Sometimes yes? Sometimes no? Sometimes maybe?”

      He assailed her with a long, meaningful look. His voice, although flat, held a personal menace that could still wound: “If I feel like it.”
       
      Heather jerked away; she turned away. It was like a slap. In fact, she would have preferred that, welcomed it even. It would have been the type of abuse she could understand.

      “So,” she said finally: “You meant” — she licked her lips as a wave of sadness tumbled through her " — you meant to do what you did."
       
      “Maybe.”
       
      “It wasn’t a mistake,” she said hoarsely.
       
      “Maybe not.”
       
      “Oh god,” she mewled. She ran her hands down her arms, hugging herself. “It-it finally makes sense. It…” she choked down a sob. “It… gosh, it sounds right. It finally…” she nodded numbly, “Of course… I-I think I knew. I think I always knew. I just… I mean, how does that happen accidentally.”

      “It doesn’t,” He remarked tonelessly.
       
      Heather shook her head yes. She shook it once, twice, again; again, until it became a convulsion. “…right. Of course. I mean,” she laugh-sobbed. “It’s really fucking hard to accidentally eat someone.”
       
      That twitch again: right across his upper lip.
       
      It turns him on when I talk like this.

      “So,” she said faintly, desperate to fill the void of silence: “We’re all different, aren’t we? All of-of us?” It felt bizarre, saying us as though she was part and parcel of some sort of bred livestock. “You,” and suddenly she understood, the way only one laboring under active addition could: “You crave it. All of it. Me - us - them - all the-the girls that you’ve… you’ve taken care of.”
       
      Killed. Her brain corrected.

      “And me?” She blurted.
       
      “What about you?”
       
      “Y-you crave me?”
       
      He barked a laugh. “Heather,” he started.
       
      “No, really. I… I want to know. I want to know how deep this goes. How bad this is. If it… if it wasn’t a mistake, then that must mean that I’m like… I’m like a fucking pill to you.”
       
      A long, expressive silence. Then:
       
      “Maybe,” he breathed.

      Heather felt his words; she felt the arousal. “I must taste crazy good.”
       
      “And crazy mouthfeel.”
       
      Heather assailed him with an alarmed look. “What?” She hadn’t expected him to reply.
       
      “You feel good.”
       
      “You can f-feel me?”
       
      “I feel you. And I feel you. I feel you: your body. Your skin,” his voice had lingered over the s with the sibilance of a snake. “I feel you: moving.” His voice dropped low, and there was a pause as Heather sensed him greatly savoring the moment, savoring the potentiated energy in the room, savoring her discomfort, then shattering it with a simple enervating: “I feel you: in me.”

      Heather was nullified. It had never occurred to her that he could extract tactile pleasure from her - or from the others- when they had touched his insides. And he liked it.
       
      Suddenly, the vast conspiracy she had been sharing with her thoughts, of him masturbating his insides against her, no longer felt like an intellectual stretch.
       
      Heather felt reasoning alight upon her. “You feel things differently, don’t you…"
       
      “I’m one large exposed fucking nerve ending. End to end.”

      End to end.

      Heather flinched. How had he encoded her struggles? As brief as they had been? When she had tossed, when she had turned: had that all caressed his mouth? Did it create a quality of pleasure she couldn’t understand? What was her mouthfeel? Was she creamy and decadent, or smooth and firm? Did she want to know? When she slid over his devil tongue, was that sending a shudder of pleasure through him? (Suddenly, she didn’t want to know).
       
      Heather felt herself sinking. “And you taste things differently…”
      She blurted: “do - do we all … have that effect? Do we all… feel the same? taste the same?”
       
      Shit. He was right.
       
      “I think you know the answer to that.”

      She played with her fingers. “I think I do.”
       
      Heather nodded faintly, as though from far away, as though she had taken leave of her body. “That’s why you crave me… us… them… it. It’s new every time you do it. It’s exciting each and every single time you do it. And some, y’know, stand out from the rest. Some are special.”
       
      He shifted his weight.

      God, he’s so turned on. But if she was honest with herself, perfectly honest, she was enjoying this, too. She was enjoying the power over him to make him squirm.
       
      “So, tell me if I’m getting this right, if I’m getting closer. You accidentally shrunk me, you accidentally jammed me in your mouth, you accidentally ate me — or tried to — because I’m perfectly normal and undesirable, and unremarkable.”
       
      “You’re getting warmer.”

      “But, why? Why did you d-do that to me?”
       
      “You don’t want to know,” he said simply.
       
      “But I do. I want to know why you turned on me. Why… you - you did what you did. Because: what you did hurt me, Danny. It hurt me in ways I can’t even understand yet. I can’t hold down a job. I can’t make friends. I can’t…” her voice broke. “You reached through time, Danny. You ruined my future. I don’t have a life direction because of what you did. How someone that loved me could try and murder me. And this - this is why I’m here. Be-because I need to understand it. All of it. I’d rather be with the devil I know, than the one I don’t. But I need to know; I need to understand what I signed up for.”

      Heather didn’t dare weigh her words, she didn’t dare analyze what she had just said. Had she already abandoned the cache in the woods? Was she already being drawn back into his world? But this time: different?
       
      Heather watched him study the coffee cup, the way the light hit his face. But he seemed to relent; he seemed to give. “I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”
       
      Heather looked at him, stunned. “What?”
       
      “I couldn’t commit. Not in the way you wanted. Not after what happened.”

      "Don’t! Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare put this on me! Don’t -
       
      And the elegant inelegance of what he said next stopped her, because her more base animal mind understood it as it was said.
       
      “We had an expiration date.”

      Heather shook her head sadly.
       
      “I couldn’t have you,” he said breathily, “Not the way I wanted. Not the way I needed.”
       
      “Like what?” She strained.
       
      And after a long moment of, seemingly, feeling herself stutter, feeling herself fall, feeling herself reduce down to a single concentrated nerve as she heard him invert her words, bending them back against her:
       
      “Like a pill.”

      In the literal sense, her brain buzzed. He means it in the literal sense. I was his addiction. He wanted to palm me, and dry-swallow me.
       
      Heather couldn’t stop herself: “But why?”
       
      “If I couldn’t have you,” he responded thickly: “Then nobody would.”
       
      Heather took a big, deep breath. “Th-that’s psycho, Danny.” She felt herself crawl backwards, instinctively, away from the threat. “You have to hear that. You have to hear yourself. Even you have to hear how fucking serial killer that sounds. And that’s… crazy. That’s so fucking crazy I can’t even. And I promised myself I would never get involved in that kind of crazy.” She shook her head. “But that’s how you wanted to send me off? That’s how you decided to end things with me?!”

      He shifted his weight back.
       
      His voice was lower; it was like honey over knives. “Why not?” He gave her a slow, interested look. He leaned forward; it was the only kinetic movement of that evening beyond that of stirring the coffee and Heather flinched. “Why not take it to the limit? I mean, you’re so fucking normal, undesirable, and unremarkable that I might as well try to go to the extreme I had always - always - fucking wanted. The kind of extreme I couldn’t act on when we were an item cuz it would have absolutely fucking mutilated you. Right?!”
       
      Heather froze.

      “That’s why you think you’re cute,” he sneered. “You think you’ve figured this all out. You think you can sit there and fifty shades your way out of this.”
       
      “Fifty what,” she blurted. (And she knew not what was worse: that that was the subject matter she landed on, or, that he had confessed to a latent, ever-growing desire to mutilate her). “You read Fifty fucking Shades?”
       
      Heather smothered her face; she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Y-you read mommy porn? You read bored housewife Karen can I speak to the manager porn?”
       
      Grappling to regain control of the conversation (and not without trying to suppress a laugh): “To become an educated hater, dammit.”

      Heather seized the moment: “Look at us. We’re actually cracking jokes. We’re getting along. Work with me here. There has to be boundaries for something like this, Danny, there has to be.”
       
      “No,” he snarled. And they both looked surprised at his response. “There isn’t. There isn’t any fucking ground rules to this.”

      “There has to,” she strained. "This is… really, really extreme. It’s fatalistic. And it’s bizarre, and —
       
      “No. There’s nothing bizarre about any of this. It’s the most normal fucking thing on the planet.”
       
      “Eating me?!” She shrieked. "There is nothing normal about —
       
      “It’s been happening for thousands and thousands of years. Predator eating prey, sweetheart. It’s the most normal thing. It’s the most normal thing ever.”

      “Not your version,” she shot back.
       
      “Why not?” He replied, challengingly.
       
      “Be-because…” Heather went blank. “Fuck. You know why. It - it… I mean come on you’re murdering people.”
       
      “That kinda tends to happen when you devour them,” he said perfectly calm, perfectly reasonable.
       
      “No shit sherlock!” She flung a pillow at him; he ducked.
      “But-but it’s cruel… it’s evil… it’s… really, really bad, Danny. It… you’re torturing people.”
       
      He licked his lips; it was not a gesture of nervousness. “Oh, I know. Trust me,” he looked at her sidelong. “I know.”

      With sudden, jolting cognition: "You –
       
      “Enjoy it?” He finished for her.
       
      Heather closed her eyes. This was a dimension of the practice they hadn’t talked about before, had not dared invoke, and now it was rearing its ugly head. Her heart started pounding. "I could maybe – maybe – understand if you ate them quickly, humanely; but you - you enjoy the process, you actually enjoy hurting them —
       
      He laughed. “Humanely? Humanely? Oh, hunny, there’s nothing fucking humane about any of this. It’s not supposed to be,” he sneered. “Get those images of vampires and werewolves out of your head. This isn’t about love-bites or neck-rubs; this is the real world, now. This isn’t a game. You know what your problem is? You make a romance out of all’a this. But, I got news for you, sweetheart: there is nothing romantic about being devoured fucking alive.” He eyes glittered at her. “Unless, I decide otherwise.”

      “That’s torture,” she strained in a small, childish voice. “You’re torturing people; women. You’re making their last moments an absolute living hell.”
       
      “Well fed demons are better behaved than famished saints, kitten.”
       
      It was the first time kitten felt less like an endearment, and more like a species taxonomy. And she was suddenly aware of this, feeling his eyes prick her; feeling like a woodland animal.

      Her instinct shined at her, warned her not to lapse into silence, or small movements. Her instinct told her to talk; to keep talking, talk more; keep him conversationally engaged – because they had crossed a threshold that they could not uncross. And that it should not be done in reflective silence.

      “Are you really that? Are you really a demon?”
       
      “I ain’t exactly human, Heather.”
       
      “H-how so?” She asked.
       
      “You’re not human when you can master what I have mastered. And I’ve been around for more than a minute.”

      There’s age, she realized. There’s great age here.
       
      “But… that doesn’t make you a demon, does it?”

      He made a long, languid movement: a shrug. “Then, well, make me the God of gluttony.”
       
      Heather stared at him in disbelief. "So… shrinking people. You have the magic to do that; the gift —
       
      “Women,” he corrected nastily. “I only shrink and eat women.”
       
      “Why,” she exhaled frustratingly. "Why do you always have to remind me of that —
       
      “Oh, it’s important that you’re reminded, Heather. I think it’s very fucking important.”

      “What do you want,” she hissed between her teeth.
       
      “To have you, kitten. To have you real fucking deep.”
       
      Her brain jolted as she tried to understand the spatial contours of that comment. Her tongue creaked. Her mouth slacked open. Incapable of producing sensible sounds from it, she occupied it with a thick, nervous swallow of wine. Clutched by an infantile instinct, she hoped to hide behind the curved rim of the glass like a toddler learning object permanence and drank down half of it.
       
      There was a flicker of interest across his face. He looked sidelong at her.
       
      And in a sudden, staggering jolt of clarity: “Danny,” she entreated.

      He looked at her.
       
      “Wh-… what did you put in my drink.”
       
      “You see,” he said in a low, intimate voice. “Mirroring. Something about it is just hardwired in you humans. I offer the drink to be polite; you accept it to be polite. I don’t talk about it, acknowledge it, eventually you’re just gonna absorb the knowledge of it. The trick is to just not talk about it. If you’re overly pushy it’s too obvious. I drink all night long. You don’t. You feel out of sorts. Eventually, if I play my cards right, you’re gonna get lulled into drinking something, too.”
       
      “You fucking Dahmer’d me?!” She shrieked.

      What," he responded cavalierly, “You mean I drugged you so that I can kill you, fuck you, and eat you? Dude had it all backwards.” He tilted his head in a refreshingly familiar, but feral gesture. “What’s the point of eating something dead?”
       
      Heather stared at him; lost.
       
      “Tell me about those ground rules, again,” he mocked.
       
      “You’re just trying to scare me,” she dry-whispered. “You’re just trying to push me away.” She shook her head. “What’d you put in my drink.”

      “Relax,” he responded. “It was just a mild sedative.”
       
      “Never,” she lowed, “In the history of telling someone to relax have they EVER fucking relaxed. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU PUT IN MY DRINK?”
       
      “I don’t need to drug you to do what I want with you. I just wanted something to take your edge off.”
       
      “I don’t want to be drugged?!”
       
      “Not like you’ve ever had a problem with that,” he remarked snidely.

      “Fuck you! Not like this! Not like this ! This — this is what I meant by ground rules. No fucking ancillaries! No pills! No drugs! No date-rape shit. No… oh god my head,” she groaned. “This isn’t how you get consent from me,” she growled. “It’s supposed to be organic; you don’t fucking manufacture it.”
       
      “I told you,” he said coldly. “I don’t need your consent.”

      “Earn it,” she shrieked.

      “I said I would. And I will. And I meant it — at the time,” he amended, but after a clever second. “But, fuck it, Heather baby, I’m impatient. So, I thought: let’s get things goin’ a little bit faster. Let’s get you nice and relaxed so we can try a few things.”
       
      “Like what,” she shot back.
       
      “Taste you.”
       
      “You don’t need to fucking drug me to taste me, Danny, why — " Heather looked at him. Her eyes went wide.
      " — oh.”

      “What I want to do; what I have in mind, I need you sedated, Kitten. I can’t have you hurting yourself.”
       
      “Not like that’s ever stopped you,” she said churlishly.
       
      “Touché,” he replied.
       
      But that seemed to have been a cue; he started to move across the room toward her.
       
      Heather whimpered. She shook her head. “I’m not. I can’t,” she strained, holding up a hand in feeble placation.

      “Relax.”
       
      “Don’t,” she swiped at him; he dodged half-heartedly.
       
      “Fine, don’t relax then. But at least listen,” he blew out a gusty sigh. “You’re not wrong. I hate to say this, but we do need to set some limits.”
       
      She looked at him, exasperated. “Oh sure. Now that you agree, you get to pretend that it was your idea…”
       
      He blew out a frustrated sound. “You’re not getting it. You’re not understanding.”

      “WHAT THE FUCK IS THERE TO UNDERSTAND?! YOU DRUGGED ME TO EAT ME.”
       
      He rolled his eyes. “There’s levels to this, Heather.”
       
      “Levels?” She repeated, dumbfounded.
       
      “This is new to me, too, doing it like this. We need to go slow.”
       
      “You sure as fuck didn’t go slow last time.”
       
      “Last time was different. Just how this time is different. I don’t want you hurtin’ yourself,” (and after a moment of what Heather would call expressive silence) “… or-or me hurting you in the wrong ways, so I gave you a little something to calm yo’ ass down.”

      “Hurt myself? You literally want to fucking eat me.”
       
      “Listen,” he snapped. “We’re not going to jump straight into this shit. It takes time. It took me decades to get to this level of skill. To get it all perfect. So now, I have to get this right, I have to perfect this, too.”
       
      “Perfect what?!”

      Your size," he remarked coyly. “And my technique. We practice until we get,” (and here, Heather watched him as he savored the potentiated energy in the room with the tongue-flick of a snake) the perfect insertion."
       
      “Insertion?” She repeated dumbly. But she knew.
       
      “There’s a lot of holes I want you in,” he murmured.
       
      Heather spat at him. “Like the women you killed?!”

      “Semantics,” he sneered.
       
      Heather sat with his words; his words sat with her. And, like him, they roused, becoming pack animals: gathering around her, pacing.
       
      “You don’t care. You just don’t… fuck,” she trailed off. “I can’t even shame you into caring. You’re so fucking selfish. And heartless. You’re absolutely heartless.”

      “I care about you,” he said sharply.
       
      And Heather was unsure whose twin surprise was more in that moment.
       
      She closed her eyes. “Please, don’t,” she grit. “Don’t say ridiculous things like that when you…”
       
      “You’re not gonna go far. Not right away, anyway. We start up high; safe.”
       
      “Up high?” Heather stared at him.

      “— Me.”
       
      That simple additional syllable was like taking a stick to a hornet’s nest; bashing it open. Like her brain.
      Heather’s eyes jerked to him, and understanding him only as a mad woman could, sent her gaze to where his head joined his neck. She froze on his Adam’s apple — and uncontrollably slid her gaze lower, following the contours of his throat. And in his face, absorbing her, he reflected her madness back.
       
      “Yes.”

      Heather felt the pounding animal, the cryptid in him. It was staring at her with twin pale eyes. The animalistic urge, so tangibly coiled in that guttural response, was already feeding on her.
       
      She couldn’t speak.
       
      So, he did. “No. It doesn’t end there.”
       
      “…alive?” Was all she managed to rasp out.
       
      “You have to ask?”
       
      Off her look: “But don’t worry. I kinda like the novelty of this, this whole new way of doin’ things. Going slow. Going careful. I never had to actually be careful before. When I… negotiate you deeper, we gotta go little by little. Inch by inch.”

      She mustered a soft, warbling: “Endoscopy. You want to fucking endoscopy me.” She hugged her knees to herself as her memories unraveled, conjuring images of mouths, throats and stomachs reflecting off of endoscope lenses in taut trembling frames over her video library. Like the eponymous device, would she, too, slither into the creaking crevices of his body?
       
      He stared at her: absorbed her.
       
      Heather could feel the moment - the precise moment - he understood.
       
      “… oh fuck.” He passed a hand over his face; his mouth. He turned his head, rapidly. “Fuck, Heather. Fuck.”

      The conversation was too centered on his body now – stripping away both of their identities to the point that all that remained was the logistical mechanism of her existence being callously pulled into his, that she could not hope to repair the moment. It was gone.
       
      So she did the sane thing, and made it worse: "… how deep.”
       
      His face swiveled to stare at her.
       
      Suiciding herself: “Did I fucking stutter? How deep?”
       
      “My guts.” He snarled.
       
      Heather retched into her hands.

      “I told you,” he said viciously. “I told you - you weren’t ready for that conversation.”
       
      Heather shot forward; grabbed the glass.
       
      Danny watched.
       
      And in an unbroken, flagrant movement – first lifting the glass in spiteful salutation – she slammed back her head and downed the contents of it.

      She wiped her red-stained mouth, looking like the she-demon.
       
      “Heather?!” He squawked. "What the fuck! —
       
      “Fuck you,” she said coldly.

      She drifted backward; he surged forward.
       
      “Heather, what the fuck?!”

      She smiled blood-stained lips at him; loving how he dissolved into a stuttering of angry, nonsensical sounds.
       
      She dissolved into laughter. “It’s a power move: assert dominance. Feed yourself to the monster before the monster can feed on you. Go ahead, you sick sonofabitch: eat me.”
       
      Danny surged to his knees, clambering to crouch next to her head. “Is that what you want?!”

      He spoke in a tone she couldn’t quite place – it was wild, unhinged, and sliding all over the octave scale – and if she was honest with herself – perfectly honest – she didn’t want to.
       
      “Go ahead,” she said as she spread her arms drunkenly. And with the mania of someone under heavy intoxication: “Go ahead, you sick fuck, eat me. Do it. I’m nice and drugged for you. Like a lamb to fucking slaughter. Open your bullshit-spewing mouth and slurp me up.”

      Silence pounded between them.

      He looked at her.

      She looked at him.
       
      “No.”

      Heather’s eyes rolled up. They looked at him in near-convulsive spasm. “What?”
       
      “No.”
       
      “EAT ME,” she shrieked, like a ghoul, eyeballs bulging.
       
      “No.”
       
      “Do it. Eat me. Stuff me in your guts. Do it. I don’t care. Eat me. One bite. Do it.” A vein jumped out in her neck. “EAT ME.”

      “No.”
       
      “EAT ME.”
       
      “I told you” — he leaned in and cupped her cheek — “I’d get your consent.”
       
      She jerked her neck away. "Then, eat me.” Her face pulled taut, like a mask. “Eat me.” She closed her eyes against the feel of his fingers. She felt him. The magnetism of him. The heat of him. It felt like she was already in his bloodstream. “It works with touch. Make me small.”
       
      “Oh I will,” he breathed.

      He shifted —
       
      Heather froze, trapped in the intimacy of his breath, his closeness —

      please
       
      — but suddenly absent his heat, her eyes snapped open.

      And his voice advanced toward her, but it was from further away and she startled at the spatial change. Heather’s head snapped up. His response was attendant on his shadow, which had already melted across the room, receding, but not before tossing a cold and controlled:

      “But, not tonight. I don’t do your bidding.”

    • NatalieTheTiny

      Suggestions/Feedback/Complaints
      Bug Reports • community help requested safe for work • • NatalieTheTiny

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      Jitensha

      @i-am-insane

      Dark can be a bit subjective, however I could see possibly adding psychological. But to keep tags to a minimum, would any of these existing ones work for you?

      Non-Con Torture Ownership Discipline
      ???
    • emilythetigercat

      Doll Houses
      Size Fantasy Chat • tiny shrunken woman shrinking safe for work roleplay entrapment giant • • emilythetigercat

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      R

      There are so many hot descriptions here!

      I’ve also put a lot of thought into this. I want a sturdy, very realistic-looking dollhouse with walls that can be opened, a detachable roof, doors and windows I can lock from the outside and that are padded and made just big enough that I can fit my hard-on in there! The furniture should be just a bit too big for my tiny captive, making her feel like a hobbit in there. There should be miniature plumbing so she can clean up after I play with her. I’m a dirty giant who likes playing dirty games with clean little ladies who want to stay clean! >:)

    • Giant me

      Unfortunate Alice
      Artwork • shrunken woman nudity photo collage story • • Giant me

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      Mrgoblinging7

      @mrgoblinging7 It is up! Remember, they are a little squeamish over there, no gore, bestiality, or extreme violence or they will shut the story down. https://chyoa.com/story/Unfortunate-Alice.43319anotheralicemadeawish-resized.jpg

    • Giant me

      What excites/pleases you most about this fetish?
      Size Life Chat • shrunken woman lesbian roleplay • • Giant me

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      Olo

      @TakoAlice8 One of my favorite intimidating giant tropes is when he is unintentionally intimidating. He makes some movement or sound that is totally innocuous to him, but then he looks down and sees that her eyes have gone wide and she’s frozen in shock. Sometimes he’s embarrassed and apologizes for his abrupt behavior, and sometimes he just gives her a look that says, “Yeah, I’m huge and you best get used to it.”

    • ?

      If you actually had the be ability to shrink someone or get shrink would you?
      Size Life Chat • mental health plausible shrinking • • A Former User

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      Giant me

      This is my theory for reducing mass in an object/subject. I hope you find this at least entertaining. Reducing mass involves displacement of it trading or storing the mass you want to change, this is the way the atoms must be changed, it involves space, time, and placed energy at a volume and speed. Like the possibilities of time travel or teleportation a fixed point of both objects or space the object or objects occupy must be calculated as well as both objects’ mass and degree of it you desire to change which takes a lot of energy to achieve like possibly solar, nuclear power or cold fusion of a high magnitude. In short you are teleporting the mass of an object to another space or another object, the act of splitting and displacing atoms. The most important factor is the rate of temperature of applied energy too much or too little can damage the object or subject causing non-viability for it to possibly implode, explode, or disintegrate. Like I mentioned earlier a spatial displacement field must be achieved to alter an object or subject, this is the main theory of changing/altering matter by calculating and then altering the space it occupies. For a living subject’s properties must be altered by strength or acceptance to keep them alive, factors like breathing thicker air/strengthening the subject’s lungs, ingesting/consuming denser water and food/strengthening the subject’s digestive system, and also strengthening their skin and bones to make it more durable for the larger environment, giving them a mouse or rat’s or even an insect’s viability. One final important factor to have is the stability of the subjects’ new state of existence, staying intact over time, applying constant viability to its new size. In physics or the physical world all requirements must be met to make anything possible, yes today’s science fiction is tomorrow’s science fact, once all factors are met to make the impossible, possible.

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