Seriously, don’t stress over updating the site; for us, just having one is a luxury. Get your stuff sorted in your own time and worry about this later.

Honestly? For awhile, at least, I’d install myself as a evil thing to appease/protector/patron god, get a system set up where tithes (including, of course, women) are sent to me on a regular basis, my basic needs are met (a home of some sort, furniture, whatever food I’d need, if I needed food) and just… chill. Have fun with shit; have the women read to me, dance for me, whatever.

Stomp an enemy army if it rolls around, have fun toying with any knights that get ideas, tame a dragon or something…

I’m pretty low key, and actually ruling something sounds like a pain in the ass. As long as I get mine, I’d be good.

Something I idly muse over sometimes is someone taking care of a dollhouse for an SW, or maybe even a little town of dollhouses and people inside them. I just like the idea of someone maintaining these little houses, that people live in, that they could pick up.

It’s something, depending on how you want to spin it, that could go all sorts of ways: a lonely wizard, making a sort of fancy bird house for fairies so he can have company. A giant repairing a abandoned home as a hobby, like a ship in a bottle, only to find someone moved in one day. A man making doll houses for charity, but he finds himself as an unexpected landlord to some tinies looking for a new home.

Not too long after she calmed down, I moved my freer hand as stealthy as I could towards my pocket. Still, it didn’t get far before Miranda’s head popped up to look at me.

“I still want that pizza.” I said apologetically, and she laughed for a moment while I dug out my phone. Before I could dial, however, she interrupted me.

“Wait!” When I paused, she continued, faster than before. “Before the pizza gets here… Could I- I mean, will you let me, look around the house?”

Miranda showed me a pleading face that should have been classified as a war crime.

“Please?”

I sighed. “Fine.”

Before I could add anything else, she had slipped out of my loosened hold and darted out into the rest of my house, and I had to admit it hurt a little, how eager she was to get away from me. I wasn’t surprised, all things considered, but it still hurt.

That said, once the pizza came she’d probably come running back, which would be a treat in and of itself. Just imaging her tugging at my jeans, looking up at with that same pleading face… I grinned briefly before placing my order.

This, however, led into a problem: it would be a half hour, maybe more, before the pizza came. A whole half hour, in which I would have to entertain myself. In theory, it should be simple. In practice? I had spent all this time with Miranda, playing with Miranda, at times just short of having my way with Miranda, and shifting gears from that to something more lowkey would be… difficult.

Normally, I’d read a book, or watch something on Netflix, but I knew at the moment I wasn’t in the right mindset; I’d be so distracted by my dreams for the near future that whatever I tried to watch or read would just slip past me. Eventually, I pulled out my laptop and went to the table: when I was doing my earlier research, I had saw something that had caught my eye, and it had never quite slipped my mind. Before, I thought it hadn’t been a great fit for me.

Now, though. Now I wondered.

I was several tabs deep into testimonials and explanations when I was interrupted.

“Umm.” It was a soft, quiet voice I had never heard before, and almost unbelievably timid. “Excuse me, sir?”

It was also… behind my laptop? I leant to side and saw Brunette standing on the table in front of me, quivering, but still forcing herself to stand straight. Blonde cowered behind her, less brave, but still on the table nevertheless.

Huh. I didn’t expect to see them again until at least a week from now.

It took me a little while to realize the reason she wasn’t talking wasn’t her fear, but that she was waiting for me to give her permission to continue.

“Yes?” I wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but I was more than a little curious.

“Y-you told Miranda that you were going to share the pizza with us, right? I-”, she paused, and stepped aside enough so that Blonde was no longer ‘hid’ behind her body, “We, would like to thank you. For more than just the food.”

Then both of them curtseyed deeply, which was lewder than I would have thought, naked: bent over, and their arms spread wide, they let their chests hang freely, while, especially from my perspective, their rears were basically being displayed for my inspection. Then they held the pose as Brunette continued. “I know you’re not doing it for us-”

Fair. I’d been pretty clear on my motivations thus far.

“-But even so, all of this, all the things you’ve done for us, even if it was just an afterthought… it’s more than we could have ever expected.”

She stopped, but the two of them stayed in curtsy, and I had the feel it was less of an ending point and more that she needed to gather her courage. I didn’t hear her take a deep breath, but I gathered as much by the heave of her delightful breasts.

“If you would excuse our rudeness, we would like to beg a favor from you, sir.”

Ah. The meat of the matter. I nodded, because it seemed appropriate, and even though she was looking down at the table top, Brunette continued.

“When the time comes… be gentle with us. Please.” She was, I realized, pleading now, all the dignity in her voice gone, leaving only desperation. “Please. Sir-”

She stopped abruptly. “Master,” she said instead, and the way she said the word, not grudgingly, or resentfully, but fearful and reverent all at once, sent a thrill through me.

Blonde, I noticed, was trembling, even worse than before, and I swore I saw something fall from her downturned face.

“Master, we are weak. So very, very weak. If you are not careful, we will break. Even if you don’t mean to hurt us, we will be shattered by your most simple, unrestrained touch.”

Their curtsies deepened, to the point where their faces nearly touched the table.

“We will do whatever you say, Master. Whatever you say. We will be loyal, Master, and dutiful to you and your desires. So please, we beg you Master: When the time comes, please have mercy upon us.”

Brunette didn’t say anything after that, and the two of them continued to hold in place, shaking. After a minute I extended my index finger towards them, and as its shadow fell over her, Brunette flinched, but still did not move.

When it went over her, only to descend in front of Blonde, she jerked away with a scream, before abruptly kneeling, face flat onto the table. Faintly, I heard something that could have been her whimpering, or could have been my imagination.

I ignored her, though, and instead dabbed at the spot just in front of where she had stood, before rubbing that fingertip against my thumb. For an instant, before the friction burnt it away, I felt the slightest hint of wet.

I wasn’t lying, before; I honestly had no plans for them, beyond keeping them alive and relatively well cared for as a favor for Miranda, but… they were tempting. More tempting, really, than I wanted to admit.

My lust for Miranda had been constant. I wanted her. I had always wanted her, and just because I could hold her in my hand now didn’t change that basic fact of myself. It was, if I focused on it, creepy, but it was also… pure, almost. Loyal, in a weird way.

This, however, was different. Baser. I didn’t want them because they were my long denied crush; I wanted them because they were sexy, and small, and obedient. And scared.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I said vaguely, more out of a feeling of obligation than as an actual response.

Some of the tension left them, but they didn’t move from their places on the table.

“You can go.” I added awkwardly, and at that they both got up at last, and ran off before I could change my mind.

---

Man. You wouldn’t think ordering a pizza would be that hard for me to write. Weirdly enough, though, that gave me more problems than the rest of this story combined.

I’m… most unsatisfied with how that ended up, which is why it took longer than I wanted to get this out, but I just needed to do it, otherwise I’d never would. I’m pretty sure I’ve had stories die just because I was stuck on some stupid little thing like this, and I don’t want to do that again; I’m not even at a good part yet!

That said, I derailed a bit again from where I had planned; my initial layout had the two them not be much of a factor until later. Still, this isn’t bad, I think; I have a lot of dynamics happening in this story that I want to let play out, and bunch of behind the scenes stuff I’m still trying to introduce organically. A bit of divergence is to be expected.

If I had to choose one size, it’d be… somewhere between three to six inches, ish. Small enough that they can’t really interact with anything, while big enough to interact with.

That said, what I like can depend on my mood, the day, and what I’m looking for; there’s a certain level of cuddle based softness that can only come when you aren’t in danger of accidentally obliterating your partner by existing, but there’s plenty of times I want that to be the case, or to be a landscape for them to be trapped on. Hell, even a proper half sized has its perks, with a SW struggling to live a normal life, and often failing…

I’m not sure how long this burst of writing will last, but hell, as long as it’s there, I might as keep on 'till I crash, right?

---

The two of them left me with lingering doubts, and the nagging certainty that, if I was going to actully interact with them in any meaningful way, I should probably learn their actual names.

Thankfully, before too long the pizza arrived.

When Miranda first contacted me, I was given a list of requirements I would need to meet, if I was to stake my claim on her, or any other Min for that matter. Most were simple, logical things, like being a legal adult, or being Changed, that I met without issue. There was one, however, that was a bit more dramatic: any door that I could expect to have people walk up to needed a second door built in front of or behind it, to keep anyone who knocked on my door safe from harm by the Mins I kept inside.

It was, like almost everything else involved in the process, subject to incentives by the government in their efforts to get as many Mins off their hands as possible, so I barely had to pay a thing to have it done. I had a hallway I could easily convert, as well, and the process itself had taken less than a week to complete. Honestly, compared to some of the stories I’d seen online, the entire process had been virtually painless.

That said, there’s an indescribable frustration that comes from having to deal with the world’s shittiest air lock just to get a pizza.

I wasn’t terribly concerned about an escape attempt, but before I opened the inner door I glanced over my shoulder anyways. Blonde and Brunette, unsurprisingly, were nowhere in sight. Miranda, on the other hand, had appeared near the couch at some point and was eying the door greedily. When she saw me focus on her, she stepped back and raised her hands into the air in an universal signal of ‘Don’t mind me’.

I snorted, then went through the first door. Closing it behind me, I opened the second, to see a man waiting for me, boxes in hand. He was Changed, of course, bearing a crest of pure white feathers instead of hair; in an age where delivery could be life threatening, those who could weather the danger without issue were unsurprisingly in high demand, if only to insure that orders would continue to be delivered in a timely manner.

He was also one of the drivers I usually got at this time of night, and noticing the changes, he eyed the door behind me knowingly for a moment, giving me an approving grin before handing my order over. Thankfully, he wasn’t one for talking, and he restrained himself from any comments beyond the usual formalities.

Passing through my ‘airlock’, I returned to see Miranda had abandoned the couch to stand by the table instead, impatiently waiting for me to bring the food over.

Just to irritate her, I took my time on the walk back, and every exaggerated step I took filled her tiny face with an adorable rage. By the time I set the boxes down, she was full out pouting.

More interestingly, near the edge of the table I found Brunette and Blonde, not hiding, but not drawing attention to themselves, either. The two of them were what I could only call standing at attention… or, perhaps, standing for inspection. With their arms folded behind their backs, chests thrown out, heads submissively tilted down, they made quite the sight; even more so, when the impact of the boxes hitting the table shook them enough for them both to fall on their asses.

I watched them stand up shakily as, in my mind, my picture of the life of a Min in a Kennel adjusted dramatically. Turning, I saw Miranda fixing me with a dramatic glare again, for the first time in… hours. It almost felt nostalgic with how dramatically our relationship had shifted, even it was just earlier today that she had been acting as high and mighty as ever.

Ignoring her, I gathered several paper plates from a cabinet before returning to the table and taking a seat, noting with amusement how even that caused the smaller Mins to sway slightly. Brushing the smaller box to the side for the moment, I opened the box and took out a slice of pizza and set it on a plate.

Holding it in the air, I knew I had the absolute attention of everyone in the room, with each and every little head locked onto the plate with wondering expression. Teasingly, I moved it closer to Miranda, watching her start to reach out… before dropping it in front of Brunette and Blonde, who were so startled by this that they both fell onto the pizza. They leapt off, stained with grease and sauce and stammering apologies, but I just repeated the process of readying another plate.

This time, when it hovered in front of her face, Miranda kept her control for all of ten seconds before reaching out with eager hands to grab something that probably weighted more than she did.

Unfortunately for her, we still had some more to do.

“Before we start, Miranda, I think we should do something.”

She froze, looking guilty, before switching to a look of suspicion.

I didn’t give her a chance to speak, though.

“If we’re all going to be living together, shouldn’t you introduce me to your friends?” I gestured with one hand towards the other Mins, who at this point were doing their best to look even smaller than usual. “It’s just good manners, right?”

She scowled, clearly conflicted over whether to humor even that much from me or not. Thankfully, Brunette decided to make her move then, inching forward before dipping into another one of those unexpectedly erotic curtseys.

“Si-Master,” she began, “I’m terribly sorry that didn’t introduce ourselves to you before.”

Miranda’s glare only grew, but she didn’t try to stop her friend from speaking, not that I would have let her; the more the little Mins did… anything, really, the more fascinating I found them.

For her part, Brunette eyed Miranda warily for a moment, but then compared her to me before prioritized which whims she should obey.

She curtseyed again. “My name, Master, is Amber, and behind me is my friend Mia.”

True enough, the newly named Mia had also lowered into a courtesy of her own, before the two of them rose with a level of synchronization that spoke of long practice.

Amber continued. “We would like to thank you for your generosity in taking us into your home.”

I faced Miranda very deliberately as I answered. “Why thank you, Amber, that is very kind. You and your friend are welcome to eat, if you want.”

It filled me with great pleasure to see her face flush red with anger, tiny little fists clenching and unclenching as tried to hold her temper and resist the urge to attack someone who could easily back hand her off the table.

It was even more amusing to toss the second place in front of her and watch her startle in response, her rage quickly forgotten in the face of the sheer volume of food I had presented her.

Dinner, as it turned out, also came with a show: watching the rest of the diners eat.

Amber and Mia, hopeless outmatched by their slice, didn’t even try to move it, instead resorting simply chewing bits of it off the, to them, enormous slab of food, crawling upon it to gain a bit of the sausage, then to another area for sauce or cheese and so on. As they did so, I could help but notice that their already dirty bodies became more and more stained. It wasn’t mud wrestling, to be sure, but watching them get covered in an edible coating seemed to hold a special allure all it’s own.

Miranda, on the other hand, was in an awkward place where she could manage her food, but only barely; she’d raise the tip of it to her mouth, like she would have when she normally ate a pizza before she Min’d, only for the weight of it to overwhelm her and fall down on her body, forcing her onto the giving surface of the plate. It was too light to hurt her, thankfully, but she grew more and more frustrated as she had to fight her meal off her body, and grew more than a little dirty herself in the process.

I watched them, blatantly, as I finished my first slice, and moved on to my second, gaining Miranda’s glares and two nervous stares in the process, before I decided to make my move.

Even with all three of them watching, I was just so big that, when I was this close, none of them could effectively watch all of me at once. Distracted as they were by the food, my hand’s movements went unnoticed until it pinched Miranda around the waist and drew her up into the air.

Miranda flailed wildly in my grasp as below her, Amber and Mia stopped eating and started cowering behind the edge of their pizza, trying to avoid attention.

“Ian!” Miranda snarled. “Ian, what the hell are you doing? I’m trying to eat!”

I smiled. “I know you are, Miranda, but you’re making such a mess.”

Carefully, I grabbed first one arm, and then the other, pulled them behind her back, and pinned them under the hand still holding her in the air, in the process forcing her to thrust her still impressive chest forward.

“So beautiful, Miranda… but so dirty.”

I licked my lips as I stared at her, my eyes tracing the patterns formed of sauce and bits of cheese all over her, following them until one ended on her breast, just short of the nipple.

I couldn’t help notice how it seemed to rise almost proudly in the air.

“Why don’t I help you clean up?”

I moved her forward and started licking a clean path upon the delectable surface of her flesh.

From her knee, my tongue rose steadily up her leg, tracing an curved line as I resisted the urge to simply close my mouth around it’s firmness, instead proceeding up her side, before veering onto her stomach. The tip of it danced around her belly button for a moment as I enjoyed finally having my way with the very thing that had caught my eye from the beginning, flattening down to take in as much sensation as possible, before probing at the tiny dips and arcs formed by bone and muscle with careful precision.

It was only as my tongue rose to her breast, curling to cup it its bounty, that I realized that Miranda was screaming.

It wasn’t in anger, like I would have expected, or even in excitement, as I would have hoped, but in fear, real genuine fear, as if I was going to bite down on her at any time now.

For a second, for a long, long second, I almost kept going.

It would have been easy; even though she was fighting me, madly, desperately, her arms didn’t so much as budge from my grip, and the tiny thuds of her bare feet against my chest were a meaningless sensation I barely noticed.

Miranda was here, helpless in my grasp, exactly as she knew she would be, exactly as she had all but asked me to. Everything I wanted was, quite literally, at hand, and all I had to do was take it.

It was perhaps one of the greatest acts of will in my life to stopping.

This time I was the one glaring, looming over her with my hand tightening ever so slightly around her arms and waist.

“Miranda”, I said, my voice carefully blank, “What the fuck.”

There were no words, just screaming and crying, noises as mindless as the way she still fight blindly against me. The defiance had been fun, but I wasn’t in the mood anymore.

“Enough.” I snarled.

That one word was loud, louder than I had been the entire time, and from all of a foot from her face. Miranda froze, mouth open and tears streaming from her face as she stared at me, and for a long minute, no one spoke.

“No…” she cried. “No… please, Ian, no. Don’t hurt me, please, Ian no, don’t-”

I shook her roughly.

“Miranda,” I begin, “What in the hell made you think I was going to hurt you?”

Shaking her head, she refused to speak, simply making quiet moaning sounds. I sighed, and placed her on the table, careful not to hurt her, and left my hand on top of her body, still holding her in place.

Face down into the wood, if she was still talking, I couldn’t hear her from up here.

I gathered my thoughts, tapping my fingers irritably against the table, and back, as I tried to articulate anything more that frustrated rage.

“Miranda,” I said finally, “You told me that I could have you. That I could have you, willing. You would do anything, everything, and in return, your friends would be untouched. That was the deal.”

My free hand gestured wildly in the air as I continued, not that she could see it from her spot on the table. “It’s not like I asked you to do a pole dance or something, I mean… fuck, Miranda! This was supposed to be fun, and for you, too! I was going to make you cum!”

Beneath my hand, she laid motionless. Grabbing her arms again, I levered her up onto her knees, so she could see Amber and Mia, still huddled behind their pizza, helplessly watching this drama of giants play out.

I sighed. “Let me make you a deal, Miranda. As of now you are, effectively, in breach of the only real restraint you have on my behavior, on your guarantee of any treatment as a human being instead of a Min. I’m going to give you three options, now.”

I reached out and grabbed the slice the Mins were sheltering behind, placing it back in the box as they panicked, exposed. I watched, out of the corner of my eye, as they visibly considered running before giving up on the option as hopeless, instead choosing to stay and face their fate head on.

“The first option is… you keep doing this. You give up, on the first day no less, and thus tell me that I can do whatever I want to all of you. You won’t participate in the fun as much as I would of liked, but… you’re clearly not doing that anyways. What do I have to lose?”

I let go of her arms, and Miranda caught herself on her hands and knees instead of falling flat on her face, which was a promising sign.

“The second option is we try it again. I lick you, and lick you, and keep doing it until you are completely clean. And yes, I will go places you don’t want me to, but if you so much as protest? Option two is done.”

I paused, before reaching down with one finger and ever so gently lifted her head until it once again faced her friends.

“The third option,” I began, “is that I don’t do anything at all. Instead, you do. You walk over there, you pick up Amber and Mia, and you do everything to them that I was going to do to you. Everything. I will not so much as touch them, or you, but if we go this route, Miranda, I expect them to be spotless by the time we’re done, and preferably having orgasimed at least once. And if if they ask you to stop? If they cry? If they beg and plead?”

I leaned in and whispered into her ear. “I damn well expect you to keep going anyways.”

---

Well. That escalated quickly. You know Ghostbusters, at the end of the movie on the roof, where they have to make a choice?

Choose the form of your destructor, Miranda.

Also, that feeling when you have to look back to figure out WTF your characters are actually named.

For mouthplay, a lot of the time it’s just an extension of everything else involving lewding an SW; it’s dangerous to the SW, sure, but… everything is. A lot of standard SW sizes could (and do) die to a dick (or pussy), much less a hand, a foot, or… literally any body part. But putting them in your mouth gives you an extra level of control as you cut them off from the rest of the world , with the implicit threat of crushing teeth and that gaping void waiting for them in the back, all while your tongue can easily dominate them. Also, let’s be honest here: an actual SW would probably taste delicious.

Beyond that, though, the reasons extend into the reasons I like vore: TLDR,; power, like almost everything to do with this fetish but more so.

Eating something, as a cause of death, has… something extra to it. You don’t just kill them, you take from your prey, you become more as they come less. Honestly, predation is probably the most primitive, basic, primal power relationship that there is. I’ve always preferred predator to prey animals, the bigger and meaner the better, and looking back at it that interest was probably based in the same interests that lead me to SWs in the first place. Regardless of the actual realities (nature is complicated, gasp!) there’s something inside you that says the one eating another is bigger, stronger, superior to the one that is being eaten, and to devour your enemy is an ultimate form of victory over them. It still applies even if the vore isn’t physical, if you can syphon from them or something; the act, either literal or metaphorical, of taking is the biggest part for me.

On the less violent end, while I can’t really understand the SW perspective, the idea of being so much bigger than someone(s) that they can live inside you, vulnerable and helpless to your actions, conscious or automatic? That, perhaps literally, you are a world to them? That is hot.

Also, I’ve always been an eater since I was kid. Vore vibes with me on that level the same way super powers or monsters that involve eating do.

@tiny-ivy
Not really? To agree with what everyone is saying, basically, what I’m saying masculinity, as discussed in the world now, is almost always inherently toxic because there is no other example. The same factors that help inform the dehumanizing view of men in porn, the lack of expressions, or focus on anything that isn’t a dick, ties back to how men, culturally, are still viewed: tough. Or rather, ‘tough’.

You can’t show weakness, you can’t be vulnerable, you can’t feel, so you can enjoy sex, because a man is supposed to want to have sex, but not to extent that you show that you enjoy it! It’s messed up, obviously, but honestly the idea that it shouldn’t be a common phrase is bizarre to me because… well, it’s real. It’s common. It’s how I, and probably every other man to some extent, has been raised, even if there is a some focus on fighting the perception of that is how a man should be now compared to how it used to be.

Talking about this, I’m remembering a short story I read as a kid: a samurai where going up a mountain to get something from a snow spirit, and to impress her, they were standing there, enduring the elements to show how manly they were. They do this until they get coated in ice and die, turning into a statue of ice, and the spirit wanders by the newest statue of dozens, musing how stupid they all are that they just try to become like ice.

The ‘ideal’ man, in a nutshell, is a Terminator (It can’t be bargained with. It can’t be reasoned with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever) programmed to act like a person with the core directives of memetic Darwin to drive them: ‘EAT FIGHT FUCK’.

@kisupure said in Sex Objects:

feeling shame for being a sexual being,

That is something that honestly bothers me a lot about my enjoyment of the SW fetish, because so much of it revolves around, well, hurting or depowering women. It’s… not a good look, these days, and even if I had a mind to talk about that kind of thing (laughs forever at the idea of doing that) the reception that this would have alone would be enough to scare me off it.

@tiny-ivy
A lot of that, and I say this literally, just goes back to society as a whole. A person, right now more than ever it seems, but probably throughout all of modern history, is seen by the eyes of society as only being worth what they’re worth. If you’re not making money, if you don’t have money, if there’s nothing influential like that about you, to the human race as a whole you’re almost worthless.

And for a lot of people, to face the brutal reality of human indifference is a struggle, but with friends and hobbies and interests it’s manageable, to a degree. But, when you’re not allowed self worth, or really a ‘self’, as a man or a woman, you turn to societal worth instead to have a reason to live. For men, that is ‘succeeding’, making the bank, along with the other ‘masculine’ concepts that you’re supposed to follow like being athletic, or tough, or getting chicks or whatever. I think it honestly explains the stereotypical jock: because they succeed at their role, they double down on it and keep going with it for the praise they’re receiving for it, and with all the time they spend being ‘men’ they don’t get as much chance to develop their self like someone who isn’t as lockstep with a stereotype. So they keep doubling down, keep acting out in the same way society tells them they should act (brutally honest here: the reason there’s so many ‘boys will be boys’ moments is we keep telling boys that that’s how boys act) until they reach a point where they built their lives around that role they’ve been acting, and it’s all that they have: the jock, the tough guy, the businessman.

To bring this (ha) temporarily back to the topic of fetishes for a moment, I think that the ‘shirt’ metaphor is why so much giantess stories are kind of dumpster fires. So many go off two main concepts: men losing their rights, or a normal woman who gains power and instantly, and for no apparent reason, just starts killing everything and everyone just because she can now, in whatever ways the author finds sexy. I think… for a lot of guys, that being ‘forcefully’ depowered like that is like getting that shirt taken off, and it’s the only relief from the roles they can find, and allow themselves to find.

(Personally, it makes my skin crawl; in theory I could like GTS content. In practice I find it largely abohorant, even if the pics themselves can be great in isolation (those legs! Those heels! And oh, do I envy the raw power they have in those pictures, that ability to just step on a city, I really do (and there’s so many good ones because they have so many more artists making them, sigh)) which is ironic since when I was a whelp still figuring out the fetish, I mixed them both, but the reality of it, how so much of it seems to focus on what is probably self-hatred of men, much less losing what remains of our agency in a rapidly evolving society that seems to loath people having any real control over their own lives in the first place, has driven me off it almost completely. Seriously, I have enough problems without getting into that. These days I mostly trawl through GTS stuff looking for more SW content that isn’t actually under an SW label.)

It’s interesting you say that, though, because looking at a female from the male perspective, while you’re allowed to be more a person than we are, even if we’re collared robots it seems like we can do more with what limited personhood we have. If we men are wearing collars, and slowly killing ourselves with them, it seems like women are have their ankles chained.

@kisupure said in Sex Objects:

it was actually really surprising and kind of scary how much subconscious social male programming I’d absorbed

Yeah. A lot of the reasons people act like they act, men and women alike, is because that’s how they’re told to act, and that comes from both directions. Moms will tell their sons they have to be tough, that their sisters are too weak to do something physically demanding, just as much as fathers do. A girl can attack a boy and that’s almost amusing, but a boy can’t realiate without being a brute, because they’re strong and girls are weak and they must be protected, even from the consequences of their own actions. It’s frustrating and amusing, almost, that there are so many women who tell boys to be sexist, or distant as a child, and then are startled and horrified that boys grow up to be distant sexists.

I like bondage, vore, and… I guess I would call it ‘depersonalization’? I’m not sure what the word for it is, because there’s probably a word for it.

Bondage is fun, because you can wrap a woman up like a present, helpless and exposed, and the way things can dig into exciting places is all sorts of fun.

Vore, to me, is… something like a primal display of power, I guess. (Also, I like eating, so there’s that.) Eating something is a proof of superiority over them, to me. The fact that the tongue is innate considered sexual for so many things is also a factor; it adds an edge of uncertainty for those involved. Are they going to be ‘eaten’? Or eaten?

As for the last, it’s something I generally only see in giantess stories, but obviously still want in SW contexts; the idea of the sheer irrelevance of the tiny. Like, if you walk down the street, and step on a tiny? No one cares. If you pick one up, take them home, and do whatever? No one cares. If you just scoop up your girlfriend of several years, dip her in some sauce, and dump her in your mouth? Well, she was a tiny. Crush, in general, seems to be a part of this, for me, but only as part; I like the casualness of the crush, and not the entire setting of the foot and such, per say.

As a community, I notice we seem to treasure the smalls more than the other end of the spectrum… and don’t get me wrong, I get that. In a more realistic setting, I wouldn’t do a lot of the shit I like. But as fantasy…

Also, begging. Begging is fun.

@tiny-ivy
A lot of that, and I say this literally, just goes back to society as a whole. A person, right now more than ever it seems, but probably throughout all of modern history, is seen by the eyes of society as only being worth what they’re worth. If you’re not making money, if you don’t have money, if there’s nothing influential like that about you, to the human race as a whole you’re almost worthless.

And for a lot of people, to face the brutal reality of human indifference is a struggle, but with friends and hobbies and interests it’s manageable, to a degree. But, when you’re not allowed self worth, or really a ‘self’, as a man or a woman, you turn to societal worth instead to have a reason to live. For men, that is ‘succeeding’, making the bank, along with the other ‘masculine’ concepts that you’re supposed to follow like being athletic, or tough, or getting chicks or whatever. I think it honestly explains the stereotypical jock: because they succeed at their role, they double down on it and keep going with it for the praise they’re receiving for it, and with all the time they spend being ‘men’ they don’t get as much chance to develop their self like someone who isn’t as lockstep with a stereotype. So they keep doubling down, keep acting out in the same way society tells them they should act (brutally honest here: the reason there’s so many ‘boys will be boys’ moments is we keep telling boys that that’s how boys act) until they reach a point where they built their lives around that role they’ve been acting, and it’s all that they have: the jock, the tough guy, the businessman.

To bring this (ha) temporarily back to the topic of fetishes for a moment, I think that the ‘shirt’ metaphor is why so much giantess stories are kind of dumpster fires. So many go off two main concepts: men losing their rights, or a normal woman who gains power and instantly, and for no apparent reason, just starts killing everything and everyone just because she can now, in whatever ways the author finds sexy. I think… for a lot of guys, that being ‘forcefully’ depowered like that is like getting that shirt taken off, and it’s the only relief from the roles they can find, and allow themselves to find.

(Personally, it makes my skin crawl; in theory I could like GTS content. In practice I find it largely abohorant, even if the pics themselves can be great in isolation (those legs! Those heels! And oh, do I envy the raw power they have in those pictures, that ability to just step on a city, I really do (and there’s so many good ones because they have so many more artists making them, sigh)) which is ironic since when I was a whelp still figuring out the fetish, I mixed them both, but the reality of it, how so much of it seems to focus on what is probably self-hatred of men, much less losing what remains of our agency in a rapidly evolving society that seems to loath people having any real control over their own lives in the first place, has driven me off it almost completely. Seriously, I have enough problems without getting into that. These days I mostly trawl through GTS stuff looking for more SW content that isn’t actually under an SW label.)

It’s interesting you say that, though, because looking at a female from the male perspective, while you’re allowed to be more a person than we are, even if we’re collared robots it seems like we can do more with what limited personhood we have. If we men are wearing collars, and slowly killing ourselves with them, it seems like women are have their ankles chained.

@kisupure said in Sex Objects:

it was actually really surprising and kind of scary how much subconscious social male programming I’d absorbed

Yeah. A lot of the reasons people act like they act, men and women alike, is because that’s how they’re told to act, and that comes from both directions. Moms will tell their sons they have to be tough, that their sisters are too weak to do something physically demanding, just as much as fathers do. A girl can attack a boy and that’s almost amusing, but a boy can’t realiate without being a brute, because they’re strong and girls are weak and they must be protected, even from the consequences of their own actions. It’s frustrating and amusing, almost, that there are so many women who tell boys to be sexist, or distant as a child, and then are startled and horrified that boys grow up to be distant sexists.

@tiny-ivy
Not really? To agree with what everyone is saying, basically, what I’m saying masculinity, as discussed in the world now, is almost always inherently toxic because there is no other example. The same factors that help inform the dehumanizing view of men in porn, the lack of expressions, or focus on anything that isn’t a dick, ties back to how men, culturally, are still viewed: tough. Or rather, ‘tough’.

You can’t show weakness, you can’t be vulnerable, you can’t feel, so you can enjoy sex, because a man is supposed to want to have sex, but not to extent that you show that you enjoy it! It’s messed up, obviously, but honestly the idea that it shouldn’t be a common phrase is bizarre to me because… well, it’s real. It’s common. It’s how I, and probably every other man to some extent, has been raised, even if there is a some focus on fighting the perception of that is how a man should be now compared to how it used to be.

Talking about this, I’m remembering a short story I read as a kid: a samurai where going up a mountain to get something from a snow spirit, and to impress her, they were standing there, enduring the elements to show how manly they were. They do this until they get coated in ice and die, turning into a statue of ice, and the spirit wanders by the newest statue of dozens, musing how stupid they all are that they just try to become like ice.

The ‘ideal’ man, in a nutshell, is a Terminator (It can’t be bargained with. It can’t be reasoned with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever) programmed to act like a person with the core directives of memetic Darwin to drive them: ‘EAT FIGHT FUCK’.

@kisupure said in Sex Objects:

feeling shame for being a sexual being,

That is something that honestly bothers me a lot about my enjoyment of the SW fetish, because so much of it revolves around, well, hurting or depowering women. It’s… not a good look, these days, and even if I had a mind to talk about that kind of thing (laughs forever at the idea of doing that) the reception that this would have alone would be enough to scare me off it.

@kisupure
Huh. I think, on a fundamental level, I’m not really attached to my body as ‘my’ body, if that makes sense. I’ve got a bunch of medical shit happening to me since I was a kid, and it’s easy for me to think of my body as separate from me, and in general not much of it really.

@kisupure
Pretty much?

Like… how do I put this, there’s two kinds of attractiveness, I guess. There’s the sexual kind, where some part of your brain says ‘I want to fuck that’, and then there’s the aesthetic kind, which is when you you admire that something is just… built right.

And when it comes to men, those two concept are always divorced to me. I can think, ‘Yeah, this person is a icon of a man’ or something, and the hormones just won’t go for me; at some fundamental level, just the masculine shape doesn’t work for me. So, yeah, if I woke up tomorrow and my trainwreck of a walking corpse suddenly looked good I’d… like, it sure. I might even want to preen about it a bit, but it’d more like someone bragging about their car rather than how hot they are.

@kisupure
shrug
There’s a reason it’s called toxic masculinity, after all. Men aren’t supposed to have ‘feelings’, only pride. Even now, the most common portrayal of a man in any kind of media is a tough guy who doesn’t cry or show weakness.

I’ll note that, again on a personal level, I don’t actually enjoy the male body, so porn that actually shows more of a man actually turns me off, because while a woman feeling pleasure makes me feel pleased, a man… really doesn’t for me. At the same time, though, I’ve realized I’m pretty abnormal in my dislike of the masculine form, so it doesn’t disprove your point so much as prove my own weirdness.

And @tiny-ivy : your point about monsters is very valid. I can say from the opposite perspective, I enjoyed pretending I was a dragon capturing a princess as a kid long before I saw an ‘actual’ SW to help make that connection really click. Women weren’t small enough for my tastes, I must have realized on some level, so I made myself larger, instead.

I have a fondness for it, I have to admit. The sheer exotic nature of it aside, like a classic green skin alien from old scifi, there’s something about it. They’re small and weak, of course, and you can eat them, but the idea that they’re made to be eaten, that their entire existence was only ever to be nothing more than food…

shudders in excitement

I love it. One of my many fantasies is of just keeping a food girl and eating her, bit by bit, as a long term food source. Take a bite out, and she just gets that much smaller instead of losing an arm or whatever. Maybe she starts out full sized, or maybe she’s even a normal person you turned to food, and then you devour her until you can keep her in an aquarium, with enough water and/or food that she can grow back whatever you eat off her.

Ideally, she even likes it.

Best part? It’s sustainable, too, as well as environmentally friendly!

Hmm. Interesting thoughts.

At personal level, let me start with this: I could picture a lot of perspectives of a tiny woman looking at a giant man, but I have no idea what she would find attractive about it, beyond the sheer power of a giant itself, on the merits of that power alone. I can say that X man is handsome or whatever, but I don’t feel it in a way I can work with; it’s like me saying one car is more attractive than another: maybe one is, at some level, aesthetically superior, but just because I can say a sports car looks better than an old junker doesn’t mean I want to fuck the Ferrari. I’ve read enough that I can guess some points of attraction (abs, dick, ass) but it’s not something I could ever put real emotion in or write well. I don’t like to make a fuss about it, but I derive no pleasure from the male form at all, and at a fundamental level I just don’t understand why people find men attractive.

When I started writing however long ago, I did stuff from the SW’s perspective, but it hasn’t escaped my notice that my, by far, most popular story (let’s be honest here; I’m not sure anyone knows the older ones exist. Hell, with the death of sites I doubt most of them actually exist at all at this point) stars a main character featuring a personality trait I observe in myself, if exaggerated wildly and spiraling in drastically unhealthy ways. Part of it is that I’ve improved as a writer, of course, but I write him from a point and perspective I can understand, and then boldly go with it into directions I’d never allow myself, but still anchored by that fundamental urge we both share allowing him to seem more realistic a person; in that case some degree of obsessive focus, a desire to cherise, and a desire to dominate and control.

I can take some second hand pleasure in reading from a female’s perspective and applying her observations to myself, or deriving a picture of how small she is, but my sheer disinterest, I think, limits my ability to write from a ‘typical’ feminine perspective. I can’t look at a man and feel interested, I have no desire to feel overpowered, and while I can find control kinky, I don’t like the idea of one where I have no control. Giving some control up can be fun, but total surrender at the scale an SW would experience is deeply unpleasant to me.

At best I could probably do some interludes, or perhaps a back and forth between two people, but I feel I’d probably fail to make anything of decent quality if I focused fully from a woman’s point of view.

@tiny-ivy
Hmm. Originally, the ‘plan’ was ‘it was just a hand’ but now I have Ideas.

Weird ideas, true, but still.

I’m picturing one of those lonely tower-y kind of wizards, all hermit-y like, but he’s a giant, and he’s sending out semi-sentient body parts to learn for him, so he can multi-task learning a bunch of magic at once, but then the Damsel, like, kisses a finger because the hand is kind to her and she’s probably a tad Stockholmed, he goes ‘Wait, what?!’ because he’s still connected and pain is fine but that was unexpected, and drags his hand back, and the woman with it.

With a first impression of, ‘What did you do, hand, and why do I keep wanting to pat it?’

And he doesn’t know how to care for a tiny person, so he calls an old friend for advice, and it’s this big catalyst for opening up again on his end, while the damsel gets to love an actual human-like person, and also a better life than in a cage.

So, throughout my SW history, I’ve had a kind of habit of having the weird ideas. So, in that spirit, I think I’ll mention this idea I had recently:

You know how a lot of pics on this fetish revolve around handhelds? Take that to its logical conclusion: a giant hand. Just a giant hand. Picture Thing from Addams Family, but giant sized, and maybe mix in some magic for some quality of life/logistics stuff.

In a some fantasy setting, a poor damisal (newbie adventurer, recently de-kingdomed princess, what have you) is wandering around, lost and frightening, in a wasteland, and is attacked! By some savage beast of some sort.

She faints… and wakes up in a dark but well furnished cave, rescued by our hero.

The idea kind of revolves around the contrasting perspectives of the giant hand monster, who is delighted to have a guest in their cave, and is pulling out all the stops to make it comfortable; ‘Oh, there’s this old chair from years ago! Let me get that for you!’ Let me prepare this monster so you can eat it!’

…Contrasted against The Fair Damsel, who sees this giant hand crawling on the walls and other creepy shit, but is trapped with it because it lives in a hellhole and she couldn’t survive leaving. In fact, through in a escape attempt or two where she gets her life saved, even, in that classic SW fashion, to help realize her ‘captor’ isn’t so bad.

Anyways, they’d learn to understand each other and bond, as two lonely people do when stuck together. Maybe Fair Damsel contributes her skills in having human sized hands, along with actual skills, to do something for the hand. Clothes? Working with some normal sized tool or artifact? Beyond that… when you think about it, there’s actually of surprisingly intimate things that could happen with only a hand involved, if I wanted to go that direction, and I don’t even mean in a sex kind of way.

Anyways, was curious to see if anyone else was amused by this concept while I mull it over.

Ah, this is one I’m hoping to write at some point: a wandering giant, traveling by a local kingdom on his way to fight a dragon (as is right and proper!) is shanghaied by the clever princess and her staff and is promptly crowned as the king.

Local Giant has absolutely no interest in being king, or living with normal people, or anything, but he’s the kind of person who used his social skills as a dump stat, so the resident princess keeps leading him around by the nose whenever he tries to leave. Meanwhile, she’s busy telling all their enemies about their ‘new GIANT king, he’s so BIG and STRONG, oh, and did you hear about how he spends his time HUNTING DRAGONS before he decided to settle down?’ to scare them off because everyone before he was corrupted and there’s barely anyone in the castle anymore.

I’m picturing this kind of Benny Hill scene of the giant, big and rough with dragon skin clothes, trying to leave, only to fail horribly in his complete inability to be sneaky, what with being fifty feet tall, and be dragged into judging the princess’s outfits as she tries to seduce him, and it’s obvious to everyone he could just walk off but just… doesn’t.

I’m honestly kind of super amused by this idea, but I’m just kinda sucky with the details, and how the logistics would work. For whatever reason… sigh, I always get hung up on the logistics…