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.

@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.

“Alright, ladies,” I announced, only slightly raising my voice, “We’re here.”

Carefully, I lifted the carrier- while I didn’t mind if they were jostled around in there, it would be all too easy to swing it around a little too much on accident and actually do them real damage- and set it on the table, before unceremoniously opening the door.

A beat passed without any movement from within before I spoke up again. Louder. “Everybody out.”

It didn’t take a genius to realize that to a Min even words spoken at a normal volume was very loud to them, though they had undoubtedly grown accustomed to it. Anything beyond that had to be reaching levels that was painful, however; earlier, the box itself had protected them. With it open, that protection was gone.

This time there was an immediate and gratifying sense of movement from within, before two smaller figures almost ran out, stumbling on the transition from case floor to table top, before looking up at me, tense and afraid. When I did nothing to them they relaxed, slightly, and moved to the side, clearing the entrance for Miranda.

I took that time to actully look at them for the first time, examining the women I was now responsible for… for a given value of the word, anyways. I had no idea which was which, but once I did, it would be easy enough to tell them apart: one was blond, and one a brunette, her hair leaning redder than average. The Brunette was maybe an inch taller than her friend, which meant she loomed over her, comparatively, by a foot or more.

They were both naked, of course; clothing for a Min was expensive, and the government refused to splurge on such luxuries. Naked, and gorgeous, as all Mins were. The details were lost to me from my current prospective, but what I did see was enticing enough. The idea of simply picking one of them up and inspecting her was oh so tempting, but my deal with Miranda stipulated that they were free and clear, and I had every intention of keeping it: I valued her over them every time.

Besides, it was very likely that they would come to me, in time, for some small luxury or another and things could be renegotiated from there. While they were safe from my theoretical advances, they were trapped here in my home, isolated from the world, where almost everything was gigantic to them. The essentials of survival were mandated, but everything beyond a corner in which to sleep, food slop, and a bottle cap of water was something I chose to give them, and they knew it. Eventually, they would get bored, and even with each other and (when I could spare her) Miranda, they would get lonely.

It was simply a matter of patience, and I was willing to wait.

No matter how pretty they were though, at the end of the day they were just the extras, a fact I was of reminded of when the main event emerged. To her friends, the carrier had been enormous, easily large enough to fit dozens of Mins of their size without even feeling cramped. Miranda, on the other hand, was far larger than them. Small enough to fit, but too tall to even kneel, much less stand, and while seeing her rear sway ever so enticingly as she crawled into a cage at the office had been lovely, seeing her crawl out of it in my house was even better.

Still, despite everything, her size, her nudity, being forced to crawl on the ground like an animal, she kept her composure, and the same kind of distant contempt for my very existence was as clear in her gaze as it had been that first night.

I reached out and ran a finger slowly down her back, enjoying the feel of her bare skin against my fingertip, warm and smooth and oh so soft, as I traced the arc of her spine.

Miranda needed to realize it wasn’t that first night anymore.

She shuddered at the sensation of it, arching up into it for a moment before remembering herself and jerking away violently.

And this time, when she looked up at me, the blank mask was gone: fear, disgust and loathing filled her face, mingling with resigned acceptance at a simple fact: that this was just the beginning. I could do whatever I wanted to her, and she had all but asked me to. Still, the way she had leaned into my finger hinted that she had more hidden in her depths. Somewhere deep in the darkness lay secrets, tempting, tantalizing things that shone like jewels, and I knew suddenly that I wanted them, madly, desperately. I’d dredge those depths, and bring everything she hid into the light. I’d tear down her resistance, break down her walls, and I wouldn’t stop until she lay at my feet, helpless and bare in body and soul.

I swallowed back the maddening hunger that had risen inside me, and before she could get past her surprise, I turned my focus on her friends.

You had to take care of your chores before you could have your fun, after all.

“Alright, you two. I’m going to be honest here: I don’t care about you, either of you, but Miranda does, and so here we are. Let’s go over your situation, and then you can fuck off.”

I pointed down the hall.

“Over there is the family room, and on there is a table with a Min House, fully customized; running water, electricity, the works. It’s specced for up to ten at your size, so you should have plenty of room. Here,” My finger rapped on the table they stood on sharply, and I watched them jump at the sudden motion, “Is where I eat, when I can be bothered to sit at a table. I usually leave food here, and what I eat, you eat. I’d say meals are when I sit down here, but somehow I don’t think you’ll be interested in dining with me, so I’ll leave some in the House’s storage for after my meal, so you can just eat whenever.”

I paused and let that sink in before I continued.

“I’m not going to play house with you, and I’m not going to pick up after you. Once a week I’ll do basic maintenance, take out the garbage, fill the water tank and what not, but other than that how you take care of it is up to you. If something breaks? Let me know, I’ll have it fixed or replaced. If you let it get so disgusting in there that I smell it? Then I’m going to clean it, because I don’t want to put up with that shit.”

They backed away timidly as I leaned down towards them, until my face was less than a foot from their bodies, my impatience and irritation of having to deal with them when I wanted to deal with Miranda clear for them to see. “Believe me, you do not want me to have to clean up in there. I may just decide that the furnishings are trash, too. Or that maybe if you can’t take care of a house of your own, you should have a cage, instead.”

I eyed them, watched them tremble, hair blowing back and forth around their pale faces as I breathed. Hmm. Maybe I overdid it a little.

I straightened up and gestured towards a corner of the table, and the small protruding edge attached to it, making an effort to act calmer. “Anything that has a ladder like this, which, yes, includes the one with your Min House on it, is safe for you to explore; I will be careful around them. If you go up any other furniture, however, there’s no guarantee I might not drop a glass of water on your heads by accident. As a general statement, don’t go onto the chairs or my bed. Just… don’t. That’s mainly it. As long as I know you’re alive and nothing’s going wrong, I’ll leave you alone. If food is leaving the larder, maybe I see a glimpse of one of you around the corner? Everything’s great. If I don’t, though, I’m going to have to start looking for you, just to make sure you aren’t dead. Don’t make me do that, either.”

I tried to think of anything else I wanted to mention, any other concerns or warnings I should raise. It was hard to focus through my impatience, but I knew that I probably wouldn’t see either of them again for awhile, considering how I had handled this, and I didn’t want to have to bother with them later.

…

Fuck it.

Without warning, I swooped down and seized Miranda, and before she knew what was happening my hands latched around her torso like grasping talons, and I drew her close to me as I walked off. She thrashed briefly with an alarmed (adorable) squeak, but I just adjusted my hold, pinning her limbs in place with my arm while my free hand slide under her until I could feel her ass cupped in my palm. Once I had secured her, Miranda stopped resisting and curled up the best she could while restrained.

Cradling her carefully, I walked over to my chair in the family room and settled into it, leaning back and raising the foot rest. For a minute, I just held her to my chest as I thought about what to do next, before stretching out one leg, and bending up the the other slightly. Then, finally, I set Miranda down on the slope formed by my thigh.

She flailed as I released her, trying to get her balance, until she ended up leaning back against my leg, unintentionally giving me an excellent view of her body as she did so: warm skin without a blemish, flushed from her panic, long dark hair that reached down to her waist, long long legs I that I could easily hold in my hand. Miranda really was a thing of beauty. For a moment, she raised her arms to try and hide herself from me, to shield a modesty she seemed to so proudly deny having, but dropped them instead, either unwilling to appear off balance or show defiance she knew could be so easily crushed.

Miranda glared at me as I admired her, waiting for me to continue. I didn’t. A minute passed, then two, while I took in the magnificence of her body, and she grew more and more tense, bracing herself for an attack that refused to come.

Her nerve broke.

“Well?” She snapped.

I smiled. “Well what?”

She almost snarled. “Are you going to do it or not? Let’s get this over with, already!”

Part of me wanted to ask what ‘it’ was. I resisted the urge, and instead reached out my hand. She tried to crawl away, her belligerence giving way to fear, but I just brushed the back of a finger against her cheek.

“Oh, Miranda,” I whispered to her as she stared at me, wide eyed with confusion. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I reached out again, and felt the silky flow of her hair, rubbing the strands of it between finger and thumb before letting it go.

I remember, vaguely, reading something about training a horse, and how you had to get them accustomed to humans. The details were fuzzy, but the idea of it was pretty clear to me: you had to teach the animal not to be afraid of being touched. You started out small, petting their nose or something, and built up from there, until it was completely calm around you, no matter what you did around it, or to it.

In that spirit, I spent almost a half hour simply touching Miranda lightly: stroking her head, patting her hand, lifting her foot slightly in the air, bending an arm. Playing with her body, really. Never long, never in a way that was sexual, just consistent, steady contact.

Every time I reached out, she flinched away from me. Every time I touched her, pet her, toyed with her, she emerged unharmed.

Every time my hand approached, she flinched less and less as she grew used to the contact, slowly growing to trust that even if I could hurt her, I wasn’t going to.

Finally, she spoke, quietly. Her voice quavered. “Why?”

My hand moved towards her, and she didn’t flinch.

“Because, Miranda,” I said gently, “This isn’t going to be ‘over with’. This is just the beginning.”

And now we’re caught up. jazz hands
I’m probably going to have to go through later to put italics back in.

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.

…Is there a way to modify the tags on a thread? It’s occurring to me I should probably have something like ‘dark’ or ‘psychological’ on my story, as a fair warning to readers, but I’m not sure if I can.

You know, I’ve been sitting on this part for a week or two now? Just been waiting for the right balance of energy and MOTIVATION to get it written out and, well, let me tell you that I’m excited, anyways.

---

---

“Up and at 'em, ladies.” I said cheerfully as I swung the Min House open.

They had been sitting on the fabric pile I had left them originally, probably for lack of anything better to do, but as I approached they assumed their attention positions, as obedient as ever. Hilariously, me opening the house jostled them out of place, sending them falling back onto their little nest, but they recovered in admirable speed and returned to proper form.

“Miranda and I discussed a few things, and the good news is your situation is going to improve.” I explained. “You’re actually still on house arrest for awhile, but we’re going to be having a little fun and your attendance is required. I’ll set you back up with everything afterwards.”

I held out my hand for them but while they approached amicably enough, they hesitated as they grew closer, staring up at me with increasingly concerned faces. I probably would have been annoyed at that normally, but I was so excited for what was coming next that I merely smiled wider.

“Did I mention this is going to be your last chance for decent food until the next round of negotiations? Because you two are on Min Chow for now as well.”

It was amazing, I thought idly as Amber and Mia all but flew into my palm, just how effective the proper motivation could be.

“Excellent choice.” I murmured, before closing my hand around them.

I all but whistled as I walked back to the table, and it was clear my good mood was putting everyone on edge.

“…Ian?” Miranda asked warily. “What’s going on?”

I had left her and Sydney there once we had concluded our game, struck by a sudden inspiration that I was dying to see through. I hadn’t told them what was about to happen, but I had realized it would be easier if I didn’t give her time to stress over it, and maybe work herself up to try to flee and hide somewhere in the house. It wouldn’t save her from me, of course, but I didn’t want to deal with the hassle, either.

Better not to give her a warning. Or a choice.

“We’re having a little celebration, Miranda.” I answered. “I like to think we’ve made some progress just now, and I’d like to treat that with the importance it deserves.”

She flinched when I swung my hand to her, visibly stopping herself from retreating, and the sight was a little sting of irritation in my good mood. Instead of letting her pick up her friends, as I had planned, I lightly tossed them at her without any warning.

As she fumbled to catch them, I strode off into the kitchen, grabbing a large mixing bowl and setting it on the counter. As I walked to the freezer I found myself humming cheerfully as my attitude improved, pulling out the chocolate ice cream and scooping out a decent serving into the bowl before returning the carton to the fridge.

By the time I returned to the table with the largely empty bowl I found the women bunched together near the center, as they often did when they found my actions alarming. It was adorable how they acted like that would protect them at all, but it probably helped calm their nerves if nothing else, so I refrained from laughing and simply sat at my usual spot, with the bowl placed before me.

“Amber.” I began. She jolted at the sound of her name. “Mia. Miranda.”

I tapped the space in front of me, next to the bowl, with a finger. “All of you come here.”

There was a moment of confusion where they all stared at each other, before all eyes turned to the one member of their number I had excluded, who looked unsure if she should be happy or terrified at being the odd one out. Thankfully, they started moving before I had to repeat myself, and soon enough I had three little women lined up in front of me, staring up at my face with worried eyes.

Then, before any of them could react, my left hand lashed out and seized Miranda. Palm on her chest, and fingers gripping her shoulders, I easily forced her down onto the table top, and a single finger tip moved to cover her mouth, and any sounds she could have made. The smaller Mins screamed at my sudden movements, but before they do anything else my right hand pushed the bowl behind them. They jumped and spun to look at it, and were so panicked they didn’t see me calmly lay my arm on the other side of the bowl, trapping them in place.

“You know, I’d like to thank you two.” I said casually. “The more time passes, the more sure I am that Miranda would have been even more unreasonable without your presence, and the constant guilt and fear for your lives.”

What I could see of their tiny faces paled and Miranda’s thrashing grew suddenly frantic under my grip.

“And in general I’d like to think I’ve treated you well, all things considered. But…” I trailed off for a moment as I tried to find the words, and I tapped a finger absently on Miranda’s breast.

“I’ve been using you, successfully I might add, as hostages, but as I rely on that more and more her she’s going to be to rebel unless I prove that I’m serious and I don’t think I’ve actually done anything to you, beyond locking you in your House. Certainly nothing where she could see it. So, under the circumstances, I’ve decided that Miranda needs a reminder that I am, in fact, absolutely not bluffing when I start pushing things farther. Not about you, not about her, not about anything. In the same vein, I owe her an indignity, and really, I just want to have a bit of fun. So we’re going to have a little party to celebrate the fact that you’re all my hostages and that you should all be terrified about it, and as a paper thin excuse for me to play with you all, to kind of cover all these points all at once.”

Taking my free hand, I set it in front of them, fingers spread wide so that each of them stood in the empty space between two fingers. There was a span of time there, brief as it was, that they could have tried to run, or hide, or really do anything to resist me. Honestly, I had expected them to. Instead, they merely stared up at me with resignation on their faces.

Once I was satisfied with how things were lined up, carefully I closed my hand and trapped them in between my fingers.

Lifting them into the air, I turned my hand and looked at it, and my two prisoners, like a woman admiring her rings. They hung there, limp and unmoving, but seemed to be unhurt, just disheartened.

“This isn’t about you, you’re just the most convenient tool at hand for my needs. If it makes you feel better, I’m not trying to make you miserable just for fun, I’m trying to make Miranda miserable for fun. Well, that probably doesn’t help. Either way…” I trailed off and shrugged. “Sorry about all this.”

Then I dropped them into the ice cream.

I felt Miranda’s scream under my fingertip, and pressed down lightly in response.

“Don’t be such a drama queen, they’re fine. It’s not like they’re going to be hurt by such a soft landing.”

I laughed and adjusted my grip, freeing her mouth as I lifted her, thrashing, into the air.

“Besides, Miranda, you really should be worrying more about yourself. How easily you’ve forgotten that this is about humiliating you.”

And just like that, she froze.

“What?” She asked in a quiet voice, but I ignored her for the moment to look in the bowl instead.

When I had dropped them, Amber and Mia had sunk pretty deeply into the ice cream, but it seemed by now they had managed to free themselves and get back on their feet. Shivering slightly from the cold, huddling together for warmth, and covered in brown splotches, but otherwise unharmed by my antics.

Good.

Admittedly, this all was a bit of calculated risk; ice cream itself was harmless, of course, but for all intents and purposes they were standing in a snow field while naked. For now they were fine, but if I left in there too long it could be hazardous for their health. Mins are delicate creatures, after all, and while I was acting careless with them, I had no intention to let them actually be injured.

“You know, I’ve been craving some ice cream, and would you look at this, Miranda! All of this, just for me!”

I paused. “Well, for all of us, technically, but somehow I think I’ll be coming out of this with the lion’s share, don’t you? Anyways, I have ice cream, I have a bowl…”

I trailed off as I made a show of looking around the table. “But wait! What’s this? I don’t have a spoon! How tragic!”

Sighing in exaggerated regret, I turned my head, staring at the woman in my hand meaningfully. “If only I had something else I could use…”

It didn’t take Miranda long to get the message.

“No…” She said in horror. “No, Ian, you wouldn’t, you couldn’t! How would that even work?!”

“I don’t know,” I admitted cheerfully, “But you know what? I’m excited to find out!”

That was a bit of a white lie, if I was being perfectly honest. I had put some thought into all of this before hand, after all. I may not know for sure, but I had a few theories how to make it work.

I was milking all of this to for drama, yes, to inspire fear in the Mins lost in the bowl and to Miranda trapped in my hand, but it also let the ice cream warm and melt, become easier to scoop, as well as limit how long I could play this out before it melted completely and ended the game.

Moreover, I had been very particular when I had picked Miranda up, pinning her arms with my thumb and fingers while resting her back against my palm, which left her lower half protruding from my hand. It was a somewhat awkward way to hold her, but I had my reasons: You see, even softened, the ice cream would probably resist a Min’s body to some extent, and while I could easily force it, that could possible hurt Miranda. Most of their bodies were soft and delicate, but if I had to name the strongest part of a Min’s body, one that could cut into ice cream the easiest… it would be the legs.

“I"ve got an idea, though. Let’s start with this: open your legs, Miranda.”

“What?!” She screeched. “Ian, I-”

“Oh well. I guess I’ll have to handle it myself.”

I cut her off before she could say anything else. I hadn’t expected her to agree, which was half the reason we were doing all this in the first place, but more than that I didn’t want her to agree. Now, of all times, I didn’t want her cheerful and compliant; I wanted her to struggle, to fight against me, to kick her legs and do her best to dig her tiny little teeth into my skin.

I wanted her to do all of that… and have it serve absolutely no purpose other than to make her tired. I had already decided that today I was going to drive into her just how pathetic and helpless she truly was.

Ignoring her continued protests, I grabbed her legs with my free hand and easily forced them open as I lowered Miranda’s body into the bowl. The others had made their way out of ice cream, mostly, and were at one of the edges of the bowl, trying frantically to climb out, though they froze in place at my movements. I pretended not to see them as I aimed for the top of the ice cream mountain.

Lowering Miranda just below where I planned to take my first ‘spoonful’, I closed her legs around the area, cutting through it and leaving a lump balanced on her thighs. Lifting her to head height, I bent Miranda’s legs forward so that lump fell onto her stomach, and it was only then that I leaned in to eat.

If I was doing all this just to eat ice cream, honestly this whole system would have been far better off replaced by a simple spoon. It was messy, it was inefficient. It took two hands, and a lot more work than it probably should have taken, all for the relatively simple task of getting ice cream from the bowl to my mouth.

Thankfully, though, the ice cream itself was basically the last thing on my mind. Everyone here knew that the ice cream was just a fig leaf over my real intentions, to play with Miranda’s body and humiliate her, and on that metric, this was a stunning success.

Even now, she fought against me, her toned legs struggling frantically against my fingers, her high pitched, desperate cries, the way her entire body jerked each time my grip on her arms shifted even minutely.

Bliss, I thought to myself, as I ran my tongue down the flat plane of her stomach, as each panicked breath pushed it harder against my taste buds for a brief second. Truly, this is bliss.

Ignoring the mess I was making of my own face, I chased the melted ice cream past Miranda’s stomach, lapping her breasts, before heading down to her legs. Here I let go of them, allowing her to kick each of them freely, until I took first one, then the other, into my mouth. Gently biting to hold each in place, I move up from the ankles, past the knees, only to stop half way up her thighs.

And for a moment, the room seemed to freeze as I turned her body to face me, bottom first. We both knew what was about to happen. Miranda tried to stop me, crossing her legs and holding them tight against her body, but it did as much to stop me as the look of terror on her face, or her desperate cries for me to stop, to wait, to talk about this.

Nothing, in other words. It did nothing to stop me.

It was the work of an instant for the tip of my tongue to slither between her legs, to flex and force them open, and to move in on the prize.

In many ways, this was all very similar to what happened after the pizza not too long ago. We never reached this point then, but if I had I would taken my time, tempted and teased her every step of the way. Back then, my biggest priority was to have Miranda enjoy the experience as much, if not more, than I did.

I didn’t want Miranda to remember this experience with a smile. I didn’t want her to think of this as a happy moment. I wanted her to remember it and feel violated.

So this time, instead of waiting, I dug in without hesitation.

At her size, there was only so far I could actually ‘dig in’ of course, nothing more than the very tip of my tongue, but as I did, Miranda jerked so hard in my hands that I worried briefly for her back, making a sound of hungry, desperate pleasure that only belonged in cheap porn. Her legs, which had been rather ineffectively kicking at me before now, suddenly switched to trying to keep my head in place, and at the core of her, I felt tiny, tiny little muscles try and fail to hold my tongue as it turned and twisted within her.

I gave it another second before withdrawing, to another guttural cry, and instead of saying anything I smacked my lips thoughtfully and lowered her back into the bowl.

This time I had to straighten out her limp legs, but the actual experience made getting my next ‘scoop’ easier than the first had been.

I lifted her to my face and observed her for a moment, the way she panted and the flush on her face. As she opened her mouth, I tilted her, steeper this time, so that the lump of ice cream rolled until it stopped flat against her breasts, and I took it all, breasts and dessert alike, into my mouth at once.

The noises Miranda made this time, as I played with her breasts, were short and desperate. I bounced them on my tongue, I pressed them back against her body and hummed happily to myself at the begging natures of the sounds Miranda made in response, before removing them from my mouth with a wet sounding pop as I went down for my third bite.

It was only then that I noticed that the other two were in trouble. It had probably been several minutes at this point, and Amber and Mia were visibly slowing down from the cold. Worse yet, they were trapped before one of the melting flows that came from the main pile of confection, and it wouldn’t be long before they were buried in it.

The real irony of it all though, is that while I noticed, Miranda didn’t. She didn’t fight me I lowered her back into the bowl, and she scissored me some of the now rapidly melting ice cream almost without my hand even moving, never noticing that her friends were trapped inside the blob now resting on her body. It was only as I lifted her to my mouth, choosing to eat directly off her legs this time, that she startled, head jolting down suddenly as she presumably felt something move against her skin.

Then I slurped the lump, passengers and all, into my mouth.

“Ian?”

Miranda had stopped talking after the first scoop, so it was honestly a bit surprising to hear her voice again so fast. I had thought it would have taken her longer to catch her breath.

“Ian, where are they?”

Carefully, I pressed the two wiggling shapes in my mouth against my cheek with my tongue as swallowed down some of the mixed spit and ice cream slurry.

“Where are they, Ian?! Where are Amber and Mia?!”

Releasing them, I let the now limp forms settle onto my tongue and felt a brief urge to keep moving them around, tasting them, toying with them. Instead, I answered Miranda, opening my mouth and sticking out my tongue just enough for her to see.

She gasped.

I couldn’t see how they looked, of course, but I could imagine. While they weren’t buried in ice cream any more, between what was left of it and my saliva, I doubted they could move much, and though the brief stint in my mouth had likely warmed them enough to get them out of the danger zone, I could still feel the two of them shivering.

There was a scream I ignored as I brought them back into my mouth, trying to suck the worst of the mess off of them. A moment of an almost absent adjustment brought some quiet as I covered Miranda’s mouth again, and brought my newly freed hand to my face as I spat out my two prisoners.

Licking my lips, I brought them up to eye level to examine them closer. They were soaked, of course, hair clinging to their faces and bodies and gasping for breath, but they seemed to have come out of the experience intact. Neither of them could stand, though; Amber tried, briefly, to raise her arm, but the sheer weight and stickiness of my drool seemed to overwhelm her and she gave up to lay back helplessly against my palm.

I considered pushing a little further, maybe saying a line about how good they tasted, but I think I done enough at this point. I gave them a moment before bringing Miranda up enough to see their pathetic state, then closed my hand around the pair.

They wouldn’t like it, but the warmth of my hand would probably do more to help them shake off the effect of the cold than a hot shower would.

I gave it a minute or two before I spoke up.

“Sydney.”

From the corner she had tried to hide herself in, my newest Min straightened up.

“Come here and keep an eye on Miranda for me, I’ll be back soon enough. Don’t let her do anything stupid, hold her down if you have to.”

She made a face at that, presumably at how rapidly things I had changed things up with what I wanted from her and what I would punish her for, but gamely walked towards me as I set Miranda down on the table.

Still with my hand closed, I got up and headed to the sink, briskly rinsing off my free hand and drying it on a towel before heading back to the Min House.

Quietly, I began to pick up each piece of furniture I had removed before and placed it in back into the house. It wasn’t the exact location I had taken them all from, but the end result was still a cleary livable home once more, instead of an empty space defined only by the walls. It was only then, once I was satisfied with the arrangement, that I opened up my hand on the sodden heap I was holding.

Compared to the last time I saw them, they seemed somewhat more energetic, but something inside Amber and Mia seemed broken by what they had experienced.

We regarded each other, and I felt compelled to break the silence.

“…I won’t say sorry. I used you just as I have always planned to, and I never made a secret that’s what you were for. But I will admit I went too far, and I do regret that.”

I gave them some time to speak up, but when they did nothing more than stare at me blankly, I kept talking.

“I put you in real danger, and I regret that. And even if it’s not for the reasons you would have wanted, that emotion is real. But, as a form of apology, I will tell you two a secret.”

I leaned in slightly, ignoring the way they cringed at my approach, and spoke in just over a whisper.

“Soon enough, I won’t need you two anymore.” A look of horror crossed their faces, and I rushed to correct myself. “Not for something like this, anyways.”

They relaxed, slightly, at that and I continued. “My main point, the threat, is made. I don’t think I’ll have to prove my willingness anymore, which means that as long as you are here, and alive, it stands with absolutely zero effort on my part. And I’ll admit, part of the problem I had just now is that I enjoyed playing with you too much to want to stop.”

I shrugged a bit and smirked. “Thankfully, there are other ways for me to get that kind of fun. More expendable ways than the two of you. For now, suffice to say that you two have well and truly earned your place here. I don’t expect to see either of you for the rest of the night. Or the morning, even.”

I gave them a moment to digest that, before settling them gently back into their home. “Take a bath, or a shower, and clean yourselves up. Get some rest, enjoy whatever food is left in there.”

I closed the House back up, locked it, and returned to the table to see Sydney standing over Miranda, looking visibly unsure if she should be doing something, or running full tilt in the opposite direction. I settled that matter for her by plucking her off the table top as I headed back to my chair.

Miranda meanwhile, was curled in on herself, arms hugging her knees and head bowed. Calmly, I dipped Sydney’s butt into the bowl and at her startled squeal Miranda straighten up to look at me.

I licked the sweet liquid off the squirming Sydney before I spoke up.

“They almost died in there, you know. It was collapsing on them. If I hadn’t pulled them out it would have buried them, and I don’t think they could have managed to dig their way out. Drowning in ice cream, huh? What a way to go.”

I was fully prepared to keep going, but apparently that was enough for Miranda to reach the breaking point.

“What was the point of this, Ian?!” She screamed, banging her fist against the wood. “Why are telling me this, why are you doing this to me?!”

My fist hit the table so hard that it shook.

“BECAUSE YOU NEEDED THIS TO HAPPEN!” I shouted back.

There was a pause. “What?” Miranda said weakly.

I leaned towards her, settling my hands on the table only to be thwarted by the Min I was still holding onto. I stared at Sydney blankly before dropping her into the bowl.

“Stay.” I told her firmly, before turning back into Miranda.

“I honestly wonder sometimes… do you even realize your situation? You’re afraid of me, yes, and I’ll admit I’ve encouraged that to some extent, but the way you act around me… it feels like you think I did this to you. That I walked up to you on the street, Min’d you, and took you home. I didn’t do this to you. You Min’d all by yourself. I didn’t abandon you at the Kennel. I didn’t leave you there, for months, without any contact. Your friends did. Your family did. Your boyfriend did. I have done nothing to you, Miranda, nothing that has happened to you is my fault.”

I slammed my fist down again. “Do you know what I did do, though? I rescued you. I treated you like a person. I gave you food, and clothes, and respect, when you had none, and you spat all over that because of the simple fact that I enjoyed all of this. Do you realize what you have, Miranda? You have nothing.”

I gestured angrily at the house. “All these things you enjoy? All of it, the clothes, the warmth, the shelter? All of it is mine. ‘Your’ clothes are ‘yours’ in the same way a Barbie owns whatever outfit a child puts on her. You own nothing. You deserve nothing, and I give you these things anyways, yet you treat my attentions as a threat?”

I shifted tacks. “How long would it have taken you, Miranda, to realize that your friends were missing?”

She flinched.

“How long would it have taken you to realize that they had died? And how about this: what if you had seen them, down in that bowl, Miranda? What would you have done?”

Silently, she began to cry. In response I reached out and pinned her down to the table.

“Nothing.” I snarled. “You would have done nothing, but begged and cried, because you are nothing, Miranda. You are a Min, just like the rest of them. You would have done all that and done nothing, changed nothing, and they would have died the same way they would have if you had never noticed them at all. You an animal too helpless to take care of herself, and one that the government is just guilty enough to refuse to put down.”

I held out my empty hand in front of her. “Image, for a moment, that the two of them were here, right now.”

I closed my hand, the same way I often did when I transported Mia and Amber, and began to squeeze.

“Stop me, Miranda.”

She cried harder.

“Stop me, Miranda, or else they die.”

I gave it a little longer, then opened my hand as if I was dropping something.

“Oops. I guess they’re dead now. That was a surprising amount of blood for how small they were, wasn’t it?”

I clenched my fist so hard that my knuckled popped.

“You have the gall to treat me as, what? Some unwanted thug trying to corner you on the streets, when I am the one that gives you everything.”

And just like that, I snapped.

Lunging forward, I grabbed her, and dragged her towards my body. Thoughtlessly, madly, I caught her, held her, seized whatever I touched, frantically changing my grip to hold down anything that moved to the soundtrack of her screams.

It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t desire. It was some emotion I couldn’t name, a bizarre possessiveness that was almost closer to hunger than anything, a mad desire that emerged from an empty, endlessly wanting place in myself I hadn’t realized existed before this moment.

There was no thought to it, no logic. I simply wanted in a way that echoed to my core.

It lasted for… two minutes? Three? Maybe even four. I’m not sure, but when I came back to myself, I found Miranda squeezed tight against my chest, face down, locked in place by my crossed arms, while my hands held her butt and head in a firm grip. Between t hatand the way I had curled over her, almost no part of her was left uncovered by my body, like a snake coiling around its prey.

I realized suddenly, in a blinding moment of transcendent understanding, that if Miranda had been smaller, I may have simply dropped her into my mouth just to trap her more firmly, to bring her even closer to me.

I may have even swallowed.

---

---

I didn’t actually mean to stop here when I started, but I reached this point and it somehow seemed like a great place to stop to me?

You know, as I was writing this all out, I was reminded of something I had read a long time ago. It said that, while a dom acts like everything is easy and effortless to their subs, or that they’re being careless and they don’t care if the sub gets hurt or not, they actually need to put a lot of work in the background to make everything goes perfectly. It just occurred to me that the way Ian messes with Miranda sometimes has a similar energy to it.

Also… for a fetish story on a fetish forum that is basically about reducing a woman to sexual slavery, there is surprisingly little focus on the sex. Or sex at all, even.

This happened with an artist I like awhile ago; the pages hung around, but after a couple of weeks they vanished completely. I don’t want to see that happen to Weekends, if at all possible; I’m in the process of reading it, but it’s a story about an nice, if somewhat awkward guy, and his childhood friend who is a defacto mad scientist. Long story short, she shrinks herself, romance ensues.

I like it alot, and there’s also a bunch of pictures around Katrin with food and whatnot that are all really cute or sexy as well.

The problem is with the account gone, you can’t actually navigate through it, but just keep trying to refresh the ‘more by’ section which… isn’t ideal. I’m going to post links to 1-10 here, which as far as I can find at the moment (and I have no idea if that’s where it stops?), but I encourage everyone to grab whatever you like from them while you can.

https://www.deviantart.com/bluekitsunostudio/art/Weekends-Chapter-1-Revised-613766205

https://www.deviantart.com/bluekitsunostudio/art/Weekends-Chapter-2-Revised-618971194

https://www.deviantart.com/bluekitsunostudio/art/Weekends-Chapter-3-Revised-619239221

https://www.deviantart.com/bluekitsunostudio/art/Weekends-Chapter-4-Revised-620009008

https://www.deviantart.com/bluekitsunostudio/art/Weekends-Chapter-5-Revised-621945000

https://www.deviantart.com/bluekitsunostudio/art/Weekends-Chapter-6-Revised-622213442

https://www.deviantart.com/bluekitsunostudio/art/Weekends-Chapter-7-Revised-640746724

https://www.deviantart.com/bluekitsunostudio/art/Weekends-Chapter-8-Revised-663074760

https://www.deviantart.com/bluekitsunostudio/art/Weekends-Chapter-9-Revised-676761388

https://www.deviantart.com/bluekitsunostudio/art/Weekends-Chapter10-Revised-676787909

Edit: Searching ‘BlueKitsunoStudio’ through Deviantart itself, there’s actually the revised story, which I posted here, and has ten chapters, and the original, which has… about 35 chapters, and is complete.

For a time, I let her cry. Partly out of simple enjoyment, to be sure. Miranda being naked was still new to me, must less her in lingerie, and there was some sort of kinky pleasure I took in watching her, trapped in her little cage. But that was more a bonus for me than anything. The point of it was the despair.

So, happily enough, I let her marinate in her helplessness, and how far she had fallen.

Then I let her out.

Miranda’s tears cut off with a yelp as my hand approached her cage, and she backpettled frantically, as if hiding in an empty cage would protect her. She stilled, though, as I released the clasp and swung the door open invitingly. I waited, but she she didn’t move beyond fixing me with a suspicious stare.

“You’re free to go.” I said. “No tricks.”

Reaching back into the box, I pulled out her dress once again and laid it out on the table as she stared.

“Don’t you want this?” I teased. “Cloothes, Miranda. You like clothes.”

Cautiously, she ventured from the cage, never dropping eye contact with me as she took each tremulous step, until she reached the dress.

Bending over, and giving me a view of her back I had to force myself to not experence with touch as well as sight, Miranda picked up the small bundle of fabric. For a second, she closed her eyes and hugged it to herself. Then she looked to where I patiently waited.

“Well?” She asked. “Now what?”"

I smiled. “Now we play, Miranda. A simple game of choice, a brief series of binary questions. Or, you could leave the table right now, I guess.”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t advise that, not if you ever want to see your friends again, but you could.”

She puffed herself up with righteous fury, but I cut in before she could go anywhere with it. “Oh, they’re fine. They’ll continue to be fine, even. But you will never see them again Miranda. Not until you play my little game.”

She bit back the first thing she wanted to say. Then the second, and the third, and quite possibly the fourth, before she found something she thought diplomatic enough to say.

“Fine, Ian. So how do we play?”

“I’ve already told you the how, Miranda: answer my questions. Pick Choice A or Choice B, no third answers, no refusal to choose. What you should be more interested in are the stakes.”

I leaned in eagerly, driving her back a step in response.

“I’m sure you remember what situation you were in just a minute ago. Well, unfortunately, your friends are in the exact same situation: locked away, no clothes, nothing to do, only Min Chow to eat. You can help them, Miranda… but it’ll cost you. Because right now? Right now, there’s only one set of freedoms in this house, and you have all of them. If you want their lot to improve? You have to worsen yours.”

My smile widened as she shook her head slowly.

“The name of the game is Sacrifice, Miranda. To give something up to receive something else in return. I made this because I’m curious: will you give up your comforts for theirs? How much do they mean to you?”

I leaned back as her wordless denials grew more frantic.

“Let’s find out: first question, Miranda. Who lives in a cage? Is it you, or them?”

At last she found her voice. “I… I can’t make that choice, Ian. I just can’t.”

I wagged a finger lecturingly. “Ah, you see, I thought you’d say that. So let’s make things clear: if you don’t choose, none of you get that freedom. It vanishes into the wind, lost forever. Either one of you lives in a cage, Miranda, or you all do.”

There was a beat of silence as it sank in. Then, “Them!” she shouted frantically. “Them! I’m not going back in there! I’m can’t handle it I-”

Then she gasped, and held her hand to her mouth as if trying to stop herself from saying anything else, but she didn’t try to take it back, either.

“Very well then, Miranda,” I said, trying to look and sound as soothing as possible. “No more cage for you.”

Unless I wanted to, of course. There was clearly some kind of trauma there, either from actually being in a cage or how she had walked herself inside it, and it wasn’t something I was above using.

She sagged in relief at my confirmation, and I let her have that brief moment to calm herself before I continued. At that moment, she looked indescribably pathetic in a way I couldn’t place: a lingerie clad woman, kneeling in helpless joy on a table that dwarfed her, hands clasped tightly around a dress so small it barely covered her.

“Thank you, Ian.” She whispered fervently. “Thank you.”

“Who eats Min Chow?” I asked in response, ruthlessly shattering her calm.

She stiffened at my words, and let out a silent gasp, but didn’t hesitate in answering. “They do, Ian.”

I nodded. “Who wears only underwear and heels?”

I had put this question after the other two for a reason: guilt. I couldn’t see her allowing herself to return to the cage or the Chow, but she had probably grown used to nudity at this point. After denying them twice, the guilt could be enough for her to accept that return. I was fine with the answer either way, really, I’d get my eyefulls of her no matter what, but seeing her struggle over the question so furiously was delightful.
Miranda hesitated again, and this time I didn’t interrupt, not wanting to taint her choice.

“I… I…” She began, before trailing off. She gulped and gathered her courage. “I do. I only wear my underwear.”

I couldn’t help licking my lips as she said it, and Miranda stirred uneasily at the sight. Even more so as I reached out and pinched the dress she still held in her hands. For an instant, she tried to fight me, to keep her hold on it, before surrendering it to my pull.

I didn’t move the fabric away immediately, instead letting her gaze at it with helpless desire a few moments more before returning it to the box a second time.

That, at least, would be returned to her in time, no matter what she thought about it. I had so much fun dressing her once that there was no way I would deny myself that pleasure in the future, both with more interesting outfits and a far more literal take on the phrase ‘dressing’.

“As for the last… I’ll admit that’s something I didn’t think through. There’s a pile of everything needed to make the Min House livable right in front of the very house they’re trapped in, yet I have nothing to add to the cage you’re not even using. I could leave it as an easy choice, but this is supposed to be a punishment…”

I mused on the problem briefly. “How about this? Either I subject you to some as yet undefined indignity in the future, or the others continue to live in their little house with nothing but some sheets. Seems fair to me.”

“‘Fair’, huh?” Miranda snorted bitterly. “Sure, that makes sense. You know what? Fine. Fine!”

She lifted her arms into the air, as if she was making it easier to grab her. “Do what you want to me; you’re going to anyways! I might as well give them something out of it.”

When I didn’t move, they fell back to her sides and she sighed.

“And besides, that makes two for them and two for me. Sounds pretty fair, doesn’t it?”

I’ll admit, I feel a bit rusty, and this chapter feels a tad off, but we’re back.

@Kisupure
Huh. The thing is that while I like the ‘classic’ tropes, as you put it, I’m honestly surprisingly open as long as the prey is a woman.

I’ve said it before, but I’m not attracted to men, but I’m generally fine with them as part of a sexual scenario… unless it’s one of those giants that deliberately makes them look ugly. It’s weirdly a turn off for me when I’m honestly fine with like, flat out monsters… which in itself is not surprising, really, considering dragons got me into this, and I have this vivid memory of dragon having sorta sex with a woman in a short story when I was younger.

For me that, for me, that there’s three things I want in a vore situation: an attractive woman as the prey, a size difference between prey and predator, and someone to be enjoying it. I’ve seen pictures with (insert animal here) eating SWs, and that did nothing for me, but there’s a fic someone on e-hentai where a frog is given a SW to rape (for it’s… sexual needs?) and that one was great for me despite how dumb the plot was. I’ve dabbled in tentacle sex, and I can even enjoy Transformers porn, as long as it hits the right points for me (though those weren’t vore fics). That’s not even including the cock vore pics I’m seen on Eka’s and the like.

The pleasure, I think, is the most important part. A woman enjoying getting eaten, or someone enjoying eating a woman, is what turns it into a sexual thing for me, rather just someone getting eaten.

@Jitensha

I think, for me, there’s two parts to it: there’s the physical, the usual parts of vore. A soft, warm body in my mouth, squirming, but better than before because it’s willing, because she’s rubbing up against me just as much as I’m trying to taste and tease her.

At the same time, though, there’s also the psychological, the fact that she’s not only willing to do it, willing to give herself, willing to become food, but wants it, maybe even more than I do… because in all honesty I’m probably too soft for my own good. The idea that someone wants to end, to be subsumed, by me, because of me, to want it so much that it excites them thrills me.

There’s something that’s both inherently dehumanizing, to reduce someone to food, but also intimate about vore, and it only becomes more so when both sides are the ones interested. You can be friends or lovers for years, you can both enjoy the process and make it an even better experience, but once you eat them they’re gone, and you’re the one who did it. There’s some sort of extra, almost unholy spice that kind of act adds to the proceedings.

I like to picture a sushi platter, but with SWs instead. Each one of them dressed in a little seaweed outfit, each one posing cheerfully. More than that, they’re enjoying it, and each other, and there’s even a few bathing in the dish of soy sauce.

Bliss.

So, I’m commenting again because I’m rereading Beastars. Long story short, it’s a manga about a world of humanized animals, and balancing ‘normal’ people problems with issues around their animalistic instincts.

I’m bringing this up because one of the big struggles in the story is the main character, a grey wolf, which is one of the largest predators in the setting, complicated relationship with a small dwarf rabbit, who is… obviously very small. No the smallest, there’s also hamsters, but he can literally pick her up one handed. It starts off by the wolf struggling against his urge to eat her, but I just reached the point where she fights against her instinct to get eaten, as she literally shoves herself into his mouth.

As an aside, that doesn’t really make sense from a logic standpoint as an ‘animal’ instinct, so much as a thematic perspective, but… the idea of woman wanting to get eaten isn’t something I ever think about, for whatever reason. What are everyone’s thoughts on that dynamic? Because fuck, does that idea turn me on.

As in all things SW, I am of a duality: intellectually, I like the idea of an absurd size difference. Like, people the size of specks difference. The idea of tiny little women milling about helplessly around me, struggling to survive the calamity of my existence, is great. Imagine them mired in food or stuck in syrup and sauce, so small that even running doesn’t get them off my spoon, if they could run, if they even both to try and flee, speaks to me, it really does.

But at the same time, I’m a big interaction fan, and I like a woman I can actually interact with beyond obliterating. I like the idea of tasting, of playing with them, of making them come in my mouth, trapped in the dark surrounded by teeth. There’s also a part of me that likes betrayal, that we’re playing around, having some nice time with licking maybe, then it goes farther than she wanted. The uncertainty. The confusion, the fear. The demands turning into pleading, tears in her eyes…

In all honesty, I wouldn’t do it, with the interactable ones at least. But sweet fuck, I’d like to play with the idea in real life, no matter what the SW actually thinks about the matter.

@subasubaski
You know, I’ve noticed some Gulliver travels styled fic, but ones where all of them live in the same world and not separated by magic or whatever, and it always irked me that all three shared a tech level, just… in different locations. And somehow this works. Noth even mentioning wildlife and foliage?

“Realistically”, there’s no way the various size classes could live in harmony needed for such development to happen. People are assholes; the biggest, whether the Brob or some higher one, would inevitably dominate the others, treat them as lessers, and the Lilis, or any smaller ones, would inevitably be the prey of frogs, bugs and the like, unable to establish any advanced civilization due to accidentally being trampled by their betters, or pass down information and technology beyond basic, word of mouth communication due to the fragility of their works (we got to where we are through passing on information throughout generations, via writing and technology; centuries or millennia of investment were needed to get to where we are now. Imagine, then if for all intents and purposes malevolent meteors could just… reset a city in an instant? Where giant monsters could devour everything? Cities that could be not just part of a society, but the society itself? There’s no way that they could reach a technology level anywhere near modern civilization. That’d be the world inch tall people would live in). I mean, fuck, even the ecology: either everything is sized to the giant’s size, and so why aren’t they the normal size, or the giants exist, for all intents and purposes, above the food chain, have little need to invent technology because there’s no real threat to them, and probably don’t even eat like normal living creatures since there’s no way to support themselves ‘naturally’ (what do they eat?! Whales?!) like normal mammals.

…I know I got somewhat off topic but this is something I’ve been thinking about for awhile now.