Best posts made by i am insane

Beyond M/f? joking not joking

The giga/whatever male to the normal/micro female; there’s a bunch where the woman’s in the ‘I’m so big compared to them they might as well be a bug’s bug’ driver seat, but as much as I find women hot I viewpoint well through guys, so… yeah. I like that style, but I think I can count the male versions of it on one hand.

In an often-connected vein, mind control, in all it’s flavors. It’s generally unneeded, which is probably why it comes up less in SW, but a giant actually making a tiny think different just by existing?
chef’s kiss

Well thought out NWOs. I get a lot of times they’re just set pieces, but so damn many I see are set up to factually end the human race within a few generations, and it never seems to come up? It irks me because I’m honestly pretty plot focused, and often these problems are right the fuck there, but the story is so damn focused on how the traditional power structure is gone, I don’t think the author has even thought about it in the slightest. I’d say SW style ones are better for it, but really, it’s just because they don’t usually go to the ‘entire sex has shrunk’ bit like GTS stuff does, but still.
(These are the things I think about, when I brainstorm for stories. In all honesty, I probably focus on it too much, but it just… irks me. As I’m typing this, I’m realizing there’s an interesting point of having this as an acknowledged fact in-story, that humanity is doomed. Hmm.)

Power dynamics where the small has real control over the big; financial, social, magic spells and collars and whatnot. It’s rare, for obvious reasons, but the way it flips the obvious setup always does it for me, where the power and control is shared by both sides and yet at the same time horribly lopsided on both sides, each with their own way of pressuring the other.

Edible clothing for the tinys, made out of spun sugar or something. Not as deep as the others, but it tickles me.

Having armies of tinies work to tend to the giant’s needs, and I’m not talking sexually; a platoon goes into the mouth to clean the teeth, a small army of fire trucks hose down the feet, the entire population of tailors, along with other workers, measuring the body for clothes…

And, something connected off of that, tiny cities integrated into giant homes in some way. Maybe the plate they eat off is cleaned by tinies, and the main source of nutrition they get is off the leftovers. Maybe they use him for heat and warmth, and things are built into beds and chairs accordingly.

Really, though, my big things are generally indifference, but in a sort of mildly cruel way.

I’ll get my SW a dollhouse, sure. I’ll make sure it’s well furnished, that the cushion and blankets and whatever are real fabric, the works.

But it’s all set up for a tiny half the size of Barbie, maybe, and you’re, at most , an inch tall. That nice bed, the comfy chair? You need to climb onto them. Good luck with the water in the sink, and the perfectly portioned food, and actual metal silverware that’s just as big as you are.

@ChiisanaKurisu said in Do you have any size kinks or interests that you feel are unusual?:

@i-am-insane I still prefer the mini jar because it’s the good ol’ trope of the jarred tiny but much smaller and being nothing as a complement ‍ though the bondage jewelry is a good idea too. I’m also fond of the idea of somehow being trapped inside a jewel or a gem

All you need is some magic, and then you be trapped in place with ease! I’m thinking… a nice black setting, maybe, with a pink gem to hold you in, with it big enough (and you small enough) that to the naked eye you just look like an imperfection. Simple enough, and decorative enough to wear without issue. And then, if I’m asked where I got it from? I’ll just say I got it from you at a Ren Fair or something.

Half the fun of this fetish is the creativity: it’s easy to hold them, easy to touch them however. But making them like it?

@Olo
Eskoz is great; they release maybe four videos a year, but they’re free and always great, and pretty much always F/f. There’s few F/m, but it’s usually as a variation on a theme kind of thing. I highly recommend looking at more of their stuff.

@the-big-g
One of the things I realized I like about writing this is how many factors that are running in the background: Ian knows a bunch of stuff that you don’t, for example, that he isn’t thinking much, but is affecting how he acts. Yet at the same time, he’s also missing a lot of information himself; he’s operating on assumptions, really, and the same is going for all the characters here. I’m trying to get this feel of motivations and plans and ideas and stuff clashing, you know? Trust and betrayal and hope and all that good stuff.

I didn’t plan for it to be like this initially, but it is what it is, and I’m glad it’s grabbing people’s interests.

@Olo
You quickly end up as the captain of a ship with a ragtag crew, in a universe with strong western themes. It’s honestly quite fun in it’s own right; you can be a smooth talker so slick you have someone hand you their life savings, so stupid you can barely form a sentence, a thug, a hero… or a mad scientist, as I’ve said.

There’s actually quite a bit of mechanical support for these weapons, but if they could just commit to the shrink a bit, the way you could leave your party shrunk in FF7 or something, it would be awesome.

I’ve always been a Final Fantasy fan, and my top pics would be Yuna and Tifa.

@Olo
I think they like boobs too much to not have the giant feature them.

Which. Is understandable. Honestly I’m just grateful that this super great artist, at least, is sw focused for once.

Again, I was surprised by how fast the process was; bureaucracy, in my experience, was a thing of many forms and periods of waiting, often followed by even more waiting. Outside of the changes I had made, getting Miranda had been a process of several days, assumably with whatever work she may have done on her end to help the process along; for Sydney, I had expected at least a week.

Instead, when I called the DMC, I had an appointment made for an hour later.

As it turned out, Sydney was on a list of Mins with that, by default, accepted anyone interested in her as a potential host. Since I was already in the system at this point, all we needed was that one meeting, and, if she agreed, I could walk out with her.

Miranda only snorted when I explained this to her, looking amused at my ignorance from her lofty position atop the left armrest, sitting just in front of my hand. My agreement to help her get revenge had helped her relax around me, somewhat. There was still a wary look in her eye when she saw me, but she seemed willing to have an actual conversation with me now.

“Of course she’s on the list, Ian: everyone I’ve ever met there was on the list. Hell, I was on the list.”

I didn’t say anything, absently watching her little legs as they dangled in the air, but Miranda glanced at my face and continued to explain, her tone serious now. “No one wants to be there, Ian, and when you Min, you feel… abandoned. The world hates you, your friends and family give up on you, and you’re left in the Kennel to rot. Everyone has heard a story of someone whos ends up living in a bird cage or something, just a living decoration for their Master to enjoy, but even so most would take that, because at least then they’re wanted. Someone looked at hundreds or thousands of Mins crawling around their feet and picked you out, out of all them clamoring for attention; and maybe it’s because you’re blond, or you have big boobs, or a nice voice, and sure, maybe you end up spending your days on that perch, singing sweet songs and being fed table scraps, but at least it’s you doing it, at least you are the one worthy enough to get even that much. Even if he looks at you like a toy, well…”

Miranda trailed off, before finishing bitterly, “At least he’s looking at you.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute.

“I always knew, you know.” Miranda started abruptly, staring off toward the door. “That you’d take me, I mean. We never talked much, but your Change came up awhile ago, so you were safe, and your willingness was… obvious. When you’re first picked up, they always ask if there’s anyone who might be able to take you in, and I knew, in that instant, that all I had to was ask. Mia was right, most Mins would kill for an opportunity like that.”

“Why?” I croaked, my voice hoarse with the weight of the question that had been burning in me for weeks now. “Why didn’t you? Why did you wait so long to ask?”

She sighed. “Fear, at least in part. Fear, and me lying to myself. I… never really liked you, Ian, you know that. You were always nice enough, but you’d look at me and you were always so… intense about it. Hungry, even. There are creepier ways a man can look at you, I admit, but it was more than just wanting to see me naked, or to rape me, it was like you wanted to own me, to put me a box on your shelf or something.”

Miranda paused, and blushed. “I’ll admit, part of me thought it was nice, to get that much of reaction from you, to have a man just look at me and fall madly for my charms, but it was also scary Ian. You never pushed me, you never did anything you shouldn’t, but it was like being a piece of meat in a room with a well trained dog: even if it’s not doing anything, you know it’s just a few words away from gulping you down. And then I Min’d and…”

She shuddered. “It scared me. You scared me, Ian; you still do. Even now, you’re still that dog, just as hungry as ever, still patiently eyeing me, waiting for that word to pounce. Only now you’re a dog as big as a house, looming over me with drool dripping from those big sharp teeth of yours, so close I can feel your breath threaten to knock me over, and there’s nothing holding you back: no leash, no collar, nothing but your willingness to obey.”

Almost unconsciously I found myself brushing a finger under my lips, looking for anything wet, and she laughed, sounding slightly hysterical.

“It’s… a little intoxicating, really, to have something as big as you are listen to me, to have that kind of power under my command.” Miranda smiled at me, excitement dancing in her eyes, mixed with with something darker. “But it’s dangerous, too: it’s all too easy to forget that the power isn’t mine, not really. You’re just letting me use it, and you could just as easily take it away.”

“I wouldn’t-” I begin, only to stop after a moment as I realized how intensely I was staring. WIthout realizing it, I found myself licking my lips, and she giggled.

“Face it, Ian,” Miranda said, patting my hand gently. “You would. You really would.”

Then the amusement left her face. “As for the other reason… just before it happened, Jarrett and I got in a fight. A big one. I left that day angry, and when he didn’t answer the request, I thought… he was just mad at me. That he was trying to punish me, and after a day or two, he’d come get me. Days turned to weeks, and there was still no word. It was a month in when I finally accepted the obvious: Jarrett didn’t want anything to do with me. If he had, he would have picked me up that day, fight or not.”

Slowly, I lifted up my hand and moved it towards her, one finger extended. Miranda watched it for a moment, face carefully blank even as her eyes glittered with the faintest hint of tears, but ultimately gave a little half shrug of her shoulder that I took as permission. Gently, I ran the finger tip down her back and she stiffened for a moment at the touch, before relaxing and leaning into my touch.

“That realization hit me harder than I would have liked,” Miranda continued, her tone admirably calm. “And it took me a while to get over it. Him. I… I thought were were getting pretty serious, before all of this. We were arguing about me moving in with him. He was for it, I wasn’t sure yet.”

She let out a shuddering breath. “Can you imagine, Ian? How fast everything changed? Just a day ago he was almost begging me to move in with him, but when I needed him to take me in, what does he do?”

She laughed again, sounding at the edge of tears. “He just gave up on me, Ian! He didn’t even have the courtesy to give me a ‘No’!”

For a minute, I thought she was going to cry again; I was sure she was at the edge of it. For whatever reason, though, Miranda pulled herself together, and wiped her face with the face of her arm instead.

“If… if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to be alone for awhile, Ian.” No matter how she phrased it, it was a question, and both of us knew it. I didn’t have to listen to her, and more than that I didn’t want to listen to her. I didn’t want to let her go, much less when she was feeling so vulnerable… but she wanted to, and we were doing so much better, now; I didn’t want to ruin everything just because I was impatient.

When I laid my hand back on the armrest, Miranda smiled up at me, surprised and pleased all at once. Guilt bubbled in my stomach at the fact that respecting her even that much was something so hard for me to do, and so unexpected for her to receive, even as her joy soothed the edge of my shame.

“Thank you, Ian.” She sniffled a little. “I appreciate this. I’ll… I’ll be back by the time you come back from the Kennel.”

And then, before I could say anything, she slipped off the chair, slid down my leg, and ran off into the house.

xxx

Scale Woman nodded to me politely. “Good to see you again, Mr. Hunter.”

“And you.” I replied briefly, since I still had no idea what her name actually was.

She huffed slightly, apparently just as unimpressed with me as ever. “If you’ll follow me, you meeting is rig-”

“Wait.” Scale Woman raised an eyebrow at my interruption, but let me continue anyways. “When I called, I had a… request.”

I had asked for Sydney by name when I called, but before I hung up I took a risk and asked that my interest in her in particular be kept from the Min. The man on the line had given me some bland reassurances, but I didn’t actully know if they had followed through on it or not.

Something about that must have interested her, because the boredom in her gaze vanished, and she examined me with mild interest.

“Yes, Mr. Hunter, your… request.” She emphasized the word with a mocking grin. “Rest assured, we did not tell her you were looking for ‘Sydney Wilson’, but simply that her criteria met your interest.”

“And she believed that?”

And there was the contempt again. “Sydney is the largest Min in our facilities, one of the largest Mins on record, to be frank. She’s used to getting more attention than the norm.”

Apparently done with the conversation, she turned on her heel and strode off, forcing me to follow her.

xxx

As it turned out, Scale Woman hadn’t exaggerated: the Min waiting for me atop the table in the meeting room was the biggest I’d ever seen, bar none. Miranda was on the high end, I knew, but Sydney must have been twice her height, easy; it was no surprise she was able to so easily push her around. She was also, I realized as I took in the form of the lithe creature before, drop dead gorgeous: warm bronze skin complemented by night black hair, long enough to reach her feet and artfully arranged to give her modesty, which only served to highlight all the features it hid. Over all, the effect only served to grant her an appearance even more sensual than just bared skin would have provided.

Sitting there, legs demurely folded beneath her as she waited for me, Sydney Wilson looked like nothing less than a fey creature out of a story, an exotic beauty that, in other circumstances, I would never be worthy to even approach.

Part of me wondered if I would see her adorning the cover of a magazine or two, if I was to investigate her in any depth. The rest of me had realized that this creature, small as it was, had hurt Miranda, and that anger helped shield me from being overwhelmed by her charms.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scale Woman watch me with what I could only believe was approval on her face I proceeded to the chair without making a fool of myself.

Sydney straightened up and began to examine me in turn, and I took the time it afforded me to examine my feelings on her. Normally, I knew, the idea of someone hurting Miranda would have filled me with a burning rage, but looking at this woman, it was somehow too… personal an emotion to feel for her. She was too small for me to truly hate in that way, too weak. I didn’t like her, but I felt no overwhelming desire to cause her pain, either.

I’d do it, of course, but it was good to realize I wouldn’t end up killing her in some fit of rage; that’d be far too quick for what I had in mind.

“I have one question for you.” Sydney said, in a melodious voice. “Will there…”

She sighed suddenly, and slumped on the table, the ethereal air she had maintained gone in an instant, leaving only a Min as it left. She looked tired and defeated as she stared at me, and held her arms up as if to accept handcuffs. “Will there be diapers?”

What.

“What?”

“Five months ago, an old man came and tried to take me.” Sydney gritted out through clenched teeth. “He delighted in telling me about how he’d keep me in a cradle, make me wear diapers, feed me from a bottle, and in general treat me like an infant, and how wonderful it was that I was so large.”

What the fuck.

“I turned him down, obviously, and you’re the first person who has met me since then with a desire to take me home. I’m willing to put up with a lot of things, Mr. Hunter,” Sydney continued, staring me in the eye. “I doubt you’re going to be kind to me, and I accept that, but being infantilized like that is where I draw the line.”

“I’m not going to put you in diapers.” I sputtered incredulously.

I planned on humiliating her, obviously, and hurting her, but I had no interest in that.

She stared at me critically, but the sheer disgust at the idea must have been clear on my face, because after a moment she nodded. “Then I accept your generous offer… Master.”

---

Fun fact: DMC stands for Department of Minimal Control. Yes, the name is a tad ironic, and people are aware of that. Though the slang for shrunken women in this setting is ‘Min’ in common usage, more technically it stands for a ‘Minimal’. It’s also a verb, though, for ‘Minimizing’, which is the technical term for a woman shrinking and becoming a Min.

Surprisingly enough, I didn’t actully consult a Random Name Generator for Ian’s last name.

BTW, I’m curious: what is the impression you’re all getting of Ian’s personality thus far? I know what I’m going for, but I’m not sure how well it’s getting across.

@littlenichole

To me, a doll house only goes to something, or someone, you treasure in some sense, if not as a person, then as favored pet, or a beloved toy. In such cases, you give them the best because you want to keep them happy.

When they aren’t, when you want it to be clear that this isn’t a home, this is a prison, that’s when you bust out cages and boxes.

@Nyx
I mean, you say misogynistic, but really, it feels like they just hate… humans, really. They turn women into tools for the sexuality, lobotomized them into mindless killers or amoral sociopaths as soon as they’re looking at someone smaller, yeah, but at best men generally end up as sex slaves in GTS, if not just killed. So much GTS stuff is just… ‘what if an apocalyptic meteor was a boob or a foot instead’ or something, like they just want everyone and everything to die. I can count actual gentle GTS stuff I remember on one hand, and one of the first size stories I ever found is a gentle one where the man is basiclly unbirthed into a permanent coma at the end.

It’s very… I don’t know, it makes me think of a death cult, sometimes.

So, in Fate Extella, one of the main characters/waifu is not only a GTS (Nasu is an infamous obvious GTS fetishist, considering how many women in his settings end up gigantic), but is a literal world destroying monster. Yet, most of her interaction is kind, and there’s literally a (text only) sequence straight out of a gentle GTS dream (or an sw’s, considering you can have the mc be a female).

I saw someone on a forum say that Altera woke the GTS fetish in him, then he looked it up and lost it because of what he found. Presumably, in the span of the same day.

After a while, I turned the movie back on, though neither of us really watched it.

On Miranda’s part, it more the fact she couldn’t watch it: from her position, my arm rose like a wall in front of her, blocking her vision, while also holding her tight enough she couldn’t have freed herself even if she wanted to. And she didn’t; once she got over her shock, she merely wiggled a little, rotating herself until her back was to my arm, before closing her eyes and apparently falling asleep, right there in my lap.

I could have watched it, of course, but I didn’t. Miranda laying there in my arms, so small, so vulnerable, yet despite of that so trusting, was… entrancing. I could have sat there all day, watching that tiny chest rise and fall, the stress on her face vanished, it’s former presence only made clear now by its absence.

Eventually, she woke up, and there was a moment, then, a single perfect moment. Miranda looked up at me, eyes still blinking away the sleep, and smiled, ever so slightly, in a pure, innocent happiness.

It made everything worth it. Everything, all the time and money I had spent, all the times she held my heart in her hands, massive and helpless all at once, as she squeezed, all of it and more paid for that brief instance of peace and joy.

Then, of course, it passed: her face froze in realization, before hardening, the walls rising again in front of me, rejecting me. She sat up, somehow formal and harsh all at once.

It hurt seeing that, a sharp, piercing pain, like a jagged shard of glass thrust deep into my chest.

I felt my face lose whatever expression it had held in response, pulling away, my back straightening from the slight bend it had been in for… hours, probably.

A tense silence fell between us, each waiting for the other to make the first move, both of us unsure how to act. Our relationship, her a Min, me her owner, had been one of sudden, drastic changes, struggling to find an equilibrium; would I be cruel to her? Kind? Would she accept me? Flee from me?

I couldn’t help but feel that whatever happened here would determine the direction of it for the near future, maybe forever, and I… didn’t know what to do. What I wanted to do.

I wanted to take her, break her, dress her in collars and chains as she dangled limp in my hands, make her scream my name, again and again, voice so loud and hoarse and broken it was impossible to tell it was from pain or pleasure.

I wanted to comfort her, protect her, hold her close and keep her safe, serve her food on fine china and dress her like a queen, give her everything and anything she wanted, just to see that one perfect smile again, chasing even the faintest hint of kindness or praise relentlessly.

I wanted to reject her like she had me, to cast her aside to crawl on the floor, naked and thin and dirty and alone and afraid, looking up at me and her friends so high above her, desperate for even a crumb of attention, begging for mercy, for a chance at an opportunity she knew was now long past.

I wanted to rend her limb from limb, feel her flesh twist in between my fingers, to rid myself of this nagging thing that had haunted me for years now, to be gloriously free and unburdened and to never look back at what I left behind me.

I wanted all of it. None of it.

I-

Miranda struck first.

“I-Ian,” she said, stammering in the face of whatever she saw in me, “Ian. I… would you mind if I went to bed? Please?”

Her voice sounded one step short of pleading, and her eyes shone with tears as she tried, and failed, to appear in calm and control.

It occured to me, then, that Miranda had stood at the same crossroads that I had, that she too had warred against her choices, but had arrived at a single perfect answer: nothing. No change, positive or negative, no bridges built or burnt, all the problems and questions between us shoved aside to be dealt with another time.

The status quo preserved.

I opened my mouth, then closed it, cleared my throat and tried again.

“Alright.” I croaked.

It was an unspoken agreement of her choice, and she relaxed ever so slightly at the acceptance.

Carefully, I closed my hand around her torso, my grip slow and gentle. Miranda didn’t resist, but didn’t relax, either, as I lifted her up into the air.

I should probably have brushed my teeth, maybe taken a shower, but I just didn’t have the energy for it anymore; those few minutes of indecision had left me emotionally and physically drained. All I wanted to do was to sleep.

Quietly I turned off the TV, flicked off the lights, and walked into the bedroom, setting Miranda slowly on the nest of thin blankets and fabric I had prepared for her , all of them set on a large, plush dog bed so soft that even her tiny weight made her sink down into it.

Both of us where silent as I changed, unceremoniously removing clothes before putting on my pajamas. At any other time, I knew, this would all be immensely embarrassing for me; to be naked, or just short of it, right in front of Miranda like this, but I just couldn’t muster the energy to feel anything.

I climbed into bed and plunged the room into darkness.

“…Goodnight, Miranda.” I said finally.

She didn’t say anything. For awhile I lay there, waiting, hoping for a reply, but there was nothing.

Eventually I fell asleep.

---

I planned for literally none of this. They were just supposed to go to bed. I had all a little conversation about it planned, and then… this.

It all feels… overly dramatic?

Hey, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen you last. How’s things? Good to have more people from before show up!

@Olo
shrug
Doesn’t look like it, yet, but there’s a what looks like a normal woman underground doing a similar job for… the Kongs?

Also, they’re slowly breaking away from trying to make this ‘realistic’, so they might get there once they focus on Mothra again.

Been awhile, hasn’t it? Just recently I was reminded that, apparently, people actually like this story, which is always a weird thing to for me to realize. In the process of getting back into this I did some world building, and got some interesting new bits that I think will actually work pretty well, but we’re not quite there yet so I have some more time to consider how to best execute them. Of course, what actually held me up once I tried to start was trying to make the characters work right, and had nothing to do with my new plans. Irony.

Anyways, hope this doesn’t disappoint.

---

As Miranda took in her one time rival’s suffering, drinking it in like a fine wine, an idea occurred to me. She was clearly on a roll, and I didn’t want to interrupt her when she was having so much fun, but it would be the cherry on top of this little scene.

“You know Miranda,” I said, ignoring the dirty look she threw me, “I had actually gotten you something I meant to give to you yesterday, before I got distracted.”

“Oh?” The annoyance had faded somewhat from her expression, to be replaced by a somewhat skeptical interest. “Another present for me?”

I nodded. “You, and the others, if you want.”

That earned me a raised eyebrow. “Really?”

“Tell you what: why don’t I get them, and we’ll see what you think?”

I rose from my chair, and as I did, everyone on the table flinched at the sudden motion, Miranda taking a step as I loomed over her, a hand reaching out.

“Do you mind if I borrow your toy really quick?” I asked as I grabbed Sydney’s ankle. She yelped, but we both ignored her. “Maybe give her a little tour of the house?”

As if I cared about that. I just wasn’t prepared to leave the two of them alone quite yet, and maybe she felt the same, because a relieved little smile appeared on her face as I began to pull the larger woman towards me, her fingers impotently trying to hold onto the wood.

“Of course, Ian,” Miranda smirked. “Go ahead and show her a good time.”

I had been taking her anyways, but it was important for me to at least pretend to have her permission, to better hammer the facts into Sydney’s head. With it obtained, I stopped my slow pull and yanked sharply, sending Sydney screaming off the edge of the table, with only my hold on her ankle stopping her from falling head first to the floor. I lifted the thrashing Min higher into the air for Miranda to see, and when she giggled Sydney froze, seeming to realize what would happened if her struggles freed her from my grasp.

Of course, then I began to walk across the house, making sure to swing her back and forth with every step. By the time I reached the closet and opened it, Sydney had gone silent in my grasp, and had curled up as much as she could while hanging upside down. Casually, I tossed her up into the air, my hand snatching her before she could fall.

“Alright, listen up.” I said to the shrieking Min in my hand. I wanted to have another little talk with her, away from the others. I hadn’t exactly paid attention to them when I had gotten physical with Sydney, but I could imagine watching a woman far larger than them being casually abused by someone far bigger than even her would be alarming. I wasn’t planning on being as nice as I had been earlier, and I didn’t want to traumatize Miranda.

“The time will come when I leave you and Miranda in a room together without any supervision. When that time comes, you may get… ideas. You’re bigger, after all, and it would be easy for you to push her around. Like old times.”

I smiled, and Sydney froze.

“Maybe if you hurt her enough, she might be too afraid to tell me what you did! Just bully her, and the natural order will be restored, right? After all, she’s too weak to stop you.” Sydney had grown pale as I spoke, and I dropped the ill fitting expression from my face. Somehow, it didn’t seem to reassure her. “I want you remember this when the time comes.”

Slowly I reached out with my other hand and closed it around her arm and began to squeeze. “If you hurt Miranda I will rip your limbs off.”

I leaned in closer to her with a hiss, my hand squeezing tighter. “Then I will make you eat them. And I will make sure that you finish every. Single. Bite.”

I squeezed even tighter on her arm for emphasis as I spoke. In my hand Sydney was gasping in pain, trying to yank her arm away from me, but I merely increased the pressure even more as she fought me.

“And even then, I won’t allow your suffering to simply end. I will keep you alive, miserable and covered in your own filth, as long as I can. I will have the other Mins shovel Min chow and water into your mouth as you cry, begging for the salvation of death which you will be denied. I want you to remember this: no matter what Miranda does to you, no matter what humiliation she will inflict, no matter what she wants you to do, I can, and will, do worse. I’m not protecting Miranda from you, Miranda is protecting you from me. Do we have an understanding?”

I waited a moment, but when all she did was keep mindlessly pulling at her arm, I adjusted my grip, placing the edge of my thumb nail just under her shoulder.

She froze. “Don’t make me repeat myself. You do not want me think that you’re confused about this. Do we. Have. An understanding?”

“Yes.” She said softly, shaking in my grip.

“What was that?” I asked sternly. “I need you to speak up.”

“Yes!” Sydney babbled. “Yes yes yes yes sir I understand you Master please Master don’t hurt me anymore please I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m-”

I interrupted her. “Good. Good! I’m glad we could clear the air.”

I released her arm, and Sydney grabbed at her now red flesh with a sob, flinching as I pat her head with a finger. “Do me a favor: don’t mention this conversation to anyone, alright? We wouldn’t want to scare Miranda, after all.”

The Min nodded franticlly and I laughed. “I’m glad to hear that. Remember, if you want to be happy, you need to keep Miranda happy.”

Putting her out my mind for the moment, I I grabbed the box from the shelf I had left it on and began walking back to the table, blinking at how it had changed. At some point Amber and Mia had left the edge of the table to approach Miranda, who was now knelt down over them, holding them in her arms protectively, all three of them looking up at me with blank expressions on their faces.

Ah. They had heard the conversation from before. I probably should have been quieter.

I dropped Sydney on the table, trying to ignore how they jolted at my movement, and more gently placed the box on the table next to her. The second she left my hand the Min scrambled her feet and ran behind the others on the table, huddling down as much as she could, if their tiny forms would protect her.

Tellingly, none of the other Mins so much as blinked as they left their backs exposed to their former tormentor.

“Tell me, Miranda,” I said, avoiding any mention about what had just happened as I opened the box, “How do you feel about a dress?”

Her jaw dropped as I reached in and pulled out a wine red cocktail dress the size of my palm from where it had carefully laid, letting it flutter down onto the table in front of her.

Miranda dropped her friends, but they didn’t even protest, just as amazed as her by the piece of clothing I had presented them. Mia reached out to feel touch at its hem before Miranda picked up the garment with trembling hands and lifted it from the table top.

Moments later, I reached back in and retrieved a baggie with a tiny pair of stiletto heel shoes and some equally sized undergarments.

“Or maybe some shoes?”, I added rhetorically.

“What?” Miranda stared at the dress, whatever terror I had caused forgotten as she lifted the fabric, seeming almost afraid it would vanish from her hands if she wasn’t careful. “Ian… how?”

I shrugged. “I ordered it, obviously.”

Clothing for a Min was luxury, one too expensive to be afforded to the ones kept in the Kennel. Outside of it, however, there was a booming industry in Min clothing, either for giving loved one some illusion of propriety, or more commonly to make an attractive toy even more so. There was also a not insignificant portion of the market devoted bondage apparel.

Doll dresses, unlike what you saw on TV, didn’t fit the body of a real Min, and were unpleasant besides, sometimes even causing an unattractive rash on that impossibly soft skin. Even if an owner didn’t care who their Mins felt when they wore an outfit, something that ruined their appeal like that was unacceptable. Real Min clothing was made to order, since each Min had their own proportions, and was designed to feel as pleasant as possible on the delicate, extremely sensitive skin of a Min. All of that, of course, made each garment far more expensive than their size would have suggested to the ignorant.

I was more than willing to spend some money for the sole purpose of spoiling Miranda.

When the DMC had contacted me, they had given me all the Min’s measurements, and one of the first things I had done was order some outfits, to arrive as soon as possible, while making a second, larger order that would arrive at some later point. Even then, they had barely arrived a day before I picked up Miranda.

There were a couple more outfits in the box for her I’d bring out later… and a few more that she would probably not be quite as happy about, but I would want her to wear eventually. For now, though, I ignored them, and pulled out some crop tops and shorts in basic black, and set them on the table as well. For a moment Miranda puzzled at them, obviously too small for her to wear, before it clicked in her mind who they were meant for.

Amber was the one who spoke next. “For us? You got clothes for us?”

I shrugged again. “Sure, why not? I didn’t know what you looked like, so I got you a few things in black. It works with everyone, right?”

They stared at me, all of them, only to change focus to the knee high boots I dropped in front of them.

Min clothing trended more towards skimpy than covering as a whole, and I wasn’t willing to spend more on them for a more ‘normal’ outfit, so the boots were sleek, shiny high heeled things, made more to be sexy than practical. Besides, I was a man after all. I enjoyed watching women strut around in high heels, so sue me.

Still, when the little Mins picked them up, they held them as if they were the most precious things they had ever seen.

I wasn’t crazy about spending money on the two of them, but they did serve a higher purpose than just making them nicer to look at: they were, like so many other things I gave or allowed them, luxuries. Luxuries to make Miranda think that much better of me.

Luxuries I could take away from them, if need be.

And now, a luxury that Sydney was denied, but everyone else was allowed, a reminder of her place.

At that thought I looked up to check on the larger Min. I expected her to be staring at the others with envy, or maybe resentment. Instead she was staring at me, wide eyed and shaking.