I think something that has always turned me on is dismissing something.
So, shrunken women are shrunken women, right? Even if you call them pets or what not, while you dismiss their rights and autonomy and all that, there’s a part of you that’s admitting that they’re still human beings, just smaller, just a person you’ve taken things away from and holding captive.
But there’s a step beyond that. When they shrink, for whatever reason, a switch flips inside you, and your view on them changes. And then? They aren’t human, not anymore. Maybe they’ve never been.
It could be a friend, a lover, someone you helped on the street who is desperately grateful for this one moment of kindness in the shithole their life has become, but the instant they shrunk, that person might have well have died for all that they matter to you. And the thing is, this is usually paired with particularly gorn-y scenarios, but it doesn’t have to be, and honestly, it’s… limiting, in a way. Not just in the use of the woman, but in the cruelty of it.
Even if you’re kind, even if you treat them as… a treasured pet, if you break their will, their conception of who and what they are, until the only thing they can even dream of in life is just to get their Master’s loving affirmation, then you’ve destroyed them, as a person, and left them only a pampered shell.
And that’s the generous option; there’s no need to be kind.
Give the bare minimum needed to live. Make her earn her food, and make sure what she gives is as demeaning as where she lives and what she is (and isn’t) wearing.
Be distant, kind, unfeeling towards her, and always firm on how it’s her fault (even, or especially, if its not) until she accepts that she’s just… that. A toy, a tool, an object. Something to be used, that doesn’t just live like this, but deserves it. She deserves to live on my floor, she deserves to be fed my crumbs, she deserves to live, naked and afraid, but almost pathetically desperate to please me, just to make the shame of her very life go away.
And then, after you use her, and she lays there, soaked with her sweat, gasping for breath, quite possibly in pain, she looks up at you and thanks you for it. Not because she enjoyed it, even though she did enjoy it. But because you chose her to use and abuse, to give that level of attention to, even, and quite possibly especially, if it was cruel rather than kind, and she is thankful for that fact from the bottom of her heart.