Posts made by i am insane

I’m playing a dumb game with my friend yesterday, and a character drops this line on us: he’s not wearing sunglasses, no! He shouts proudly that he’s wearing a black fairy bra.

Along with my instant incredulous reaction, there was also the thought that he was One Of Us, and I should mention it here for everyone else to WTF over and enjoy.

So… if sunglasses are a tiny bra being abused by being stretched over someone’s face, are there any other common accessories that we can figure out are actually from an SW?

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

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

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

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

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

@kisupure said in Sex Objects:

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

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

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

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

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

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

@kisupure said in Sex Objects:

feeling shame for being a sexual being,

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

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

@kisupure
Pretty much?

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

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

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

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

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

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

shudders in excitement

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

Ideally, she even likes it.

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

Hmm. Interesting thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

Weird ideas, true, but still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You may come to realize, in time, that as a pet, a lot of your life will remain the same: I will keep you fed, housed, and well cared for. We’ll spend time together. The main difference, you’ll find, is… a certain restriction on your freedoms that you didn’t have before, things I allowed you that you’ll no longer have…”

I trailed off, before reaching under Miranda’s chin with a finger, forcing her out of her slump to maintain eye contact with me.

“That is, if you’re a pet in good standing. If I find your attitude disrespectful, though, I’ll be forced to take action. There are lines a human can cross that pet are not allowed, after all.”

I sighed. “Of course, this is hard because it’s still you Miranda. There is only so much I’m willing to do to you compared to others, and that could make disciplining you… difficult.”

For a moment, hope flared into her eyes. Then I continued.

“Do you know what one of your biggest mistakes is, Miranda?” I asked. “About the situation we’re in?”

I paused, then clarified. “Beyond the obvious, of course.”

I watched the hope began to flicker and fade, but she didn’t respond. After a moment passed, I continued. “The fuss you made over Amber and Mia. The worry. The concern.”

I gazed deep into her eyes, watching the hope be snuffed out, the bleak despair being overtaken by a fresher, rawer fear.

“Yeeess.” I hissed gleefully, lifting my finger and forcing her to her feet. “If you doubted your ability to manage me, you never should have mentioned them, never should have brought them here. I know the Kennel was unpleasant, but I think you’ve realized by now that I can be worse if I feel the need. You thought I would protect them, but in reality? All you’ve done was give me a weakness to exploit, painted a target on their backs.”

At last, Miranda found her voice. “No… Ian, no please! They’re innocent! They didn’t do anything to you, they’ve tried to please you, Ian pleas-”

“You’re right.” I interrupted. She stared blankly at my response. “What? You are. They’ve bent over backwards to try and comply with my demands, and I’ll admit I’m happy with their attitudes. They’re attractive, willing little toys who would do just about anything for a cookie; what’s not to like? The thing is, Miranda, is that doesn’t matter. They could actually worship me as a god, with prayers and rituals, and they’d still be just as disposable to me as they are now. I may have grown attached to them, and I may regret the act, but you’ve helped me realize that, in one short car trip, I could easily go find two new toys to replace them, or more, even. There’s always going to be more Mins, after all. Ones just as desperate to please, ones so pathetically afraid and hungry that they’d willingly crawl into my mouth just for a chance to eat whatever leftovers remained…”

I stopped and considered what I just said. “Actually, that does sound kind of hot. I think I might want to try that later. But I’m wandering off topic here: while they are good little Mins, that fact only does so much for them. It’s what you think of them that makes their lives have any weight to them. Which, coincidentally, brings me to the next point.”

Reaching out, I scooped up Miranda by her butt, settling her next to my body as I tucked Sydney under my arm. “But first, let’s take this to the table. I think we’ll want the room.”

I had gone and collected a few things before I had returned to the chair, and I could see Miranda take in the new additions to the table top: the box where I had gotten the outfits out of… and a large cage. One just large enough for her to stand in, with its door hanging open invitingly.

Near the top, a water bottle was attached at just the right height for Miranda to be able to drink from its metal tube, while a currently empty tray for food sat on top of a soft bed of litter, the only other feature in an empty environment. To complete the picture, a simple clip hung from the door, one I could manipulate easily, but still requiring more force than even Sydney could muster to open.

“I had a couple of weeks before my house was ready,” I explained to Miranda as I reached my usual chair, “And I decided it would be for the best to prepare for almost any eventuality. I didn’t really think I’d need it, but now I’m happy I thought ahead so much.”

Gently, I deposited Miranda onto the table, where she scrambled to her feet uneasily, before putting Sydney back onto my lap.

“You know, Sydney, you’ve started to grow on me.” I mentioned almost absently as I began to stroke her back again. “Under the circumstance, I’m afraid I’m going to have to confiscate you from Miranda, but you’re turning out to be a great little lap pet all the same.”

There was something unbelievably soothing about petting something so soft and warm, and way she rested perfectly in her new place.

“But now that we’re all here, I think we should turn back to the subject at hand.” I began, turning back to Miranda.

“Amber and Mia. Your friends… or should I say, your ‘friends’? They’re disposable to me, Miranda, but I’m curious: what do they mean to you? I know I call them your friends, but are they? Do you actually like spending time with them? Or they a burden, an obligation? A symbol of your guilt? Or perhaps are they even less than that? Do you just like having little toys of your own, Miranda? Little helpless creatures so desperate for help that they’d even take the person who ruined their lives as a protector? That’s what we’re going to find out, because now we’re going to play a game.”

I smiled a shark’s grin, toothy and filled with anticipation, and she shuddered. “I call it Sacrifice, and for now, Sacrifice is how we’ll clarify your new living situation. Sacrifice, you see, is a game with real life consequences, with penalties that will be very real. And the first thing you need to do to play is simple: strip.”

Miranda’s eyes widened, and she backed away, holding up her arms in a futile defensive moment. “What? Ian, no-”

“Ian, yes.” I interrupted. “But don’t worry, Miranda, it’s completely necessary. How can you understand the cost of losing something when you still have it? But before you can object, like you always do, I need to make something clear.”

Reaching out, I pushed two fingers into her stomach, and she let out a delightful little sound of surprise as she fell onto her butt.

“You, Miranda, are being punished. Normally, I like it when you struggle a bit, fight, complain. Show me that spirit I fell in love with. But right now? Every time you defy me, every time you disobey, every time you refuse? I take something away from you, or the others. I’ve taken a lot of things from them, Miranda, and there’s only so much I take from them until there’s nothing left. So, if I were you, I’d think very carefully about your choices.”

I leaned back in my chair, removing myself from her presence, as she got back up. I wanted whatever to happen to be by done by her own hands.

“So, Miranda. Clothes off.” I tilted my head. “Or do you want to see what happens?”

As it turns out, Miranda did not want to find out what happens.

“Good.” I crooned gently as she reached for the back of her dress. “Good girl, Miranda.”

It wasn’t a strip show, sadly; Miranda took of her clothing in as efficient way as she could, all the while staring at me with soulful, tear filled eyes, silently pleading for what she didn’t dare to ask. As she finally removed the dress, I stared at what she revealed, the tiny intricate underwear, all transparent silk and lace adorning her body, attracting the eye in just right way.

She looked significantly less pleased with my enraptured attention to her outfit than she had been earlier.

“Stop there.” I commanded. “And get those shoes back on.”

Confused, she put the heels back on. I didn’t explain the reasoning, yet. That would be later. Next up…

I laid my hand, face up onto the table, halfway between where me and where she stood. “Bring me the dress, Miranda.”

At that, she started to open her mouth, only to close it in sudden realization. Instead, she reluctantly picked up her outfit from the table and walked towards me on shaky legs, only to stop at my hand.

Miranda looked me said a single, almost sobbing word. “Please.”

It had worked on me before now; again and again and again, I had folded before her desperation. Now I only raised an eyebrow in the air as I asked a simple question.

“Do you think I won’t?”

Miranda broke then, just a bit. She stayed standing, but she sagged in place, her body going limp, tears now falling from her face. I don’t think she even realized she had dropped her dress, or that it had fallen into my hand, until I spoke.

“Good girl, Miranda.” She straightened up at the sound of my voice, in that same way I had seen from the other: at attention, arms behind her back, chest out, head tilted submissively

A beat past, then I saw her move past her unconscious reaction, staring at her now empty hands, and then mine, as she realized what happened.

“You did well.” I continued warmly. “I know you’re having a hard time listening to instruction at the moment, but don’t worry, we’ll get through it together.”

I reached out with my free hand and gently stroked a finger against her cheek; she sighed gently and leaned into my touch, so engrossed by the sensation that she failed to notice the first hand put her dress back into the box. I could have stopped there, but instead, I caressed her hair, a smaller, kinder smile on my face.

No matter what I tried, the bigger gestures I made for her had never gone over well; she had stressed, struggled, and worried every step of the way. It was only moments like these, smaller in scope, with simple physical affection and praise that she truly seemed at peace.

It made me wonder: did she even want to live a life as a person? To face the complexities and hardships of trying to charter her own way in life, against the limitations of being a Min? To try and act an equal against people, beings that physically were so far beyond her to make her seem as nothing and that her mind couldn’t even conceive of being human?

Or did she, somewhere deep inside, want to be owned after all? To live the life of a pet princess, spoiled and adored with a tiny toy crown on her head? Cared for, clothed in finery, fed off her Master’s own plate and carried to and fro, all without worrying about anything more than her own happiness and doing what she was told?

On my lap, I could feel Sydney’s body being lifted up by the power of my erection, the way she adjusted herself around it. It only made me feel even hotter.

“I’m proud of you, Miranda.” I said. “I’m so proud. Are you ready for the next step?”

She frowned as I removed my finger, before tentatively nodding.

“Good. Good, Miranda.” I paused. “Now, get in the cage.”

She jerked. “N-” she began, stopping herself before she could violate my taboo, only to began to beg. “Please. Please Ian, please don’t do this, please!”

I held out my finger again and Miranda rubbed her face against it, almost frantically, hoping it was a sign I’d listen to her and we’d go back to what we were doing before. It was a tempting thought, true, and something I’d love to explore.

But all of this was about proving a point.

I gave her a minute to lavish me with affection before speaking. “Wait any longer, Miranda, and I’ll take that as disobedience.”

She flung herself away from my finger like it burned her, staring at me in betrayal. She stared up at me, and mouthed, ‘please’, one more time, before her nerve broke. Letting out a horrified cry, she turned on her heel and ran into the cage. Once she made it inside, she fell to her knees upon the litter and sobbed into her hands.

“Good girl, Miranda.” I soothed. “Good, good girl.”

Under the sound of my praise, her tears slowed and she looked back to me hopefully. “You did so well, didn’t you? That wasn’t so bad, now was it? Isn’t it nice to listen to me? Isn’t it nice to make me proud?”

I watched her sniffle, and wipe away the rest of the tears before she got back to her feet. Despite the fact she was standing in a literal cage, she smiled at me, happy with her simple treatment and my basic kindness.

It was almost sad to manipulate her so easily.

“Be a good little pet, Miranda, and close the door.” She paled. “Close yourself in the cage, Miranda.”

She shook, for a long, long moment, but then she took a step forward without me having to say anything else. Then another, and another, until she stood in front of the cage’s entrance. She reached out towards the door, only to stop again, hesitation clear on her face. She looked at me, then, then the cage, then at me again.

Then Miranda, without me having to do anything more than speak, closed the door, sealing herself in a cage of her own free well.

Immediately, she grabbed the bars, as if to undo what she had just done, and wept hysterically before she began to scream.

“No. No. NonononononoNONONO!” As I reached out my own hand to pull the cage towards me, her panicked cries gained a new focus.

“Ian! Ian! What did you do to me? What did you do to me?!”

“Me?” I asked, as the cage arrived before me. “Nothing, Miranda. Absolutely nothing.”

Calmly, I grabbed the dangling clasp and locked the door with a smile. “You did this to yourself.”

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.

@drek
Thanks! It’s great to be feeling better again, and it’s certainly helping be productive, lol.

And would you believe I’m kind of winging this entire thing? I’m glad to hear it’s still working out!

I returned to my chair to find Miranda still where I left her: on her knees on the arm of the chair, eyes red with tears.

“Good girl.” I told her again, more enthusiastically this time. “You did just as I told you! Good job!”

Settling into my char, I placed an elbow in front of Miranda and my head against my fist, allowing me to easily loom over her.

Thinking for a moment, I turned my to observe the other arm of the chair. “Ah, Sydney. You’re still there.”

If Miranda hadn’t left her spot since I had left, I wasn’t sure if Sydney had moved since I had placed her there. Casually, I picked her up and plopped her face down onto my lap. She started a bit at first, but I began to brush my hand against her back, and she stopped squirming after a moment. It was almost adorable to watch her curl up slightly, knees towards her body and her head on her arms, as if she was ready to take a nap then and there.

It felt a bit like she had turned into a cat.

After a minute I turned my head back, still continuing to stroke my new pet’s back.

“Tell me something, Miranda. Do you know why I’m mad?” I asked.

She had been watching my interactions with wide eyes, but as soon as I refocused on her she paled. After a second passed, she shook her head slightly.

I sighed. “Alright. Let me sum things up. You, Miranda, came to me because you were lonely and afraid, and hoped to leverage my affection for you into a better life. It worked.”

I paused for emphasis. “For about three hours, maybe. Then you blew up our little bargain at the first possible opportunity, because apparently actually going through with what you negotiated with was too hard for you. After that, things became… unstable between us. I’ve been thinking about it, and I finally realized why: I don’t think you consider me a person.”

Which, I’ll admit, was ironic considering our situation.

Before she could say anything, I shushed her. “Quiet, Miranda. Right now it’s my turn to talk. Although, that is somewhat related: you don’t talk to me. You appease me. You try and talk me down from something, and you try to bargain with me. Every time that you’ve decided to spend time with me, Miranda, you did it with an objective in mind, a goal to accomplish.”

I stopped and thought about my next words before I spoke. “And in the grand scheme of things, it’s not like I mind that, really; if you want to sell me your time, attention, worry and body for little things? I’m certainly not complaining, though it’s interesting that you value yourself so cheaply. But the thing is, after the pizza incident, we renegotiated your situation here, and in my mind, we did built around the idea of us… let’s say courting each. Not that we’re in a romantic relationship per say, but considering one, feeling each other out for the possibility.”

Miranda stared at me, confused but listening. She jolted at my next sentence. “And then I realized you were horny.”

“It’s not surprising, really,” I continued, ignore-ing the way she sputtered. “If nothing else, the last fifteen minutes or so have proved a point about Min sensitivity, and you haven’t had sex with a man since Jarret left you to die of old age in a government holding cell. Of course you’re horny.”

Miranda all but staggered at that, a look of actual pain crossing her face. Even I thought that was a bit of a low blow, but, hey. I was still mad. I wasn’t above a low blow or two.

“And again, it’s not like I’m against that, I mean fuck, I love the idea that you’re horny. I’d like you to be horny all the time, really. But it wasn’t just that, it was the situation we were in that made things clear to me. If you wanted to have sex then, well, that moment was the perfect time to do it. We both know I would be up for it any time you wanted to, of course, but still. The thing is, you didn’t, because you don’t; even if your body is saying ‘yes’, your mind is saying ‘no’. More than that, though, it was saying '‘panic’: you were afraid when you saw me realizing that you were turned on, and that helped me put it all together.”

For the first time since the conversation, I stopped petting Sydney, and used my free hand to poke Miranda in the chest, forcing her a step back. Then, just for fun of it, I reached down slightly and curved my finger around her cleavage, bouncing her breasts slightly against its tip.

She glared up at me, but I saw the fear in her eyes all the same. Moreover, I saw the slight blush on her cheeks, the way she bit her lip.

“You’re afraid, but it’s not about me hurting you. Even Mia realized you were safe from that before she had even spent a day with me. You’re afraid of abandonment, true, but I’m not going to… lose interest after the first time or anything; we’re clearly in a long haul situation here. So that begs the question: what are you afraid of?”

My wandering finger went lower still, between her legs, before rising so high Miranda was forced to balance on it, her arms braced against my hand, with the tips of her shoes barely touching the chair. The glare hadn’t faded, or the fear, but the blush had only grown in strength and she was panting lightly as I held her there.

“It was obvious really, when I thought about it; hell, you told me yourself. You’re not afraid I’ll stop, you’re afraid I won’t stop, that I won’t let you stop. And you’re afraid of that, Miranda, because you don’t trust me to act like a person. You don’t see me as Ian Hunter, Miranda, the man who stared at you just a little too much. You look at me and you still see the dog. You see a gigantic hellhound that hasn’t realized he’s off the leash yet. You see the shark-eyed god that haunts your nightmares.”

I lifted her higher, just enough that her feet could no longer touch anything, kicking back and forth in the air helplessly as Miranda stared up at me, her face completely red, and the anger all but vanished from her expression. Meanwhile, ever so slowly, the tip of my finger grew wet.

“You don’t see me as a person, you see me as a monster.” I stated my accusation calmly, but at this point Miranda was fidgeting so much she probably couldn’t have replied if she wanted to. It was fun, playing with her, but we couldn’t really have a conversation like this.

Regretfully, I lowered her back onto the chair: for a brief instant, she tried to stand, then her legs gave out from under her and she fell on her butt.

“That leads us to now. I’ll admit, Miranda, at first I was angry just out of the sheer frustration of it. Then I was angry that I realized you still didn’t trust me, and it became even worse when I realized you may be right, that I probably wouldn’t stop.” I shrugged. “I mean, why would I?”

I paused to gauge how much she was paying attention to me, and judging by the way her hands were reaching under her dress, it wasn’t nearly as much as I would have liked.

That changed when I slammed my fist down in front of her, and the sound of it was loud enough startled Sydney into sudden wakefulness. Miranda scrambled back from my hand so hard she nearly fell off the chair before she caught herself.

“But I’m livid, Miranda, because I realized I couldn’t have what I wanted. You may not know this, but I’m very greedy, and I find it very upsetting when something is denied to me.”

At last, I lowered my head from my hand, lowered it so far that I had to turn it so one of my eyes could focus in on her.

“You are mine, Miranda, do you understand me?” The words came out like a snarl, my voice echoing the frustrated anger that filled me. “Mine. I own you, Miranda, all of you. Every single inch of your body, every strand of your hair, every tear that falls from your eyes, every cry, every scream; all of them are mine, Miranda, mine by the right of law, by your own hand, and by dint of the fact you can’t stop me from doing whatever I want to you. All of it! All of it is mine to adore, mine to protect, mine to do with whatever I please! But there’s more in you, Miranda, than just the things I can hold in my hand. There’s more that I want and I can’t get it!”

By the time I finished, Miranda had begun to hyperventilate, utterly still in a way that spoke of her body locking up in sheer terror. I found myself staring at her, at her fear, and licking my lips at the sight of it. I remembered again how confident she was when she compared me to the dog, the way I had drooled at the thought.

The way she had laughed.

I forced myself to stop, made myself turn away, and spent a minute or two simply stroking Sydney to calm down. She had woken up completely at this point, watching me with a wary eye, but as I pet her again she began to settle down. Eventually I felt rational enough to continue the talk. Turning, I saw that Miranda didn’t seem to be, but I continued regardless.

She didn’t need to speak, after all. Just listen.

“The thing is, Miranda, I can take your body, I can do whatever I want to it, but I want more: I want you. Your happiness, your love, your affection… everything. And that’s something I can’t simply take. I can’t make you love me, but … I had some hope you could grow to love me, in time.”

I pursed my lips. “So you can understand my frustration when I realized we seemed to be thinking different things, and that, as things stood, that couldn’t happen. You’re not going to fall in love with me like this, Miranda. At the idea of me, maybe, at what I represent, but that’s not the same. I could get close, I suppose, if just broke you and taught whatever was left utter devotion to me, but if I did that you wouldn’t be you anymore, and that’d just be missing the point.”

I sighed. “I wanted you… as a girlfriend, if I had to name it, or maybe my wife, and in that vein I treated you in as someone who could become that, as a human being. As things stand, that’s not going to happen, so I’m going to settle for having you as my pet. If I can’t make you fall in love with me as a person, Miranda, I can at least make you love me as your Master, as the god you worship and fear. Needless to say, your situation is going to have change to reflect that fact.”