Best posts made by Olo

@kisupure

“Feel like workin’ today?”

“Nah.”

“Kisu abides.”

REQUEST 27 Follow-Up by Lord Xarnor

This story doesn’t have a happy ending. This is very much a The Bad Guys Win scenario. I’ve had this idea in my pile ever since a comment last year from @sloppy_amy, but now that I’ve written it out I cannot deny that it could also seem like what might have happened if Dr. Little from Out of their Element by @littlest-lily had triumphed.

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The Prof

You wouldn’t look twice at Jonathan as he walked down Boylston Avenue. White dude, average height, slim/athletic build, close-cropped brown hair, stylish glasses, light mustache and soul patch. He wore a dark hoodie and matching sneakers, white T-shirt, and black jeans, all clean and in good shape. His laptop bag might be larger than most, but you wouldn’t remember that. He walked with purpose, and you would imagine that it must be a legitimate one. You would be mistaken.

Jonathan was a very bad man, even taking into account that he was a pimp. The kind of man who could spot desperation in women and sell them a lie of economic and physical security, exploit their bodies for every last cent, then cut them loose when they were all used up is all-too-common in this world. It took a rare quality of evil to encounter world-altering technology and see only an opportunity for further monetizing human cruelty.

He still ran regular girls for regular johns, less out of strict financial need than keeping his enterprises diversified. Jonathan had learned long ago not to keep all his eggs in one basket. And the scouting part of the business was the same for both markets, as evidenced by the two girls he added to his stable last night. Iris was already walking the street, while Emma had been prepped for the Prof.

The Prof had lived at his condo on Boylston near campus ever since his divorce, before Jonathan ever made his acquaintance. He was a regular john back then, using a fake name that Jonathan couldn’t remember even now. Quick with his cash and no complaints from the girls. Jonathan had no reason to give him a second thought until the day the Prof had shown him the device.

A girl came back from the Prof’s condo saying he wanted a special arrangement. No details, but he had to speak with her “manager” in person. “He better make it worth my while,” was Jonathan’s only response. Over the year that followed that day, Jonathan’s net income after payoffs had jumped twentyfold.

Jonathan continued his brisk pace along the sidewalk. The latest wave of gentrification had yet to reach the Prof’s neighborhood, and his building was at least fifty years old. Jonathan had months previously memorized the Prof’s intercom code and he duly entered it when he reached the front door.

“Hello?” came the Prof’s jovial greeting, clearly anticipating Jonathan’s arrival.

“Delivery,” said Jonathan dully. The door lock buzzed promptly.

The condo developers had updated the lobby and corridors with contemporary wallpaper and fixtures, but the elevators were still slow and the floor was still spongy. Every time he walked down the hall to the Prof’s unit Jonathan half-expected to break through the carpet and put his foot in a hole in the ramshackle flooring.

The Prof greeted Jonathan at the door, wearing his favorite dressing gown. Jonathan didn’t know anyone else who knew what a dressing gown was, let alone owned one. It was primarily burgundy in color, with a dark foliage pattern that somehow reminded Jonathan of the jungle.

“Do come in,” said the Prof, opening the door and standing aside.

Jonathan didn’t know what subjects the Prof once taught, but from his home décor he imagined he was a professor of philosophy or history or something similarly squishy. Books everywhere, crammed into sagging shelves and heaped in disused corners. Dark wood paneling, delicate window dressing, and ancient plush furniture. A small dining table still bearing the remains of a single breakfast. In the study a well-worn high-backed leather reading chair, side table, and footstool occupied the position of maximum window light.

There was a distinct but not unpleasant odor immediately familiar to anyone who (unlike Jonathan) had ever patronized a used bookstore. A less-worn leather couch faced the reading chair across a low circular walnut table. The Prof used to offer Jonathan a cup of tea, but he eventually sensed Jonathan was annoyed by having to repeatedly decline and abandoned the gesture.

Jonathan lay his bag down on the couch and turned to look at the Prof waiting next to the reading chair, his hands clasped in front of his chest. Another white guy, the Prof’s physique was evidence of a sedentary career and even more sedentary retirement. Unlike most of his colleagues who had to be carried out of their ivory tower in a pine box, the Prof had retired in his early fifties, shortly after his divorce. His hairline had only just started to recede, making a small widow’s peak of his dark brown hair that was otherwise creeping down his collar and over his ears. His mustache and beard were more orderly if no less thick, closely trimmed with a bit of salt-and-pepper. Hazel eyes peered out from beneath arched eyebrows over a gently-sloping nose. His thick lips were restless.

Jonathan knew from experience that the Prof wasn’t wearing anything under his dressing down other than some long-suffering padded slippers. The gown was already loose enough to expose a bit of the Prof’s hairy chest, and his irrepressible paunch would not be ignored.

At a nod from Jonathan, the Prof hastened to clear the circular table of all items, then crossed the study to open a closet and retrieve a small empty fish tank, which he placed in the center of the tabletop. Finally, he turned on the reading lamp next to his chair and reoriented it so that it illuminated the tank.

Jonathan brought his bag over to the table and set it next to the tank, then opened it and transferred its contents to the floor of the tank one by one. He tried to distribute them evenly so they could each be clearly available to the Prof’s scrutiny, but as always they refused to stay put. To be fair, such behavior was probably to be expected from most any young woman who had been abducted, stripped, and proportionately reduced to two-inches-tall.

The Prof claimed to have invented the size-altering device. He didn’t look like an inventor or engineer to Jonathan, but he was familiar enough with the operation of the device when he first demonstrated it for Jonathan. It was the size and shape of a thick mobile phone or perhaps a mobile phone in a thick case. It was even operated via a touch screen on one side, and on the other side there was what looked like a camera lens. You unlocked it with a numeric code, typed in a percentage, then held it up as if you were taking a photo, sighted the target through the screen display, and pressed the big red button.

Targets of the device changed size in proportion to the specified percentage. A target’s size could be changed more than once, but it could never be made larger than its original size. The Prof had first demonstrated it on his dining table, reducing it to 5% of its original size and then restoring it. The Prof had then invited Jonathan to try it out, and Jonathan had targeted the Prof’s reading chair, successfully reducing and restoring it on the first attempt.

“That’s amazing, uh, Professor,” said Jonathan, “but what’s this got to do with me?”

“I want you to shrink women and sell them to me.”

Jonathan didn’t hesitate at all to entertain the appalling proposal.

“How do I know it works on people?” he countered.

“Well, I could demonstrate it on you,” replied the Prof, “but I suspect it would injure our business relationship.”

“Damn right it would. Why don’t you let me try it on you?”

“Be my guest.”

Jonathan blinked, then grinned and raised the device to target the Prof and triggered it. Nothing happened except an error message on the touch screen: “ACCESS DENIED.”

“I programmed it to lock up if anyone tried to target me,” said the Prof smugly, holding his hand out for the device, which Jonathan warily returned.

Jonathan had to revise his estimation of the Prof, but he didn’t let that get in the way of imagining other possibilities. However much the Prof was willing to pay for shrunken girls, he knew someone just as kinky and undoubtedly richer. He had recently started supplying a john named Greg, a techbro who had the girls do all kinds of weird shit; roleplaying characters from video games, creepy costumes for both the girls and him, you name it. Greg would very likely pay top dollar for living dolls.

The Prof and Jonathan worked out a deal. Each month Jonathan would discreetly shrink six girls and present them to the Prof. The device would be programmed for only six uses before the Prof had to reset it. The Prof would take his favorite of the girls, and Jonathan would keep the other five to sell.

As expected, Greg was all-too-happy to pay handsomely for what he called his “pocket waifus.” The Prof wanted all the girls in his selection to be shrunk to 1/32nd (3.125%) of their original size, but Greg inquired if he could get some at varying sizes, so the Prof started resizing some or all of the girls for Greg after he had made his selection. As the Prof was more dependent on Jonathan for his services than Greg was, Jonathan was careful not to disclose anything about the Prof’s identity to Greg lest the techbro try to cut out the middleman.

The arrangement had become a routine. Jonathan took his habitual seat on the couch to watch the Prof choose this month’s girl. While Jonathan had been transferring the shrunken girls to the display tank, the Prof had retrieved his magnifying glass, through which he was now peering at the latest catch.

The first girl Jonathan had shrunk that month could have been a stripper; in fact he had met her sitting at a club watching other girls going through the moves. Jonathan thought she was on a break or perhaps a friend of one of the dancers. Tall, blonde, and top-heavy with long legs, Audrey was actually a dental hygienist looking to make a career change. Jonathan told her he knew the owner of another club and could get her a favorable audition, and when she showed up he shrank her right outside the club door.

He spotted Deirdre at a bar. A thicc dark girl, black but something else also in there, Puerto Rican maybe. He could have used her in either of his businesses. She didn’t fall for his “you could be a model” approach and he moved on only to run into her a couple of days later at a grocery store. Encouraged by the second chance, he followed her to an out-of-sight corner of the parking lot and shrank her before she reached her car.

Janey was this short blonde with a huge caboose who came up to Jonathan hoping to score some fentanyl. She must have needed them for someone else, because she didn’t go into withdrawal after being shrunk and spending two weeks in his beer cooler.

The Y was not one of Jonathan’s usual hunting grounds, but as he realized that he only needed a few seconds out of sight and alone to grab a girl for the Prof, he had become much more opportunistic. Rebecca was a chunky redhead with glasses that he caught just as she was leaving the Y after her workout. Her glasses got knocked off when he grabbed her, so she couldn’t see more than an inch in front of her.

Jonathan was planning to set Barb up as one of his regular girls, primarily as she was willing to get into his car and she didn’t look like the Prof’s type. A skinny white chick with very short dark brown hair, Barb was already drunk when she sat down next to Jonathan and told him to take her to his place. It was only when she said “I bet you’ve got a giant cock” that he impulsively decided to show her just how giant it was.

Emma had been a waitress at a noodle place not too far from the Prof’s condo. Jonathan hadn’t really noticed her until he was leaving the restroom and the kitchen door swung open, affording him a momentary glimpse of Emma bending over for something on the floor and pointing her round ass at him. He scoped her out further when she walked by his table a few minutes later: short, chubby, some kind of Southeast Asian girl with long dark brown hair. Emma was the subject of Jonathan’s first experiment with using the device at long range. After her shift was over he followed her at a distance of around fifty feet and when she went around a corner he saw that no one was about and he shrank her without hesitation.

@thumbloverver2 If it were fully reversible and no side effects, possibly. I would absolutely never do it without the full explicit consent of everyone involved, and even then I would be so paranoid about safety that it would probably take all the fun out of it.

Tiny Plaything 3 by Mikester65

The Miniature Wife by Manuel Gonzales

TL;DR: Size-differential is such a primal and undeniable power-differential that even the most kind and respectful people can be corrupted by it.

[Some of the below is lifted from Size Fantasy and Alternate Sexuality]

Being (relatively) giant means never having to say you’re sorry. Having a shrunken woman in my clutches means I get to ogle, grope, and taste her whenever I want. If that sounds like a rape fantasy, it is. I still sometimes feel like I should be ashamed of that, but I have also spent most of my life hoping to hear a woman tell me she’d like to shrink me and rape me, so I just shrug and keep posting this stuff pseudonymously.

Before it was sexual, my interest in size fantasy was a morbid fascination with how helpless a mouse-sized person would be. How easily and casually they could be handled, controlled, entrapped. Part of the fascination came from watching full-size people suddenly appreciate the power they now held over a tiny person. Even people of good character found it hard to resist at least playing with or teasing tinies. A careless or unaware full-size person could wreak enormous havoc upon tiny people. Being tiny was innately humiliating. Whenever size differential appeared in a TV show or a movie, I was instantly alert to how others reacted, to see if they shared my fascination. I didn’t really understand it at the time, but I was taking others’ measure of empathy and cruelty. I was also examining myself.

I wasn’t particularly identifying with any party in these scenarios. It was the encounter itself that fascinated me. Children’s entertainment is full of large characters devouring small ones, but it is almost always harmless and reversible. I became obsessed with those few instances where it wasn’t. I wanted to witness both the horror of being ingested as well as the domination of devouring another. It seemed both ridiculous and primal.

This combination of absurd and powerful also resonated with me as I began exploring my sexual feelings. I am a cishet male and have always been attracted (almost exclusively) to AFAB girls and women, but at a very early age I rejected what I perceived as society’s expectations for me as a heterosexual male. I thought everyone was trapped in a theater of selfishness and exploitation and manipulation, and I would rather be castrated than participate. Many adolescents go through periods of anxiety and self-pity and misanthropy, but I cultivated mine for many years.

But I still had sexual feelings, of course, and I felt I had absolutely no control over them. In fact, they were simply redirected into my fantasy life, which had always been active bordering on distracting. It seemed quite natural to imagine myself as a tiny bug of a boy, trying not to be noticed by the popular giant bullies, spying on the beguiling giantesses, hoping to meet a gentle protectress but believing I deserved to be captured by a callous tormentress.

“Ironically,” the freedom granted by my imagination allowed me to explore and understand why I felt guilt and shame and insecurity. Make no mistake, I had disappeared up my own ass for years, time that could have been spent getting to know a wide range of girls and expanding the range of myself. I might have even met a girl with size fantasies herself, which would have changed my life in unimaginable ways.

Of course the genre of size fantasy that alarmed me the most was when I considered the possibility of holding a shrunken woman myself. As it happened, that idea took root in my head back when I thought the most compelling conclusion of size fantasy was vore. As someone who viewed all heterosexual relationships as adversarial (that were usually dominated by men and their desires), the notion that I wasn’t already sufficiently advantaged and that I had to shrink women and stuff them in my mouth in order to find satisfaction was unbearable. So I simply buried all M/f fantasies for decades. It wouldn’t be until I found and listened to female M/f fans on the internet that I began to come to peace with this.

As I discovered other size fantasists and the resulting diversity of size fantasies, I slowly stopped thinking of this as a kink that happened to me and more of an aesthetic for which I had spent years developing an appreciation. In addition to acknowledging my M/f fantasies, learning what inspired other people helped expand and illuminate what I found arousing about size differential. Detaching my size fantasies from the core of my sexual identity allowed me to enjoy them without thinking I was expressing my “true self.” This was mainly helpful for considerations of consent, but it also but also for experimenting with how it feels to voluntarily surrender power. I’m still pretty unpracticed at roleplaying with these concepts, but I always try to explore them in my stories.

I often liken my more gruesome size fantasies to horror movies to explain how I enjoy them. When you watch a movie monster eat someone, are you “identifying” with either the monster or the victim, or are you just a witness? Do you imagine the sensory experiences of either the predator or the prey? If you enjoy it, does that mean you wanted it to happen?

Our society has decided to accommodate rape victims who (subsequently) find rape fantasies arousing. We are more ambivalent about people who find a rapist’s perspective arousing. I won’t pretend that, when I hear a woman say she enjoys the fantasy of raping a shrunken man, I don’t feel a little absolution for my own predatory desires.

My wife and I don’t engage in any dom/sub play, primarily because we both come from abusive families with shitty fathers and appeasing mothers, and we are each others’ safe havens from bullshit heterosexual roles and scripts. But she loves her some horror fiction, the gorier the better, and I write stories about giants raping and eating tinies. Our minds contain it all.

Even when a giant ultimately decides to respect and protect any tinies they encounter, there are multiple moments when that decision must be revisited and reaffirmed, an instant temptation each time. That’s what I love about handhelds; they are simultaneously protective and predatory, and the only clue as to their ultimate character is in the giant’s eyes.

That’s what I want from size fantasy: that confrontation with power-differential, over and over, with as many different giants and tinies as are imaginable.

Pain or Pleasure by Lord Xarnor

Social-media-themed size content has been one of my favorite trends in recent years, from YouTube comment streams to Instagram collages to dating apps. I’m afraid I don’t have enough (any) exposure to TikTok, so I don’t dare to try to simulate it.

@littlest-lily

source

Daytime Surprise by Lord Xarnor

@Nyx You do realize that you’re asking for an end to gatekeeping in the Size community, don’t you? I don’t know what you’re smoking, but pass it here.

@TakoAlice8 One of my favorite intimidating giant tropes is when he is unintentionally intimidating. He makes some movement or sound that is totally innocuous to him, but then he looks down and sees that her eyes have gone wide and she’s frozen in shock. Sometimes he’s embarrassed and apologizes for his abrupt behavior, and sometimes he just gives her a look that says, “Yeah, I’m huge and you best get used to it.”

Little Problems 2: Kevin Strikes Again by Mikester65