Metaphysical Engineer(ok, writer) specializing in smut. Mostly size, but not all. I have layers. Bigender. Currently she/her. I write a mix of SFW and NSFW, gentle and cruel. Please check tags if you're worried about crossing the streams.
This is from an Ogle Magazine 1956 issue. A mens magazine I’d never heard of until this weekend. Older fans (and those who enjoy vintage TV) will recognize the model in this shoot as the same actor who played Ginger on Gilligan’s Island. I’m pretty sure the quotes are made up by whoever put this piece together, but it’s nice to see sizekink no matter when it came out.
This is from Ogle #2, a 1950s girlie magazine that had some tiny woman content in the previous issue. The cover also includes some size content, but that’s shrunken man/giant woman so that isn’t appropriate for this forum.
A nightmare fairytale of a woman who gave everything to be with the man she thought she loved as narrated by Goddess Rei.
I’m adding the advertisement tag since this takes you to my e-junkies page, but the file is free to download there.
This is a collection of some of the best Size stories out there. Inside you’ll find something for the faint of heart and the jaded soul. Gentle and cruel. Safe for work and not. Adventure. Vore. True love and cheap sex. High art and low comedy. Men the size of mountains and women so small you need a microscope to see their smile. Wishes and taxes. Tiny men. Dreams of large women. Fetish fuel and romance.
Thirty five authors have very generously donated their talents to make this book possible. Among them are veterans who were typing away in dial-up days and young guns barely old enough to drink. Amateurs and professionals from three continents giving you their best.
That’s 33 stories, an essay, and a poem. Not to mention the bits of Size fiction from Rabelais to Swift, Shakespeare to Baudelaire sprinkled in-between.
It can be downloaded for free here:
https://www.fatfreecartpro.com/i/1118x?card
Print edition can be found here:
https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/-taedis/small-print-2/paperback/product-n5y6nk.html?page=1&pageSize=4
Thanks to all the writers who contributed to this, including those I contacted through this site.
Please note: Not all stories in this collection feature giant men, but the tol men are well represented in this volume. The authors have provided tags and content warnings for their stories so you can skip what doesn’t interest you. The range of topics covered in all these stories exceeds the tag limit on this site. There is (hopefully) something for everyone, but check the tags in the book before reading.
In 2020 I put together an anthology of size short stories that received a limited print run and was given away at the physical SizeCon that February. An e-book version was given away at the first virtual SizeCon later that year.
It was a collection of 28 stories by 28 authors running the gamut of size fiction. SFW. NSFW. Cruel. Gentle. With gender/size variations that go beyond giant woman/shrunken man. From writers who were just breaking into the field to those who’ve been putting out great work since the 90s.
I’m looking to do it again opening it up to writers I’d missed the first time and those who want to come back for the second. I’m doing a few things differently this time, but the basic premise is unchanged – to provide a showcase for size writing in as many forms it takes.
I have more detailed information available here: https://taedis.blogspot.com/2021/03/small-print-2-eclectic-boogaloo.html?zx=ccbc67e4814b3413
Thank you for your interest,
Taedis
@shardro I haven’t read it in years, but Small World by Tabitha King features a shrunken woman (and other people) plot. I remember liking it when I read it, but it’s been a long time. I think the cover contributed to more than one person developing a thing for SW.
Here’s its Goodreads page.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/373167.Small_World
There was also a series of novels from the early 80s called The Micronauts (not to be mistaken with the toy/comic line). I read the first when I was a teenager and thought it was pretty good. That was a long time ago, so take the review with a mountain of salt.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/874830.The_Micronauts
For something a little more recent you might be interested in Micro. I haven’t read it, but it’s the most recent mainstream/high profile book that I’ve heard about in size.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Micro_(novel)
I hope you find something you like.
Safe Word: Snape
copyright 2018 Taedis
He’d lived in a purple house, back when he still lived in a house.
He’d forgotten how long ago that had been, but he’d remembered telling his wife he wanted to live in a purple house and the hours she spent searching for the perfect shade of violet that would complement the garden she’d allowed to encroach upon the sides of the home he no longer could fit inside.
It didn’t happen all at once. The height that is. It accumulated on him slow like a pearl forming around a piece of sand. Sometimes he wondered if that’s what he was; a piece of grit something of great value had been spit out on and hardened over.
At first the new height had been exciting. Those were the early days when he’d first crossed six feet. The papers had heard about him then, but most of them figured it was a hoax so they mostly left him alone.
He knew his wife liked what he was becoming. All of him was growing proportional to the piece of sand that used to be her husband.
All of him.
She used to tell him he was above average down there, but maybe she was lying to spare his feelings. Men can be funny about things like that and she loved him and didn’t want him to have any more complexes than he’d already had coming into the marriage.
She liked having to crane her neck to look up at him. She liked feeling small and protected in his gradually enlarging arms. She made sounds and reactions when he rammed that new height deep inside her she’d never made for her sand husband.
She didn’t ask him to play rough with her until the first time she saw him bend down to walk through the back door of the purple house. She could feel the strength radiating off him just as strongly as she could feel her own damp hot reaction to that power.
Her games were simple, direct, and always left both of them coated in a sheen of satisfied sweat.
He’d insisted on a safe word the first time she passed out from their rough play. At first he’d refused to play those games any more, but she wouldn’t listen. The safe word was a compromise he was surprised he had to suggest.
The word she chose was “Snape.”
He’d started having trouble staying in the purple house before the doctors told him he’d hit 8 feet. He couldn’t stand up straight anywhere inside, just walk with his back bent, his eyes pointed to his huge feet.
He had to sit on the sofa; there wasn’t a chair in the purple house that would fit him anymore. His wife liked to lay in his lap reveling in his size. All of his size. Her knees propped over one powerful thigh while her back rested on the other; her arm making him want to do things to her he might later regret, but she could only dream about.
If there was a reason for any of this the doctor’s never found it.
He stopped living in the house when he could look through their bedroom window from the outside without stretching.
The bedroom was on the second floor.
They knew this day was coming and had planned the plans they could afford. He didn’t want to leave the purple house or the woman he loved even if he could no longer fit through the doors.
She’d spent weeks replanting her garden to make room for the tent. It wasn’t much, but it would give him some privacy from the rain and preserve his dry modesty. It was in the backyard and it faced their window.
She sang to him those first few nights in the tent. He wondered if it was still a serenade if a pretty woman sang down to him instead of the other way around. He wanted to look it up, but his fingers were far too big to operate his phone anymore.
He liked to lay there in his tent and look up at her in her, previously their, window. She wore thin nightgowns and stood with the light behind her and knew what she wanted as she sang to him each night.
He’d stopped the rough games when he moved to the tent. He knew he would hurt her if they tried.
He stopped touching her, like that, in every way a husband and wife could touch. He stopped touching, but he was the same sand man underneath; he didn’t have the strength to stop up his ears at her song or turn his head from her display.
He felt like a flame that had fallen in love with a moth. He tried to pull away, but the moth was luring him in to her death.
The bedroom light went out the ninth night he’d spent in the tent. It was already feeling crowded to him, but he knew he had to stay there at least another month before he finally had to move away from the purple house. He wondered if it was wise for his moth wife to follow her flame sand husband to wherever it was he was going.
He never knew until he’d left the purple house she could sing so sweetly. He heard her song rise and fall as he imagined her breasts doing the same with each inhalation or exhalation. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to be the bit of sand he started as. To hold her in his arms again and not be afraid he’d burn her. To sleep in her bed comfortably and uncrushed.
He must have drifted off to sleep. The next thing he was aware of was open night above his face and the sound of a moth on the wind.
He thought he dreamed until he looked down and saw that the tent had been pulled from him. She must have taken it off him while he slept, but he didn’t think that possible. She was a very small wife; it was a very large tent.
How could she have done all that and kept on singing?
He was naked because they couldn’t make him pajamas any more and he refused to sleep in the nightshirts they could.
He started to reach for the tent. He was too tired to put it back up, but it could at least blanket him until light and wakefulness allowed him to replace it.
He couldn’t lift his hand.
He tried the other only to fail again. He had the same failure with his feet.
He turned his head and stared at his wrists in the moonlight. He could hear his moth wife singing from the other side of his body as he looked at where she had used the tent ropes to bind his hands. It was still too dark to see the tent pegs, but he could feel them buried deep in the ground.
He wondered why the neighbors didn’t do anything. They had to hear her singing. They had to have seen him laying there naked, staked out under the bright moon. Why didn’t they do anything? Why didn’t they help him?
She was still singing when she started to climb up his ankle. He couldn’t shift his head far enough to see even his lap, but he could feel her thin nightgown glide across his shin as she balanced on powerful sinews working her way up to his lap.
He felt her stop just to the left of his flaccid penis. He couldn’t see to tell, but he thought she was still bigger than it. He knew that wouldn’t be the case for long.
He wondered why she’d stopped singing then he felt her lips press against sensitive skin. Her tongue felt like the tip of the smallest feather as it rimmed its way along the ridge of flesh that formed the border between head and shaft.
He began to grow in a way he didn’t want to. His wife ran her hand along the sleek head like a rider calming her mount. Or getting it ready to charge into battle. He felt something sleek and smooth glide lightly over him. It aroused him. Even more so when he realized she’d taken off the nightgown and was standing on him nude in the moonlight.
He thought about all the important reasons he needed to end this. He thought about the hurt he could cause the woman he loved if she followed through on what she was attempting.
He thought about saying “Snape,” but the feeling was too good for him to be reasonable or thoughtful.
When he was as large as he was going to get he felt her straddle him. Her legs weren’t wide enough to go fully around his shaft. She twisted the nightgown into a rope and tossed it around to the other side, turning it into a silk bridle that fit perfectly into the groove between head and shaft.
She used it to pull herself forward letting her hot taut thighs ride his veined muscle. He could feel her arousal trickle a path behind her as she let gravity slide her back down his shaft until her naked ass rested in his coarse hair.
Then she did it again.
It had been too long since he’d had this. He hand’t even touched himself for fear he’d leave a stain on the tent he’d be too embarrassed to explain to his wife or neighbors.
He knew the word that would stop it. She may have neutralized his advantages of size and strength, but he could still say the safe word. He still had the power to end it before she got too close to his flame and Hindenburged herself out of this world.
He could have stopped it, but he didn’t.
She rode him until he exploded. She rode him until his entire body bucked and bronked like she was taming a wild bull during an earthquake. She rode him until they were both finished and when she dismounted his twitching cock she walked naked in the moonlight to where his semen pooled in the cracks of his thighs. She took great handfuls of it and used them to slick back her hair and paint her face and breasts.
He saw none of that.
He didn’t see her again until she’d made the long trek up his heaving chest and stood triumphant on his breastbone, her arms akimbo. He could still feel his nightgown bridle hanging limply off his deflating penis.
She held her arms out for balance as she walked down his chest and up his chin. He could taste himself in the kiss she gave him, her face, hair, and breasts pressed against his closed lips.
She left a trail of his seed on his cheek when she slid down and landed softly on the grass below. He could have turned his head to follow her progress, but she started singing again as soon as she found her balance. He couldn’t look at her while she sang.
He wasn’t there when she woke up the next day. It had taken all his strength more than an hour to pull the deep stakes from the ground. He’d wrapped the tent around him and left in the night.
He never saw the purple house again, the wife inside, or the perfectly planned garden that
had filled the gap the tent had been.
He still loved, missed, and trusted her, but he knew he couldn’t come back. Things had worked out this once, but he was getting larger every day; his danger grew more than proportionally.
And he knew he couldn’t trust himself to even whisper the word that would save her life.
UPDATE: The dates for the next SizeCon Micro have been set meaning the deadline for “the small print 2” has been set as well. The submission deadline is October 10th.
In 2020 I put together an anthology of size short stories that received a limited print run and was given away at the physical SizeCon that February. An e-book version was given away at the first virtual SizeCon later that year.
It was a collection of 28 stories by 28 authors running the gamut of size fiction. SFW. NSFW. Cruel. Gentle. With gender/size variations that go beyond giant woman/shrunken man. From writers who were just breaking into the field to those who’ve been putting out great work since the 90s.
I’m looking to do it again opening it up to writers I’d missed the first time and those who want to come back for the second. I’m doing a few things differently this time, but the basic premise is unchanged – to provide a showcase for size writing in as many forms it takes.
I have more detailed information available here: https://taedis.blogspot.com/2021/03/small-print-2-eclectic-boogaloo.html?zx=ccbc67e4814b3413
Thank you for your interest,
Taedis
Of that list I’ve read the following (some of them a very long time ago):
A Golem In The Gears (Anthony) Fun, very pun heavy. Part of a series with little size outside this book. Liked it when I was a teenager.
Fantastic Voyage 1 (Asimov) A hard(er) SF book that I liked better than the movie. If you don’t like Asimov you probably won’t like this.
Surface Tension (Blish): An excellent hard science fiction short story.
Dr. Cyclops (Garth): Very strong size vibes throughout. I liked it better than the movie, but it’s been so long since I’ve read it I can’t remember if some of the casual racism (the Mexican character is comic relief) was in the story as well as the movie. Things are allowed to play out longer and to better effect than in the movie.
He Who Shrank (Hasse): An often revisited classic short story. Asimov has stated that this story made him wonder if he could ever write anything as good back when he was a fledgling author.
The Shrinking Man (Matheson): Probably the best written size book I’ve ever read. The protagonist is an example of toxic masculinity and there’s some REALLY problematic material (the title character pervs on a teenage babysitter after his wife rejects him for being too small, and there’s a scene with a child molester who is coded gay), but the story structure is brilliant. It’s informed my own writing. I don’t know if the positives outweigh the negatives, but the book has to be in the conversation.
A woman with a giant fetish has a first date with a man who can fulfill her fantasies. Things go incredibly well or pear shaped. It all depends on your point of view.
Apologies for posting this as a link to my blog, but the text is a little too long for a post.
https://taedis.blogspot.com/2020/07/story-overwhelm-me-little-gentle-male.html?zx=1b129d9fadb88680
The Last Corner of History
copyright 2023 Taedis
It had taken most of the day scaling Biography. Even then, not all the way. A loitering patron delayed the ascent an hour mid-morning. By the time they wandered out of sight towards Literature, Edna's stomach was screaming for food. Her lunch was a crumb of sourdough (with whiffs of baloney and mustard) she'd found in Young Adult the day before. She ate with her back resting against the spine of Crick's Orwell. She wanted to flip through it, but that was impossible.
The lost hours had to be made up for in sweat and effort. Just because she couldn't see the clock didn't mean she wasn't on it. The ascent was hard enough at a normal pace; the one forced on her nearly broke her. The slots in the shelving units made perfect ladders. If she had shoes or gloves or time to take them slow. The steel was hard; her hands and feet near as soft as the bodystocking plastered to her heaving skin. Edna gave up more times than she could count. Then gave up on giving up.
Journeys end in lovers' meeting. Edna kept telling herself. She wasn't sure if she was quoting Shakespeare or Jackson.
By the time she reached the far end of the fifth shelf nothing worked anymore. Except the heart trying to stab its way out her chest and the pores flooding her in saltwater.
When she could breathe without her lungs exploding, Edna worked the costume's catch with swollen fingers. The top and shorts were black vinyl. The bodystocking beneath grey silk. The sports bra white utilitarian cotton. The underwear weaved into the stocking. Each was soaked. Each came off with a wave of frigid air and embarrassment. It was wrong being naked in her library but Edna needed to escape her suit before its heat turned clammy.
None of the volumes were short enough for Edna to drape her wet things over. She tried stuffing a bra strap between conflicting Aaron Burr accounts but the gap wasn't tight enough. She settled for dangling everything over the edge, as on the shelf as gravity allowed.
I'm not naked. Edna gave out a short laugh when she rested her head against a Columbus apology. I've still got my ears on. I've been wearing them so long. They're not a costume anymore. They're me.
“I'm doing this. I'm really doing this.”
There's no echo. I'm almost screaming and still nothing. I really have done it.
Mr. Barnes will be here soon. Maybe. If I'm right about the time. The lights are still on, so we can't be closed. And Mr. Barnes would never think about not checking the stacks before lights out. He's like clockwork closing the place. Always starting in the Children's Section, always finishing in History. And this is the last corner of History. He will turn that canyon and he will see me on his shelf with his books and he will know I am his too. For the first time ever, someone will see the real me. And it will be perfect.
Maybe.
Edna pulled her knees to her chin and played that first meeting in her head. In some scenarios he was the dominant owner of her fantasies. Others, the giant paladin of her dreams. A few of him were cruel. Most loving. One impossibly sadistic.
Is it too much to want all of the above?
The AC cooled her faster than she'd planned. Edna would have to put something on or be shivering when Barnes found her. I'll be shaking no matter what, Edna rationalized. But thirty years of modesty had her scurrying for her clothes.
It feels weird not having a tail.
The shorts and the top were vinyl dry. The things that went under them, not so much. The bodystocking was at least close, but the bra was still drenched. It all smelled stale. Over worn. Even the tail attached to the shorts. It wasn't the first time Edna regretted bringing only one outfit into her brave new world. Maybe Mr. Barnes would let her launder her things in the Mens Room sink.
Edna let out a heavy sigh as she lowered her butt down on the edge. She let her legs dangle over the abyss trying to look forward not down, up not inward. This high up the skyscraper shelves, Edna had to remind herself that the fall would only hurt her calm. It had taken hours to get this high up; it'd take heartbeats to reach the floor again.
She lay the driest layer on her lap with the bodystocking splayed over that. The bra she held by one strap as she whipped it against the edge hoping to get it dry enough for her skin and Mr. Barnes view.
I could whip it over my head like a helicopter till it's dry. I'd look like a stripper hurling her lingerie to the back of the crowd. I'd look like a porn star. Imagine me being that sexual. And what if Mr. Barnes saw me? What would he think? What if I just let go and the only bra in the world that fits me flew all the way to Geography?
The bra didn't even make it halfway to the next shelf-scraper.
“I did that.” Edna watched the sodden fabric plummet to the carpet.
Mr. Barnes will be here soon. Maybe. If the lights don't go off first. It's not all dry yet, but I should get dressed. He'll think it's a sex thing if he sees me in just my ears with my bra tossed across the room like a slut. It will give him ideas.
Edna didn't look down as the bodystocking fluttered away. Didn't see it get caught in the AC currents and snag somewhere on the third shelf.
It's not too late. I still can cover everything I'd cover at the beach. Mr. Barnes doesn't need to see any more of me than I want. I'm still in control.
The top was heavy enough to make it to the floor.
That's it. There's nothing left for me to wear but my ears and tail. Even if I wanted to dress, I'll still be topless when Mr. Barnes finds me.
The shorts weren't really shorts. The lady at the adult emporium called them panties, but Edna hated that word so they became shorts. Whatever their title, they were cut high and thin and didn't cover much. Most of the material was in the back where the top of the thong met Edna's spine. Where the tail was attached.
What was that Orwell quote I was thinking of earlier? Without the bodystocking, the shorts rode up and into Edna, front and back. A violation she hated. But not as much as not having a tail. “Freedom is slavery.”
“This is freedom.”
Her nipples were diamonds against her arms when she modesty-crossed them.
No. That's cheating. I made my decision and I have to stand by it. Even if I am weak.
The only thing stronger than her will was the tail. It felt obscene pulled between her legs but it was the shortest route. The one that gave Edna the most petard to hoist herself upon. Her first attempt at self bondage saw her hands tied together over her crotch. Edna nixed that idea before the knots became too much for her to untie. It gave her modesty and access she didn't feel she deserved. She flirted with tying her hands behind her back, a pose she'd worn in many fantasies, but her knotsmanship wasn't up to that challenge. In the end she settled for binding her hands together level with her navel. The tail wrapped around her wrists so many times, she couldn't tell where one knot ended and another began.
This is freedom. Edna knelt on the edge waiting her journey's end. And damn George Orwell for not meaning it.
By the time Edna changed her mind it was too late. Mr. Barnes was already thunder-stepping past English Lit into American. Soon he'd pass Rhetoric and Criticism. Then he'd make History and it would be too late.
A fight-or-flight cocktail was surging through Edna's veins. If she hadn't been kneeling she might have scurried to cover ahead of the head librarian. Had she been an inch taller, the adrenaline might have given her the strength to break her bondage.
The storm was around the corner.
Edna closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She knew it pushed her chest out. Knew he'd see everything. Knew she wasn't much on top even before the shrinking. If I have to be on display I should do it right.
The thunder stopped.
A warm breeze washed over her carrying the scent of sourdough, cheap meat, and mustard.
“Miss Huff?” the thunder whispered after several dozen heartbeats.
“Yes.” Edna had to shout to be heard. She cracked her eyes a sliver of a hair. Oh, my God.
“You're …”
“Yes.” Another sliver cracked. I want to get lost in your hair.
“Who did this to you?”
“I did. Sir.” His voice. So kind. So concerned. It's a good thing I'm kneeling. I'd drop fast if I was standing.
“Is that … is that a whip between your legs?”
He even has the decency to blush. “No, sir. It's my tail.”
Mr. Barnes looks so thoughtful. Edna opened her eyes full. I wonder what he's thinking. He looks so … everything. I want to kiss my way up his dimple. I want to wash his glasses with my body. I want to ride his … He must think I'm awful.
“Why?”
“Because I'm a mouse.”
“That explains the ears.”
“Do you like them?”
“I've read about this.”
“Me too. Obviously. … It took a lot for me to do this.”
“Are you ok?”
God. He's looking me in the eyes. I'm fetish posed in front of him with my boobs sticking out and Mr. Barnes is meeting my gaze and asking if I'm ok.
“Look at me, Miss Huff.”
“I am so stupid.”
“That wasn't the question.”
“I don't know.”
“First things first. It looks like you've tied yourself pretty good. Can you get out of that yourself or do you need help?”
“I don't think so. When I heard you coming I tried.”
“There's tweezers in my desk but I'm worried I might hurt you if I miss. Your wrists look delicate.”
“Thank you.” Why am I thanking him. That was an observation, not a compliment.
“There might be enough slack for me to cut the tail.”
“No. Please. I know it's dumb but it's my tail and I don't want it cut.”
“I could cut your panties instead.”
“Please don't cut my … panties.”
“I'll look away. Once I'm sure I won't cut you.”
“You've already seen everything else.”
“Only what you wanted to show me.”
“I don't mind.”
“That's … thank you.”
“But I don't want to cut my panties.”
“Can you slide them down yourself? The knots might be easier to work with the pants off.”
“I don't think I can.”
“Miss Huff.”
“You don't have to call me that.”
“Edna?”
“I mean you can call me anything you like.”
“I think it's safe to say you're playing out some sort of fantasy. I don't think it's unreasonable for me to assume it involves power exchange and you being on the short side of that equation.”
“That's fair.”
“So when you say you don't think you can pull your pants down, are you being 100% truthful or is there a part of you who wants me to do the job?”
“I … want you to strip me. Sir.”
“Let's put a pin in that for now. I'm guessing you used one of the apps to shrink yourself. Where's your phone?”
“I stashed it on the top shelf in music theory. I used a timer.”
“When are you due to grow back? And will your bondage grow with you?”
“I didn't set it that way. I just set it to make me mouse-sized after I stashed it out of reach. I knew there'd be no chance of me getting it up there. I waited till the library was almost closed.”
“What about your normal clothes.”
“I left those in a backpack. You grabbed it half an hour after later.”
“It's probably still in lost and found. When did you do this?”
“End of March.”
“It's April 10th.”
“When you're a mouse it's easy losing track of days. Guess I went a bit feral.”
“And I suppose you want me to tame you.”
…
“You stay here and make a legitimate attempt at getting those pants off. I'll get your phone. If you're still having trouble with your panties when I get back, I'll do the honors.”
“Ok. The bad news is your phone is dead and I don't have a charger. The good …” Mr. Barnes hefted a backpack up to Edna's level. “I think I found your things.”
“That's my bag.”
“There's no ID and no charger. I checked.”
“I said I was stupid.”
“You're not.”
“I'm sorry for throwing this at you like this. I wasn't thinking.”
“That, I'll buy. I see you're still wearing your little pants.”
“I tried. Honest.”
“I know you said you were ok, but just to reiterate, you're giving me consent to take them off.”
“Yes.”
“And see you naked when I'm done.”
“Please.”
“Alright. I don't know where this falls in your fantasy, but I found something that'll help.”
“Knitting needles?”
“I'm allowed hobbies. These are the smallest pair I have. Enough of an edge to go under the waistband without cutting you or those precious panties.”
“I hate that word. Panties.”
“You used it earlier.”
“Only after you called them that. You're changing my vocabulary.”
“You want to be owned by a librarian. Get used to it.”
“You monster.”
“I want to take this slow.”
“I understand.”
“I'm talking about your unveiling. Not whatever relationship this qualifies as. I've done some thinking.”
“What kind of thinking?”
“Filthy thoughts. Now let's get you naked. Slowly.”
“I won't break. Promise.”
“Who said anything about that? You want to be shown; I'm warming to the idea of revealing you.”
“Just leave the ears on.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
The bamboo needles would've felt smooth to Edna's normal skin. They were rough and uneven against mouse-flesh and thicker than her forearms. Mr. Barnes worked them under the waistband at opposite ends of Edna's hips. The strips of vinyl that had already worked their way into her most intimate areas sawed deeper inside as they stretched.
Don't moan. Whatever you do Edna, don't moan. He knows you want this but he doesn't KNOW.
“How's that feel?”
He is so calm. “F…fine.”
“Are you sure? I'm sensing a little hesitation.”
Instead of pulling down, Mr. Barnes lifted until the vinyl was fucking her from both sides.
“You're going the wrong way,” Edna had to hiss the words to get them out. The pressure and the humiliation and the powerlessness were doing a number in her head and in her crotch.
“Am I?” His eyebrow raised with the knitting needles until Edna had to stand on tiptoe or be taken up into the sky. “The parts of you I can see seem to be into this. And I see everything.”
“I have a charger back in my apartment.”
“I'm sure you do.”
“You could make me normal again. If you want.”
“What do you want?”
“This.” A fat tear blossomed out of the corner of her eye.
“I could do anything I want.”
Was that a question? “Yes.”
“I bet that was hard to admit.” Mr. Barnes moved the needles a fraction of a hair back and forth building up a rhythm in Edna's center.
“please”
“I could leave you here, a mouse in the library. Toss your phone in the river. Burn the backpack. No one would ever know but me. I could leave you little snacks.”
“mhm”
“Or I could restore you. Get you back to the life you abandoned. Turn you from rodent back to bookworm. Delete the app so you could never go down this rabbit hole again. And every time you saw me, you'd remember this moment. Know that I know what you wanted. Denied you.”
“ohhh”
“Then again, I could tame you. Make you my pet. Teach you tricks. Keep you in a cage on my dresser. Read to you. Cause you're obviously too small to even pick up a book. And what would a mouse know about reading anyway?”
“ohh ohh ohh ohh” Tears cascaded down Edna's cheek as she exploded.
“I think we have a winner. Good girl. Let it all out.”
The lights were out when Edna woke. There was no sign of her tail or the panties it was attached to. No sign of him. She was still on one of the library shelves. It was impossible to tell which one in the dark.
“Mr. Barnes.”
He left me here. He said he was going to do it and he did.
“Sir?”
This is my life now. I'm nothing but a mouse in the library. This isn't what I wanted. I wanted …
“Master?”
“It's a little premature to be calling me that now.” Mr. Barnes voice echoed from the other side of Literature.
“I thought you'd abandoned me.” Edna braced herself against an anonymous volume before getting up. Her legs were still rubber. “I don't want that. Not really.”
“You looked like you needed a moment.” The light from his phone preceded his face. “Things got pretty intense.”
“That's an understatement.”
“You can tell me about it on the way home.”
“Whose home?”
“You tell me. I can bring you back to your place, charge your phone, and let you take it from there.”
“No.”
“Are you sure?'
“I want to be with you. Absolutely.”
“I'm still picking up the charger.”
“Ok. That's ok. Where's my tail?”
“Right here.” Barnes tapped his pocket. “Along with a matching top and bra I found on the floor. These are getting a wash and I'm giving you a bath.”
“I'd like that. Ow. I had a bodystocking too. I want to wear that for you.”
Barnes panned the phone light towards the lower shelves.
“Earlier you said I didn't have to call you Miss Huff or Edna.”
“You can call me whatever you like.”
“Names are powerful things.”
“I know. I want …”
“What do you want, pet?”
Edna melted a bit. “I want you to have that power.”
“Ok. From now on you are Turd Burglar.”
“What?”
“Relax. It's only until you've learned your lesson.”
“What lesson?”
“We both have good imaginations. I don't even want to think about all the things that could have gone wrong with your 'plan'. You're lucky to be making it out of this alive. Or that I'm not some sicko.”
“You are kind of a sicko. But I get your point.”
“Then tell me your name.”
“Come on.”
“How about Twatface McRuntsalot?”
“OK. I'm Turd Burglar.”
“Either I found some cobwebs or your bodystocking, Turd Burglar.” Barnes lifted something to his face. “Yep. That has a familiar aroma.” He stuffed it into his pocket with the rest of Turd Burglar's dirty laundry.
“Am I going in that pocket?”
“I don't know if I can trust you that close to my junk yet.”
“I would never hurt you.”
“I'm not worried about you 'hurting' me.”
“Well you have to carry me someway.”
“How about in my jacket pocket?”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Gently wrapped in these.” Barnes held up a pair of green panties.
“That's the pair I wore the day I shrank. They're dirty.”
“Cleaner than what you have been wearing.”
“I've got cash back at my place. When we pick up the charger.”
“You don't need to pay me. I'm dominating you out of the goodness of my heart.”
“I was thinking. Before you take me to my new home. That maybe … we could do a little shopping.”
“Were you thinking adult emporium or pet shop?”
“You decide.”
This is from Ogle #2, a 1950s girlie magazine that had some tiny woman content in the previous issue. The cover also includes some size content, but that’s shrunken man/giant woman so that isn’t appropriate for this forum.
@olo I’ve gotten a few so far, but I may need to extend the deadline. Most of my spare time has gone into my day job (in good and bad ways) and I may not have the time to devote to getting stories together.
I’m glad to hear you’re still writing. My own output has been reduced greatly of late, but I’m still pecking at it.
@olo said in Tina (Tiny?) Louise 1956:
@taedis How are you keeping, Taedis?
I’ve been good. But even more busy than usual. I haven’t been as active as I usually am. I hope things are going well for you.
This is from an Ogle Magazine 1956 issue. A mens magazine I’d never heard of until this weekend. Older fans (and those who enjoy vintage TV) will recognize the model in this shoot as the same actor who played Ginger on Gilligan’s Island. I’m pretty sure the quotes are made up by whoever put this piece together, but it’s nice to see sizekink no matter when it came out.
This is a collection of some of the best Size stories out there. Inside you’ll find something for the faint of heart and the jaded soul. Gentle and cruel. Safe for work and not. Adventure. Vore. True love and cheap sex. High art and low comedy. Men the size of mountains and women so small you need a microscope to see their smile. Wishes and taxes. Tiny men. Dreams of large women. Fetish fuel and romance.
Thirty five authors have very generously donated their talents to make this book possible. Among them are veterans who were typing away in dial-up days and young guns barely old enough to drink. Amateurs and professionals from three continents giving you their best.
That’s 33 stories, an essay, and a poem. Not to mention the bits of Size fiction from Rabelais to Swift, Shakespeare to Baudelaire sprinkled in-between.
It can be downloaded for free here:
https://www.fatfreecartpro.com/i/1118x?card
Print edition can be found here:
https://www.lulu.com/en/us/shop/-taedis/small-print-2/paperback/product-n5y6nk.html?page=1&pageSize=4
Thanks to all the writers who contributed to this, including those I contacted through this site.
Please note: Not all stories in this collection feature giant men, but the tol men are well represented in this volume. The authors have provided tags and content warnings for their stories so you can skip what doesn’t interest you. The range of topics covered in all these stories exceeds the tag limit on this site. There is (hopefully) something for everyone, but check the tags in the book before reading.
@tiny-ivy I remember you mentioning an idea you had the last we spoke. I’m looking forward to seeing it. Thanks for the interest. And the patience. 