Best posts made by tiny-ivy

Synopsis:
Arturo is a manager at a Wendy’s. He needs a hobby, with how stressful customer service can be. (Especially with the way certain types of customers act.) So, he took up making magic curses in his free time.

Tags, for mobile users who can’t see the tag menu:
vore, torture, tiny, snuff, shrunken woman, shrinking, non-con, handheld, giant, entrapment

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            Arturo looked at the line of customers in front of him, and his heart sank. The line looked like it would never end. It even reached to the door. The lunch rush is why he drinks at night.
            “How can I help you?” he said, again and again. The customers told him what they wanted. He punched the orders into the register. He took their payment and he made change. Again and again.
            Office worker: Spicy chicken sandwich. Construction worker: Pretzel bun burger meal #3. College student: #7, hold the mayo. Retail worker, wearing a uniform from the Home Depot down the road: Strawberry pecan salad.
            The masses of customers blurred together in his minds’ eye. Arturo didn’t have the mental space to even tell one apart from another, and he didn’t care. He focused on the performance of the busy fry cooks and food preparers behind him, and the line of orders neatly coming into and out of the kitchen. He wasn’t just a cashier, he was the shift manager, so it was his responsibility to make sure everything ran smoothly.
            Arturo started to see the stream of customers and orders fall into place on the register screen and in his minds’ eye. He could handle this. He was on top of things.
            Right as he thought this, she walked up to his register.
            She was a middle aged, slightly chubby woman with a blonde haircut that almost covered her forehead, but was buzzed in the back. She was wearing high-waisted jeans and a frilly pink blouse, with a matching pink crystal earring and necklace set. She had a pair of Oakley sunglasses on, even indoors. She smelled like essential oils, even from several feet away at the cash register. She already had a sour look on her face before she started saying the order.
            “Hello there, sir. Can I please get a #6, medium, with a diet Dr. Pepper. And could you sub a side salad for the fries? I know it’s extra, don’t you start that with me.”
            “All right,” Arturo said, carefully typing her order in. He could already tell that she was itching to complain about anything he did even slightly wrong, so he made sure to enter everything exactly as she said. He repeated it back to her to confirm, something he didn’t do with most customers.
            “Yes, that’s right, hon. Thank you,” she said, her tone of voice dripping with false sweetness.
            When she left to the side to wait for her order, Arturo breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good. He got back to the rest of the still-long line. He could see the end of it now. It ended five feet from the front of the door.
            Someone dressed like a lawyer, baked potato with bacon. A pair of cops, a pair of #5’s with cokes. A little kid and their doctor parent, a chicken finger kid’s meal, and a Caesar salad, diet sweet tea.
            A few minutes passed, and then a food preparer from the back put the problem woman’s order onto the pickup counter. To be sure everything was right, Arturo double checked the ticket, before calling out her order number.
            “136?” he called.
            She didn’t respond. She didn’t seem to have the receipt in her hand. She was staring at her phone.
            “Excuse me, ma’am?”
            No response.
            “Excuse me, ma’am,” he tried getting her attention again. “Order with #6 medium, Diet Dr. Pepper, Salad subbed for fries?”
            She looked up from her phone, and quickly grabbed the paper bag. She opened it up, and started dissecting the bacon ranch chicken sandwich, blocking the way for other customers to get to their ready orders.
            “Excuse me? Can I speak to the manager?” she said.
            “How can I help you?” Arturo replied.
            “No, the manager,” she responded. “There’s a problem with my order, and I need whoever is in charge of this location to fix it, and to educate whoever is responsible.”
            Arturo’s face flushed. Who does she think she is? The lady of a manor talking down to her butler?
            “Ma’am, I am the manager -”
            “Don’t MA’AM me!” she yelled now, aghast. “Your disrespectful attitude right there has to face consequences. I will call corporate and report you, boy.”
            “Boy”? Did she really call him the word that racist white people use against black people when they are afraid of being caught on video saying the “n” word? Only one of Arturo’s four grandparents was black, two were Honduran, one was white, but did she really care about such details? He didn’t look white, so he was caught in her stream of slightly racist verbal venom.
            Arturo breathed out. Irate customers like this are part of the job. It is his job to keep his cool.
            “What seems to be the specific problem, miss?” Arturo said, forcing calm into his voice. Boiling inside.
            “I specifically asked for no ranch on the sandwich. And it’s covered in ranch,” she complained.
            Arturo rewound the action in his head. This was not true. She mentioned no substitutions or requests other than the salad when she ordered.
            “I’m so sorry for that mistake. Allow me to get you a new sandwich,” he said, and took the old one from her hand. He threw it away, and went to the sandwich assembly area, quickly grabbing a new base.
            “THANK you,” she said, her tone of voice dripping poison.
            “Now, I don’t tip, but here’s a free lesson, kid,” she continued, very loudly.
            Arturo was 28.
            “Dumb mistakes like this are why you’ll be stuck in a dump like this, frying chicken and baking potatoes, for the rest of your life. If you don’t learn to fix your listening problem, and your awful attitude towards me, you’ll wish that I got you fired from here. Because I can do that. I’ve done it before. I just have to call corporate and tell them what happened here.”
            Arturo was originally planning on just making a new bacon ranch chicken sandwich, (hold the ranch) for her, and moving on, but, that latest tirade sent a flash of anger straight through his body. It reminded him of the curse potion that he kept in his pocket. The one that he made on a full moon a few weeks ago.
            As Arturo sprinkled the thin, clear liquid onto the new chicken sandwich, he mumbled the curse that goes with casting the spell. He wrapped the piping hot sandwich in foiled paper and handed it back to the problem woman.
            “Here you go,” he offered to her, with his best customer service grin on his face.
            “Thank you,” she replied curtly, and checked the sandwich for the dreaded ranch dressing again. “This will do. Try harder next time,” she was compelled to add.
            Even though the line was still long, Arturo spent a precious half-minute watching her, to keep track of where she was going. She walked across the street to a small park and sat down at a bench. Arturo noted the exact bench.
            Thanks to his coworkers picking up the slack after one got back from their break, the remaining line only took another 15 minutes to get through.
            “I’m going to take my lunch now, Grace. Can you cover me a little early?”
            “Of course,” his youngest and most capable employee responded.
            Arturo washed his hands, tapped his code into the timecard system for a lunch break, and left through the employee exit in the back. He walked past the dumpsters and grease trap, and made his way to the front of the store’s parking lot. He couldn’t wait to see what was waiting for him at the park across the street. He jaywalked, and jogged to the back of the bench that he had seen the problem woman sit down at.
            He slowed his pace, and looked carefully at each place he put down his greaseproof Doc Marten workboots. He didn’t want to crush her like a bug under his shoes, unexpectedly.
            He saw what looked like the remnants of a strange disappearance on the bench. There was a frilly pink blouse lumped on top of jeans, and a purse and smartphone sprawled to the left and right. A pink crystal earring set and necklace were neatly placed on top of the blouse.Behind the purse, there was a crumpled bag from the fast food restaurant that Arturo managed. There were empty leather wedge heels beneath the bench, standing empty.
            He stepped closer, and a subtle spark of movement caught his eye. It was the problem customer, now a tiny woman, just two inches tall, waving her arms and shouting for help, jumping up and down on the top layer of the blouse. She had shrunk out of her clothing - she was stark naked.
            Once she noticed that his gaze was on her, she stopped shouting, and made shade with her hand as she looked up at him. His body was backlit by the sun, so she couldn’t see his face at first. But she could smell the familiar grease of the restaurant that made the meal she was just eating a few moments ago.
            Arturo shifted slightly, and his frame cast a shadow that surrounded her body. She could see him clearly. Once she recognized his face and uniform, she stood frozen, terrified. After a moment, she shouted, meekly.
            “Listen-”
            Her voice sounded like a tiny squeak to him. He slowly bent down to get closer, and smoothly turned his ear towards her. She could smell his braided hair’s moisturizing product from this close. His ear was taller than her.
            “I’m sorry about our disagreements before. Please, young man, can you help me find a doctor to fix this?”
            Arturo said nothing. He turned his head back towards her, he smiled his best customer service smile, and with the speed and precision of a snake bite, his hand plucked her off of the clothing pile. He brought her to his eyes and took in the sight of her for a moment, chuckling slightly.
            She looked into his dark brown eyes, and saw nothing but malice in his expression. She felt dizzy from the momentum of being moved around so quickly. He enjoyed the feeling of her nude little peach-colored body, which instinctively grasped onto his brown thumb like a huge roller coaster safety bar, as his index and middle fingers supported her in the back. He could feel each of her tiny squirms against the sensitive flesh of his fingertips.
            In one smooth motion, Arturo placed her in his white, button-up, manager uniform shirt’s embroidered chest pocket. The fast food company’s logo decorated the front of the square of fabric, and it now looked slightly lumpy.
            “Now, stay hidden. Pop your head out of there, and I drop you into the deep fryer,” Arturo said, and felt a rush of excitement course throughout his body.
            The tiny woman could feel his heartbeat’s fast rhythm, as she tried to adjust to her cloth prison. She could get somewhat comfortable if she leaned against the bottom front of the pocket, but his enormous body’s heat was overwhelming on this summer day, and all she could see from her vantage point, through the straight, starched fabric at the top of the pocket, was the bottom of his chin, and sometimes, his nostrils.
            She breathed deep, trying to calm a panic attack, and noticed with disgust that his shirt smelled like a combination of fabric softener, and the permeating stink of fryer grease.
            Arturo gathered her old, normal-sized clothing, and shoved it into his backpack. It barely fit on top of his other things. He took her phone, smashed it underneath his boots, and threw it away in a park trash can. He put her wallet into his bag, wanting to not leave any evidence of her identity, and dropped the rest of her purse into a drainage ditch. He walked back across the street, through the parking lot, past the dumpster and grease trap, and back into the restaurant.
            He was grinning like he had just had an amazing first date.
            “What’s going on, Arturo?” his coworker Jesse said, smirking.
            “What?”
            “That grin on your face, bro. You got a nice pic from some new girl on your lunch break?” he held out a “congratulations” high five, teasing him on his lack of prowess.
            Arturo laughed, and met the high five. He followed it up with a brief secret handshake and smirked back.
            “Nah, I did meet this cute little chica in the park, though. Think we might be able to get real close, after my shift.”
            “Ooh woow, boss bro getting laid tonight! Ha!” Jesse laughed, sure that Arturo was just making this up.
            “Yeah, yeah. Back to the fryer, Jesse,” Arturo said, and took his place back at the register.
            “Sir, yes sir,” Jesse responded, clearly stoned out of his gourd.
            Throughout this whole conversation, the tiny woman felt like she was going to go deaf from how loud Arturo and the giant Jesse were to her miniscule ears. Every time he spoke, the chest she was resting on resonated like the loudest jet engine. She covered her ears, until they began ringing. She tried to think of how to escape, but her thoughts were clouded by her suffering. This was already unbearable. She let out a tiny whimper.
            Arturo’s shift lasted for another 10 hours. He went from the cash register line, where the tiny woman was deafened by his constant, repetitive talking, to supervising the workers in the kitchen during the dinner rush. He shouted directions at his employees from across the kitchen, and the tiny woman’s ears would ring. Arturo even got up to the grill and frying stations himself for several periods.
            The heat from the cooking elements emanated to Arturo’s chest, and combined with his body heat, it made the tiny woman in his shirt pocket drift in and out of consciousness. She felt like she was slowly roasting in a very loud oven. Sometimes, everything would go tunnel-like, and then black. And then he’d shout again, and she would startle awake, resentful of the sound again.
            This entire time, Arturo was walking with a light step, and laughing at more of his young employees’ dirty jokes than normal. He was giddy, just from how thrilled he was at knowing that he had this fucked up little secret in his shirt pocket.
            She was right on top of his left pectoral, the whole time he was working, without anybody suspecting a thing. When he’d move in certain ways, he’d feel the slight tug on his chest from the weight in his pocket, and he’d be again reminded of her: helpless, trapped, completely at his mercy.
            It did feel like an evil sort of first date, but it was with someone who had such haughty contempt for him when they met earlier in the day.
            After the dinner customers trickled out, it was Arturo’s job to close up the shop. A few employees stayed for about an hour, closing up the kitchen for the night, throwing away unused food, turning off the griddles and fryers, wiping all the metal surfaces with bleach-soaked rags. Arturo locked shut the drive through window and the front entrance doors, and flipped on the neon “closed” sign over the driveway. He turned out all of the lights, leaving only a couple of emergency fire safety bulbs on.
            He counted the register and filled out his daily digital report, and emailed it into his regional manager.
            With all the customers and other employees gone, the tiny woman’s captor had finally stopped talking. She was lulled to sleep by his heartbeat, and by his repetitive, gentle motions as he finished his computer work and cleaned a few of the surfaces in the front of the store. He always did one last pass with the cleaning rag in the dining room after he had the place all to himself.
            He put the cloth away, and washed his hands, again. He picked up an extra large soda cup from next to the soda machine and reached into his chest pocket.
            The tiny woman was woken from a nightmare by the feeling of a gigantic pair of fingers gripping her gently, and before she knew she was even awake, she had been deposited at the bottom of the wax-lined paper cup.
            She looked at the round, bright white sides of this new trap. Reality set in, and she cried out in anguish.
            “This is really happening,” she yelled, and sat down at the edge of the cup. Her legs reached the center of the cup when she sat at the edge, but the top was impossibly far away for her to climb to. As she looked at this, she saw that enormous brown face looking down at her. His expression was hard to read - she couldn’t tell if he was excited or angry.
            “Please. Let me go. Please, make me big again.”
            “So you can treat me and everyone else who works at a job like mine like garbage, again?” Arturo said.
            “I’ve learned my lesson, sir,” she shouted.
            “Maybe I should throw you in the garbage. You might survive in there, eating unwanted and rotten food, until the commercial trash truck comes 3 days from now, and crushes the entire block. If you’re clever enough, you might even escape the slippery-walled dumpster. If you made it down to the ground from there, you could then be eaten by the crows that live in the parking lot. I saw one eat a rat, once.”
            “What do you want?” she cried out.
            “I want one less entitled, stuck up, sadistic asshole like you in the world,” Arturo said. “You Karens are like time traveling slave masters - trying to treat everyone who works a worse job than yours like your personal servants. It’s the modern world, chica, we’re all in a broken, late capitalist system, and my job has nothing to do with my intelligence, my skill, or my worth as a human being. It’s just fucking economics. Your hateful mindset doesn’t fit in anymore. Read the damn room.”
            “Here, your favorite,” he added, as he moved the cup to the spout of the machine. He tapped a button, and a jet of fizzy brown liquid fell into the cup, with industrial speed. It knocked the tiny woman down, and it quickly became deeper than her reduced height. She held her breath, and tried to swim towards the ever-raising surface, but the current from the jet was too strong. It was like swimming against a fire-hose the size of a river rapid. As she struggled under the current, she could taste the familiar flavor of Diet Dr. Pepper.
            Even though she was still under the surface of the giant soda cup, the woman could hear Arturo’s voice vibrate through her skull, as the vibrations of his voice traveled through his chest to his arm, to his hand that held the vertical pool of sticky liquid.
            “There is just one place your backwards mentality CAN fit,” he said.
            She could see some brown-tinted light near the surface of the beverage. Just a bit further to swim.
            Arturo lifted the cup to his mouth, and opened his jaws wide. He opened his throat, the same technique he used to quickly chug full cups of beer at parties. He tilted the cup slightly, and chugged the Diet Dr. Pepper down.
            The liquid became shallower, as the position of her new prison shifted, and the woman now had the sensation of a stream of shallow liquid carrying her towards a warm cave in front of her. She took a breath in the air, and was struck by the horror of being in the fast food manager’s mouth. The room was dimly lit, but she could see the shine of his white teeth above her, and the blackness of the back of his monstrous throat directly in front of her.
            Arturo felt a large object in his mouth, like when you come across an ice cube while chugging soda. He pinned her to the roof of his mouth with his tongue, and tilted the cup back to idle in his hand, only half-empty.
            The woman screamed for mercy. She kicked her legs desperately, and slammed her arms against the sensitive roof of his mouth. She prayed he would change his mind before he did the last, irreversible thing.
            Arturo savored her body’s taste. He could feel every thrash of her tiny limbs trying to save herself. The fact that her body’s strongest motions were so pathetically overpowered by just his tongue filled him with pleasure. Her terrified screams thrilled him.
            “I don’t want to die!” she screamed, as Arturo dropped his tongue down, and tilted the soda cup back one final time. A rush of Diet Dr. Pepper carried the problem customer down his held-open esophagus, all the way down to his waiting stomach.
            Arturo burped. It was a pleasant sensation, since the spicy, effervescent taste of Dr. Pepper bubbles came right back, a result of his stomach shifting around some swallowed carbonation, among other things.

@Olo Mulder would be such a great giant to find her too, I’d love his reaction.

I would have loved more size difference in star trek. I’m surprised the shows never explored a miniscule or giant humanoid species (at least not in the episodes I’ve seen, all of TNG, VOY, DS9, and some of TOS.) There’s one DS9 episode with a temporarily shrunken shuttle craft, but a whole race would have so many possibilities.

@Mrgoblinging7
I could fix him.

@olo I love this. Everything that’s hot about vore. I love the “training” effect this had on the pet, too.

Thinking about this, they’re a bit young for me to love now, but at the time of airing , a shrinking episode of Buffy would have been priceless. Especially with Spike as the reluctant giant savior. There would be a juice box joke with him.

Willow and Tara were messing with a weight loss spell for an insecure college classmate that goes wrong. The whole Scooby gang and the classmate gets caught in the crossfire.

@Olo this got me thinking. Imagine a shrinking disease that could only be cured with expensive bespoke genetic treatments. Imagine the pressure that would cause when a rich, overbearing man marries his middle class secretary who then gets the disease. The stakes of infidelity, abuse, divorce are all so high here if you lose your normal-sized body without this man’s continued financial cooperation.

Word count: 7192
In Two Parts

This is a M/ff fairy story with macrophile sex in it, or a macrophile sex story with fairies in it. Either way, it was an indulgence to write. Featuring a messy bisexual fairy and an effective human hunter.
CW: There is no vore, just the threat, but there is dubious/non-consent, infidelity, and an eventual death.

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PART 1
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Bluebell woke up shivering, but covered in sweat. This was too early. It was time to go back to sleep. She hugged Lilac closer and tried to return to her dreams.

A spare thought crawled through Bluebell's groggy mind, as she lay on a flipped coin's edge of consciousness. She sighed, and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

She can't just go back to sleep. Not during Hibernation. Unlike a normal night-long sleep, which she could stop and start whenever she felt like it, this three-month-long rest was started and stopped by forces far beyond Bluebell's power. The seasons themselves dictated it.

If she was awake, that meant that it was now spring. The fact that she was waking up meant that the frozen ground around her was thawing. It meant that it was the end of winter, March 21.

Bluebell's goddess patron was coming back to the surface today, magically waking all of the Persephone Fairies with her presence.

Bluebell still felt exhausted, like her sleep was not nearly long enough. Her wife Lilac was still fast asleep on her side, on the other side of the rabbit-fur-covered bed. Bluebell stood up, gingerly stepping around her, trying to let her sleep for longer.

She stretched and bent her limbs, which had gotten stiff in the long rest. She creaked her dragonfly-like wings open, spreading them out across her back. They felt wrong, somehow. She fluttered them. They couldn't vibrate fast enough. She felt the shape of them with her hands, and gasped.

The wings were too small, like they were still forming. It took the full three months for them to grow after they fell off in late December of each year. She had never seen what they were like in between the two landmark days that begin and end her annual rest, so she didn't know how undergrown they were.

Wait. Had her wings stopped growing too early? Or had Bluebell just woken up too early?

She put on her warmest vole-leather leggings and boots, and her down-filled, magpie-feather-accented cloak, and walked through the moss-carpeted tunnel that lead to their front door.

To an observer of the outside of her front door, it looked like a circular hole opened in the root of an oak tree. A four-inch-tall woman dressed in a rustic leather and fur outfit with a feathery cloak stepped out. When she closed the door behind her, the hallway looked like an ordinary tree root again.

She took in her surroundings. This was an uneasy warmth. She remembered an outdoor thermometer in a human's garden that she used to read every day, and thought that this was around 15 degrees Celsius, or 60 Fahrenheit. She saw some small brown mushrooms near her front door, freshly sprouted. She felt the earth beneath her feet, spongy and alive, smelling like early spring.

There was snow on the ground in some places, though it had melted in others. There weren't any leaves in the trees yet, but the tree branches were wet with melting icicles.

This wasn't right.

She glanced directly at the sun for an instant, and put her thumb in front of it. She compared this position to the horizon. It was four pm, and it was warm enough to grow flowers in. Warm enough for mushrooms to sprout today. But the sun was too low to the horizon for it to be March 21 yet.

Based on the sun's position, it was still early February. She had only slept for half of their 3-month hibernation.

"Damn," Bluebell cursed to herself.

She took off her cloak, which was beginning to feel stifling in this unexpected heat, and tested her wings out. She flapped them vigorously, but they couldn't lift her. Trying to vibrate them just tired her out. She folded the useless appendages back onto her back, and put her cloak back on.

"Shit," she cursed to herself deeper now, and put her hand on her chin.

She tried to use her magic. She made the gestures and spoke the words, but nothing happened. Of course, it wouldn't - her magic was a gift from Persephone, and she was still partying with her undead husband Hades in the underworld in early February.

You don't just wake early from hibernation. Persephone's footsteps are what wake you, and she never walks her Spring Path too early - she's a Goddess, with divinely perfect timing.

But something had modified this celestial clock, and now, Bluebell has woken up without the Goddess' seasonal gift of wings, and without the magic she grants her faerie devotees in the warm months.

Unless Bluebell could stuff herself so full of food and wine that she could trigger her hibernation sleep to start again (as they normally do every December 21), she will instead have to be awake in the winter for 45 days, foraging for food in this strangely half-winter, half-spring landscape.

Where could she find a winter's feast in the wilds during this unnatural season, anyway? None of the trees were fruiting, and the small brown mushrooms near her door would only go so far.

"I'm fucked," she said quietly to herself, staring up at the huge, bare-limbed trees around her. She walked a few feet away, looking for something to forage.

"No, hun, we're fucked," Lilac said, as she walked up behind Bluebell, putting her arm around her shoulder. "But we're fucked together."

Bluebell hadn't noticed her come outside. Bluebell grasped Lilac's hand, and turned to her.

Lilac was a sight for tired eyes. Her black, chin-length hair was naked in the air, and hung around her face freely. Her cute button nose was twitching in a way that always reminded Bluebell of a mouse sniffing the air.

"You're up too? Oh, honey. I was hoping to not wake you."

"You didn't wake me. This weather did," Lilac said, gesturing around to the freakishly warm atmosphere surrounding the dripping winter landscape.

"I remember this happening once. Two days early, a few years before I met you. Fir, Wren and I just huddled in our house, drinking some water we found right near the entrance. We didn't want to risk foraging in winter-time, without our magic."

"It's more than two days from spring, this time," Bluebell said.

"I noticed, too. We can't avoid eating that long. We have no choice but to gather what food we can find," Lilac responded.

"And without any prey charms, or sparked arrows…"

"That means no easy hunting. Foraging, then. We should see if any of the holly berries from the bushes above the ridge are still there," Lilac said, pointing at the tall wooded ridge behind Bluebell.

They both looked at the ridge a few dozen feet in front of them, separated from their tree home by a group of oak and sycamore trees, and some undergrowth.

They stared at the top of the ridge. Something looked different than how they remembered it.

"Are the holly trees gone?" Bluebell asked.

"At least the one at the top of the ridge is. There were a few at the other side of the ridge, too," Lilac responded. "Let's see."

Lilac and Bluebell carefully walked toward the top of the ridge, both taking into account every noise, every rustle, and every flash of light that could indicate danger. It was perilous to be just a few inches tall in the forest. There were hundreds of larger things that wanted to eat you.

They reached the top of the ridge and were shocked by what they saw below. Where there had been virgin forest in late December, there was now just a clearing, complete with stumps and matted earth, and plenty of human-made insults to nature. There were still some scraggly pieces of undergrowth on the edges. In the middle of the oversized clearing, stood a manmade structure, silvery-chrome with reflective windows and rubber wheels, standing next to a black pickup truck.

Some human had cleared a patch of pristine mountain forest and put a trailer home on top of it. Woodsmoke wafted out of the chimney, and the lights were all on at once. The whole structure hummed with glowing electricity and artificially created heat. It stood out like an ugly silver pimple on the soggy brown earth.

The fairies stared in horror.

"There are no holly trees here at all," Bluebell lamented.

"The humans left some food out, though," Lilac said, pointing to a patch of dirt near the largest trailer window. Standing on the dirt was a wooden post, intricately carved with Norse-style decorations. Attached to the post, about six feet up, was a wooden arm, with a thick metal hook, holding a chain, which held up a bird feeder made of green metal. The bird feeder looked like a miniature house with a metal roof, clear plastic walls, and a flat metal perch beneath the plastic windows. The perch was overflowing with bird seeds of all types. The fairies stared at the mounds of seeds tucked behind the plastic, and salivated. The dull pain of hunger crawled into both of their stomachs, and they remembered that they hadn't actually eaten in a month and a half. Their instincts screamed at them to break their long fast.

There were a few discarded sunflower seed shells on the ground, and several forgotten specks of millet. But that wasn't enough to last for long, and the fewer foraging trips they took to this cache, the safer.

"I'll climb up to the platform, and fill my whole cloak with seeds. I'll tie it off with the twine into a package. That much should last us for at least a week," Lilac said.

Bluebell remembered what a talented climber Lilac could be. Bluebell had no doubt she could do this on her own.

"I wish you didn't have to. Let's come back at night."

Lilac shook her head no, and spoke gravely.

"By night, all of those seeds might be gone. Birds can get through this in a matter of hours. This must have been filled this morning, and it's already half-empty, in the afternoon."

Bluebell looked at the patterns of use, the bird droppings, and the scattered seed pods. Lilac was right.

"Be careful," Bluebell said, and hid inside a remaining evergreen shrub on the top of the ridge. Lilac stayed outside of the same plant as she put together her tools. She used a length of thin twine to tie her outer cloak into a large, empty satchel.

Lilac was the more adept tracker, and the most skilled crafts-person of their whole fairy circle. Bluebell watched Lilac's impromptu satchel creation with wonder, her worried heart making room in itself for glowing threads of admiration.

Lilac came into the bush. The two kissed passionately for the first time since they woke up, and sparks of delight lit up both of their hearts. They smelled like each other's best days.

"I'll be back in two shakes of a squirrel's tail," Lilac said, and left the bush. She picked up the satchel and snapped it to her chest, and turned around one last time to wave goodbye.

Her back to the bush, she scanned for danger among all of the details of her surroundings. She then put her ears to the ground, closing her eyes. There was no sign of large animals nearby. She stood up, and went down the grass-and-tree-stump-covered hill.

The bird feeder was in the middle of a cleared patch of dirt. Lilac ran towards it with ease, before she climbed up the intricately carved wooden beam. She walked down the two-inch-thick wooden arm that held up the seed cache like it was an easy pathway in her thick, gray mouse-leather boots, and waved a brief greeting towards the bush that Bluebell was hiding in, before climbing down the metal chain and onto the bird feeder platform.

Lilac scooped bird seed into the makeshift satchel, over-stuffing it like a chipmunk filling its cheeks. She fastened it securely to her back and climbed back up the short chain to the wooden arm, and started walking back to the carved support beam. A quarter of the way back to the beam, she froze in her tracks.

She knelt down to put her more sensitive palms to the wooden rod, to feel the vibrations more clearly. This was no false alarm. A human was active inside the trailer.

A light switched on, illuminating the small window on the top of the back door with sodium-yellow. A human's head looked out of it for a moment, before turning down, to finish putting on his boots. The steel door swung open on a creaking hinge, and the man who had put this trailer in the middle of this pristine forest walked toward the bird feeder.

The human was a middle-aged man dressed in hunting gear, with a full, dark beard specked with grey, a strong nose, and piercing brown eyes. He was thick and muscular-looking, like someone who ate a lot of venison, and the two main textures in his winter wardrobe were dark blue canvas and green camo waterproof nylon. His hiking boots and gloves were black leather.

Lilac didn't get a good look at man, but she felt the vibrations from his huge footsteps travel through the ground and into the wooden structure she was on. She sprinted to the vertical support rod, and shimmied to the side of it furthest from him. The fairy desperately climbed down to the ground, cursing her useless, half-grown wings.

Lilac felt the swollen satchel tied to her back pull her away from the carved rod. She reached her hands and arms out uselessly as she was yanked further and further away, before an enormous hand turned her towards a giant face.

"I wasn't expecting to attract something as beautiful as you with that feeder," the hunter said, wonder thick in his voice.

Lilac tried to get out of the man's grip. She pressed a latch on her chest and the swollen seed-satchel that he was holding her by disconnected from her. She fell swiftly toward the ground six feet below.

Certain death from this fall was better than what she had heard humans could get up to with fairies. Better to be a crumpled thing on the ground than a meal.

His left hand easily caught her just a few inches below the beginning of her fall. His gloved grip closed around her tightly. She struggled against the fingers' black leather surface, but she could feel their overpowered strength with his slightest movement, as they held her tight.

With his other hand, he examined the satchel, gently prodding it. Its simple knots burst, the cache of seeds falling into the soft dirt below, sounding like heavy rain. He watched this all with curiosity.

"Trying to steal seeds from the birds?" the hunter asked her, moving his cold gaze to the tiny woman struggling in his grip.

"What are you, little thing?"

Lilac said nothing. Talking got you nowhere with humans. The only thing to do for a fast escape was to fly away, or, if that fails, charm them into forgetting you.

Persephone, help me, Lilac prayed to her Goddess. Just one sleep-and-forget-charm. That's nothing to you. I know you can hear me down there in the underworld.

"Not much of a talker?" the hunter asked.

He took all of her details in. From head to toe, she was no taller than his middle finger. She was wearing a thin, ren-faire-style brown leather outfit with such exquisite details, that it must have been constructed by her tiny hands. She had pale, almost-white skin, and a chin-length bob of straight black hair. Her tiny, beautiful face was horrified.

The hunter loved seeing and feeling this entire little being in just his hand. She was like a woman, almost, but she was so small, so beyond the human scale, that she must have been some sort of undiscovered type of non-human animal. He thought about what he could do with her, and remembered. God had given the earth and all its creatures, the whole domain of nature, to Man, to do with it as Man pleased. He didn't even need a hunting permit for something so rare.

She was his now.

He noticed a slight wiff of something unexpected in the air, and brought her to his nose. She smelled like wildflowers, and roses, cinnamon rolls, and petrichor, all mixed into one. A wave of warmth and sunshine went through his nose.

"Wow, that smell," he said, and he breathed out, before he took a second, deeper sniff, filling his lungs completely with her scent.

Memories flooded his mind. Summer vacations and thunderstorms, his first kiss with a classmate wearing cherry lip balm, his first ride on a roller coaster, smelling funnel cake. The gasoline in his first car, the perfume of his ex-wife on their first date, fresh deer blood from the first prize buck that he bagged when he was 17. The overwhelming scent of a woman's pussy, clinging to his beard after oral sex, as he slid his cock deep into the tight flesh.

The hunter was suddenly stiff, and high as a kite.

"You're a drug. Oh my god," he said, and took her inside the trailer.

Bluebell had been inching closer to the entrance this whole time, carefully darting from one piece of cover to the next. By the time he slammed the steel and glass door behind him, she was hiding behind a vaguely egg-shaped propane tank attached to a grill right outside of the back door.

The bastard. Bluebell thought to herself. Taking Lilac like she was some lowly creature. Like she was merely a small human. He doesn't even know what she is, other than enticing. We're Goddess-Blessed beings of the forest. This mortal fuck.

Down the length of the trailer, on the opposite side as the parked truck, there was a firepit. Between the firepit and the trailer was an enormous pile of firewood , as tall as the window next to it. A light turned on in the window. Bluebell climbed the logs as fast as she could, and looked inside, resting her face and open palms against the glowing glass. Without any mystical help from her absent deity, all she could do was watch, as the huge man did whatever he pleased to her captured fairy spouse.

Bluebell's window faced into the bedroom at the end of the trailer. Through a rounded door frame, she watched as the giant man, still at the end of the kitchen, stood up from a crouching position. He was getting an empty glass jar from the bottom cabinet. He had a hammer and a nail in his other hand. Bluebell couldn't see where Lilac had been placed, until, with horror, she realized that what she thought was a branch in the giant man's mouth being casually sucked on was actually Lilac's brown leather boots sticking out. Bluebell wanted to scream, but she didn't dare. Not if she wanted to survive witnessing this horrible spectacle.

Lilac was surrounded by a wet, dark, series of muscles that made up the hunter's mouth. They had complete control of her movements. She tried to go one way, and the tongue countered. She tried to slide backwards, to get the rest of her legs out of the dark and slimy mouth, and his lips just pressed down harder around her legs. The blade-like teeth scraped the edge of her shins, and she shivered in terror at the thought of them biting down. She couldn't decide which was worse - getting crushed to a paste by these teeth, or being swallowed into the inescapable oblivion of his huge stomach while still aware. She preferred neither.

As she struggled against the mouth, the giant hunter kept her tucked between his lips out of convenience, like someone holding a spare nail, as he punctured some holes into the lid of a glass pint storage jar. He had taken off his winter clothes at the door with her there, and it was a convenient enough storage space for now. It also let him continually inhale his new fairy friend's scent, which filled him with excitement and lust. He finished piercing the lid, put the hammer away, and carried the jar into the bedroom. As he walked through the doorway, it felt like he was floating on air. He was careful to remind himself of gravity and his body's placement amongst his furniture.

The hunter put the jar on the bedside table, and grabbed the fairy woman by her tiny boots. As he pulled her out of his mouth, a drip of saliva followed behind. He slurped, a little embarrassed to be drooling like an animal, and a rush of her scent came to his palette. She tasted like fine whiskey, like cognac, like the best new years eve midnight of his life. A thrill flashed through his body like lightning.

Her magic was even more intense when she was tasted. His mind rushed. He thought about eating her, but decided not to, when the logical part of him reminded him groggily that if he kept her alive, he could come back to her for these little tastes again and again, whenever he craved her. The jar trap he just made will be a good enough prison for her, at least for when he was done with her today.

And he knew that he wasn't anywhere close to done yet. His dick had been raging in a tumescent tension since he was still outside, and the intense dose he got from putting her on his tongue had made his lust even stronger. He felt helpless to the feelings her scent was causing in him.

Lilac didn't just feel helpless, she actually was helpless, dangling upside-down like a caught fish from the giant's grasping fingers. She tried to squirm out of them, but there was no use.

The huge right hand placed her into his left palm, her belly up. His fingers started yanking off her tiny boot. She unbuckled it and let it go into his grip, not wanting to get in his way if he were to yank harder. She took her second boot off, unprompted.

"Good, now take it all off," the giant man said. "I need to smell you more."

Lilac peeled off her mouse-leather leggings, carefully bunching them next to her on the raised platform of his hand. She removed her rabbit-fur vest, and then her miniature white silk brassiere, her tiny raindrop-sized breasts jiggling into the open air. She stood up on his bouncy palm, glad to not be held so tightly. She languidly vibrated her wings, stretching their flight muscles out, like someone cracking their knuckles.

The movement caught the hunter's eye.

She tried to fly. Her growth-stunted wings couldn't lift, either.

"You're a fairy?" he asked.

If she could fly, then he had no choice but to hold onto her to prevent escape, the hunter thought. He grabbed her with his vice-like fingers again, and flipped her upside-down, onto her knees. Her tiny, hand-crafted wardrobe fell from his palm to the floor of his bedroom.

She folded her wings to as small as possible, not wanting this monster to be any more interested in her most fragile body part. Cuts heal in days, bruises in weeks. Bones can heal in a matter of months. Her dragonfly-like, gossamer-thin wings only get repaired during her annual winter hibernation.

With her face looking down, she noticed that his cock was hard enough to show an erection clearly through his jeans. She made a disgusted sound. It sounded like a squeak to him.

His dick was proportionally big, even compared to other humans. She was reminded of her boyfriend Fir's substantial fairy-sized cock. He was just five inches tall to her four and a half, but he also had a dark beard and a big dick, like this awful man. His features were craggy, and dramatic, also a little like Fir. Lilac realized that she could have enjoyed an encounter with a being who looked like this - if he was only the right scale.

He lifted her again, gripping her ankles in his right hand, and brought her to his face, to gaze at her remarkable, now nude, form.

She closed her eyes at first, but she couldn't help but notice his expression. He was absolutely stoned out of his gourd, like someone on a gleeful mushroom trip. She remembered a rumor that humans found fairy pheromones intoxicating.

She cursed her own scent. There was no negotiating or tricking a man this outside of reality.

The only escape would be from her own movements. She used all of her flexibility and strength to reach down to her feet, and gripped her calves, trying to pry his giant grip open with her hands. He just held her slightly tighter to compensate.

The sheer difference in strength made her heart sink. She thought about giving up. But she had to escape: his titanic scale, and his mental weakness to her scent, just made this all wrong. She reminded herself: He wasn't a potential lover, he was nothing like Fir - he was a monster, who, if she didn't get out in time, would use her however he wanted to fulfill his drugged-up desires.

He placed the tiny naked woman back in his mouth, her face pointed out this time, her legs firmly on his tongue, beneath his palette. Her head and shoulders remained on the outside of his tensed lips, which held her there again for the convenience as he needed his hands to undress.

Lilac tried to get her hands free so that she could push against the lips, to jump down, but he grazed her prone body with the tips of his teeth again, and she stopped squirming. She prayed that he didn't want to swallow, as she stared down, watching his oversized limbs take off his thickly woven, dark blue canvas pants. The hunter's gargantuan cock now poked out of his opened camo boxers, which he slid off, and kicked away with his feet. The dick bobbed steadily in the open now, naked, stiff as a rod, and dripping pre-cum. He unpeeled his red flannel shirt from his huge, hairy torso, causing a waft of sweat and cologne to drift past the fairy's nose.

He had a body like a warrior: covered in functioning muscles, with a sturdy layer of fat above them, under his tanned skin. As a now-half-starving, wild creature in the middle of a lean winter, Lilac was ashamed to find his sheer thickness and strength appealing.

Each one of his parts was so much bigger than hers that any contest of wills was absurd. He could destroy her so easily. But based on everything so far, injuring her didn't seem to be his plan.

Despite herself, she felt wetness coalesce inside her swelling cunt. A dewdrop of pussy liquid dripped onto his tongue.

The hunter's smell and vision trip took a turn, from focusing on his conquests of the past, to an inviting, feminine sensation. He tasted wild strawberry juice, and sensed a mind that was not his own speaking to him through his taste buds. The mind was feminine, but wild, and it expressed to him nonverbally that she wanted him, too.

If he had to name the scent of this exact alchemical message, it was cloying, heady lilac.

He gasped, not expecting mutual lust from the tiny creature trapped in his lips. He loosened his jaw, grabbed her gingerly beneath her shoulders, and pulled her out of his mouth. He stared at her dainty form, dripping in both his saliva and her own sparkling wetness.

"You're into me. You tiny slut," he said, smiling slyly.

Lilac spoke up for the first time. "No!" she shouted, turning her head away from his powerful gaze. "Let me go, you cocky asshole!"

She hated that his face was so appealing. Why did she like his smile?

He breathed in her scent. It was obscured by the fluids that were covering her. He moved his hand to close to his face, and huffed in deep. She smelled like cotton candy, and wildflowers.

Lilac shirked away, trying to get as far as possible from his nose while pinned between his giant fingers, but the feeling of the cool air passing over her as he inhaled was refreshing. She realized that she was being worshiped by this enormous creature instead of threatened. She opened her legs, she told herself, to get this over with more quickly. Her tiny, hard clit was swollen with desire.

She couldn't possibly want him to suck her pussy.

He cupped her more in his hand, now holding her with his thumb firmly pressed on one of her sides, and his other fingers securely hugging the opposite. His pinky lightly hovered above her dangling legs. He tilted her a little, her cunt and her face now pointing towards him and the ceiling. The discomfort that came from her weight only being held up by his two fingers went away, as she was now comfortably laying in his hand.

His impossible lips hovered over her, and she twitched, anticipating his next move. He could finally smell her, and the floral expression of her self had increased from before. He licked her with the tip of his tongue, the huge, wet muscle barely grazing her wet cunt. He tasted joy. Wildflowers, honey. Cream and coconut. Pineapple and happiness. He moaned at the deliciousness, his deep voice causing the faerie's whole skeleton to vibrate.

She breathed in and yelped with excitement, blushing.

He licked her again, and again. The giant muscle passed over her screaming cunt in complete sexual overkill. She squirmed once more, but by the third time, she was starting to feel more like a living salt lick than she wanted to.

"Suck," an ethereal voice floated to him from his tongue.

He pulled his tongue in, and put his lips around her little torso. She arched her body up, and hugged his upper lip with her arms. Her dainty head was beneath his huffing nostrils. She leaned on his rough mustache like she was resting on a warm pillow covered in curved kindling.

He pursed his lips on top of her, overwhelming most of the front of her body with tensed muscle, and sucked in.

His gargantuan mouth sucking on her tiny clit was explosively strong. She screamed in ecstasy. He kept sucking. She bucked and ground her cunt into his mouth, shivering, losing control.

"Yes," she said to him through her taste. He tasted victory, and ecstasy. He felt like he was commuting a holy sacrament to God. But, like, a chick version of Jehovah, maybe one who knew a thing or two about sex.

"Aphrodite!" the voice in his head said, as though it heard his musings.

"Yes!" The little feminine voice yelped now. The pleasure shot through Lilac like a shooting star, lighting up the dark night sky inside her. She kicked her tiny feet against the hunter's tight bottom lip, and slammed her open palms against his mustache as she moaned. She sounded like a wild creature.

Her gyrations got slower, and then stopped. The hunter lifted his face from her waist, and tilted his head back, eyes closed. He sighed toward the ceiling.

He didn't know that he could taste something this delicious. It was the taste of ambrosia - the food of the Gods. He lost track of reality for a moment, his mind caught in a sticky layer of happy spiderweb, centered on the droplets of fairy fluid that he was absorbing through his tongue. Her cunt drippings melted like tiny sugar-cubes into his tastebuds.

He sucked it in, and shook his head, trying to come out of this daze. He looked down at the tiny woman in his hand, and grinned, as lust returned to his drugged mind.

His dick was now painfully erect.

"My turn," he said.

He gripped her more tightly, and shoved her tiny form against the top of his cock.

Before she could process what was happening, steamy heat and a musky odor overwhelmed her senses. The entire front of her body was now pressed against this rod of flesh and heat. He was using his thumb to grip her onto the top side of his dick.

She gasped, and turned her head to the side to breathe better. His thumb was resting right beneath her shoulder wing sockets, letting her lift their fragile membranes safely away from the dangerous strength his massive body parts were exerting on her. She fluttered them in relief, and moaned, still shuddering from the flood of endorphins he had sucked into her right before pinioning her so abruptly.

She kissed his dick, and he shuddered, taken aback by how affectionate the gesture was, coming from his tiny captive.

"How sweet," he whimpered, blowing his sweet-tasting captive a kiss.

I’ll add more of these as I think of them.

To keep me as a pet against my will, Garak from Deep Space Nine. Love a gay lizard dude who’d sell me in exchange for state secrets if it was convenient. Love the flippancy he’d have.

I have to think of who I’d like to protect/ care for me, though. I have a personal OC who always does that. And who would eat me, other than Spike from Buffy, who I mentioned in another thread about TV already.

@Olo so THIS is why most witches don’t go for the candy-house trap. It attracts the worst pest!

@kisupure Oh my goodness, this is wonderful so far. The sweetness, the descriptions, the details, I’m invested!

(Enjoying the pre-2000’s Brooklyn setting, too! My personal nostalgia is a sucker for that.)

@AnnDViant that’s brave of you to let your IRL friends know of that!

And I agree a little - though I don’t want to fuck him. I’d love him to shrink and eat me though. I never figured that out until this thread! Something about his disgusting tongue licks made me wild years ago, but I didn’t place that specific feeling until now.

@maladaptivetiny Yesssss ! Stylish macro art I could put on my wall!!! ️ I love this!

Intro:
If you’re straight, and I’m straight, but then, you’re suddenly transgender, does that make me gay?

CW: Character death, fast crushing, non-consensual violence, rampant transphobia and homophobia

***====

The shrinking virus has been picking up speed. Last Fall, when I was in my 3rd year of college at SUNY Kingston, we had only just heard about a few cases, scattered randomly around the world.

Just a year later, and it’s already reduced the population of normal-sized people by 5%, with some urban areas affected even worse, where 10% of the citizens have suddenly become the size of insects. The sizes of the victims ranged from anywhere from half a millimeter to 3 centimeters tall, depending on their luck.

Unfortunately, once someone becomes that small, they’re unlikely to survive. Their only hope is that someone who has an emergency portable shrunk shelter notices them in time, and uses it to bring them to a shrunken safe house. City health departments and charities now run these controlled, stable environments, funded by donations and taxes.

By the start of this fall, my senior year at SUNY Kingston, the campus had lost 7% of students to the virus.

Specific parts of the campus were more hard-hit. The Fine Arts and the Theater departments had lost 30% of their students to shrinking. The Gay And Straight Alliance had lost 70% of its members to shrinking.

For the first few weeks of the shrinking pandemic, I was afraid of it happening to me, too. Until the news finally reported scientific proof of what had been rumored among the public for a while: that there was one thing linking all of the reduced people: they all had same-sex attraction.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I learned it wasn’t just a shrinking virus. It was just a gay shrinking virus. I felt so lucky that God had been kind to me when He had made me a normal straight girl.

====

“What are you thinking of going as for Halloween?” Sasha, my goth Theater major room-mate, asked me.

“I hadn’t really thought of it,” I answered.

“What? It’s late August!” she replied with incredulity. “We’re starting this late for me!”

I thought about it for the first time that year. I liked going as book characters, it had become a theme for the two of us. Sasha always wanted to go as a male character to compliment my feminine costume. Katniss and Peeta was a real hit last year, before that, I was the Hermione to her Ron Weasley. Back in freshman year, this all started with my Bella and her Edward costumes, which people still talk about to this day. This summer I had re-read Lord of the Rings, and the members of the Fellowship were fresh in my memory.

“What if we went as characters from Lord of the Rings?” I offered.

Her eyes lit up.

“Yes! I get dibs on Samwise!” she had this answer in her pocket, like she had considered it already.

I thought about all of the characters in the books. The main women were either mighty warriors or ethereal goddess-like elves. I didn’t feel like putting complicated armor together, or trying to look as perfect as the elf women looked in the movies.

I remembered the puckish, youthful look of Frodo in the beginning of the movies, and I smiled at the thought of looking like that for Halloween. I wouldn’t even have to buy a wig, I was thinking of cutting my shoulder-length curly brown hair short anyway - this costume would be the perfect excuse.

“Sasha, if you’re Samwise, I have to go as Frodo.”

“Aah!” she squealed in excitement.

“You mean you’d be willing to cross-dress for me?” she asked, with more intensity in her voice than I expected.

“Yeah, why? What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh - nothing - it’s just - bah, don’t worry about it.”

“What? It’s totally normal to cross-dress on Halloween! It’s funny!”

“That’s true. It is basically a Halloween tradition.”

“Sean went as Marilyn Monroe with a beard last year, and he’s totally straight!”

“Right, right - I really mean - don’t worry about it. I’m going to look at ideas for sewing the cosplays.” She opened up her laptop.

“I owe you so much for making the costumes every year. How about, I’ll pay for the fabric, and I’ll actually help you sew the simple parts – in exchange for you teaching me how to do all of the steps?” I offered.

“I’ll take you up on that - oh crap, I was going to meet with Moises and Ariel soon.”

I looked at the dragon-themed clock on the wall. It was 6:30.

“And I have a date with Sean!”

She left while I was still putting my makeup on. I layered it on thick, a high-glam look, and wiggled into a short, neon yellow, raver dress. It was 90’s dance night at the nightclub Bacchus, and this was the first time Sean and I had seen each other in person since late May.

===

One discount Chinese buffet meal, five drinks, some dancing, and a half a joint later, and Sean and I were back at his dorm, taking advantage of his roommate staying at his girlfriend’s apartment that night.

We stripped, and climbed onto the narrow dorm bed. We tasted each other’s lips, then started kissing. All summer long, I had missed the passion in his movements, his scratchy beard, and even the taste of him. We wrapped our legs around each other like pointy pretzels, our hips touching as much as they could. I felt his dick harden while we wrestled against one another on the mattress. Feeling this made me even wetter, and I started stroking his cock. He started rubbing my clit with his fingers.

I felt a stab of pain in my back from moving boxes earlier. I decided to stop kissing and to lean back a little onto my left hand, changing the angle of my spine to ease the pain. I kept jacking him off while he kept playing with my cunt. This angle didn’t help my back feel better, so I leaned all the way back, keeping our waists and my hand together. He followed suit, and removed his hand, deciding to fully relax while I did all the work between our two nude bodies.

I craned my neck to look towards him, and an optical illusion was now between my pointed-up knees. With Sean fully leaned back, from my angle, it looked like I was jacking off a dick that was part of my body. I felt an arousal unlike anything I had experienced in the dozens of times I’ve had sex before. In some weird way that a scientist could probably explain, Sean’s dick started to actually feel like an extension of my body. I could swear that I could feel the sensations of bliss I was milking out of his throbbing, sensitive shaft.

Even though I wasn’t touching myself, the earlier fingering, combined with this optical illusion, was enough to bring me to the brink of orgasm. The dick’s balls tightened, the shaft thrusted forward, and I felt a bonafide orgasm as it shot out a wad of cum towards Sean’s belly. I felt like I had marked him, in some primal way. I felt like cackling in triumph. Instead, I leaned back, panting, staring at the fiberglass tiles of the dorm ceiling, as Sean stood up and cleaned off his chest.

“Did you just… come, just from jacking me off?” he asked, half-laughing.

I blushed.

“I guess I did… it felt kind of like we were sharing your dick for a moment.”

He put his boxers back on. He offered me one of his big SUNY t-shirts to use for pajamas, it covered more than my skimpy dress did.

“Haha! No! Bad Meghan! That dick is mine!” he scolded me like a misbehaving animal. I laughed it off, but I felt extremely exposed. If I could just shove this memory of mentally stealing his dick into a psychic garbage incinerator, I could succeed in never thinking about how strange and fulfilling it was again.

===

After that weekend of nightclub dancing and sex, the semester got going. Between the stress of classes, the anxiety at the bursar’s office, and the internship search, along with a disorienting amount of chaos resulting from the shrinking virus taking away more staff and students than we expected, it was Halloween before I knew it. Sasha was still full-sized, and still my best friend and roommate, thankfully, since her costumes always came out amazingly.

We took turns changing into our home-made Hobbit cosplays. She had lent me one of her binders, which felt like an overly tight sports bra that kept the girls in check enough for the chest of my Hobbit outfit to fit correctly. She said that costume departments and cosplayers use binders all the time for cross-dressing.

The final touch was a skill we learned from YouTube, of contouring with makeup to make our faces look a little more masculine. We finished our makeup next to each other in the girl’s bathroom, then stepped back to look at the results in the bathroom’s one section of stained full-length mirror.

“Woah,” I said, staring at what looked like a spitting image of Sam and Frodo reflected back to us. My heart skipped a beat, and jumped into my throat. I looked so much better like this than I had in any of the other costumes I had worn throughout the years. I looked better like this than I had in my prom photos. I had a pull of longing, wishing that I could look like this every day.

Women don’t look like this. Especially not women like me, who want a good job after graduation. I knew that it was just a matter of a few short months before I had to embrace the cult of the high heel and the tight-but-business-appropriate skirt to be taken seriously anywhere outside of a college campus.

“Thanks for helping with this, Meghan.” Sasha said, looking proudly at her reflection. “You’re a natural with the sewing machine!”

“Thanks for teaching me - and come on, you still did most of the work.”

“We can fellate ourselves later. It’s the biggest party night of the year. The world isn’t going to stand still while we stare at ourselves like Narcissus. Let’s party,” she said.

If Narcissus was a beautiful young man, like I now looked in this costume, I couldn’t blame him for staring at his own reflection all day.

====

We left to walk to the big Halloween frat party on the other side of campus. We passed by the former psychological counseling building that had been converted to a safe house for shrunken students and staff. According to my psych major friend, student volunteers were apparently putting together a scaled-down version of Halloween for the lucky shrunk people who had made their way there. I imagined a hundred pencil-eraser-sized people dancing a conga line around a single candy bar as their party spread, and I couldn’t help but smile. What sort of a storybook life did they even have?

As we walked past the soccer field, we saw a student seemingly disappear before our eyes, replaced by an empty pile of clothing. He was with a group of several friends, all of whom stooped down to help him.

“Does anyone have a shrunken shelter on them?”

A man dressed like Deadpool got a shrunken shelter out of his backpack, and started searching through the clothes for his fallen friend.

“There he is. Remember, whisper, normal talking is too loud for his ears right now.”

This was the first time I had seen someone shrink in front of me. My mouth was open in awe, but I remembered myself, and I closed it, as Sasha and I walked past this scene. I felt bad for gawking. The friend group didn’t even bat an eye at us. They were too focused on helping.

“Speaking of that. You have a shrunken shelter with you? I have mine,” Sasha said, once we were out of earshot.

“Of course. In my leather satchel. I know what to do if we see someone shrink.”

We kept our eyes out for any shrunken students who needed help as we kept walking. Sasha had rescued a fingernail-sized gay woman she found in the bathroom last spring, but I hadn’t seen any shrunken people up-close yet. When I thought too much about shrunken gay people, I get nervous about accidentally stepping on one, or about someone I know better shrinking. I had lost a few acquaintances, professors, and classmates to the virus so far, but no good friends or close family members yet.

A woman dressed in a spectacular robot costume, decked out in glowing wires, walking on stilts, walked past us, taking my mind off dark ideas. Sasha and I marveled at her.

“She’s going to win the costume contest!” Sasha said.

After a few more minutes of walking past people in their costumes, ranging from zero effort pumpkin t-shirts to Burning-Man-style art pieces, we got to the big Halloween party, and started to enjoy ourselves. The music pounded, the beer flowed, and the drugs went every which way.

10:00 came around, which was when Sean was supposed to join us here. I hadn’t heard a peep from him, or seen him in the party crowd. I started checking my phone nervously at 10:30.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sean’s supposed to be here by now.”

“Oh, yeah. That sucks,” Sasha said flatly. “What a pity.”

“Come on. I know you think he’s boring, or something.”

“No, it’s not that. He’s just so… here, let’s talk in the backyard. I need some quiet.”

I finished off the last dregs of the cheap beer in my red cup and I tossed it in the garbage next to the sliding doors in the kitchen. We walked through them and onto the back porch.

A motion-sensor turned on a white LED light above us, and I looked around. Nobody else was out here with us. The party sound was muted, and we could see nothing but the outlines of dark trees in the backyard in front of us. There was a crescent moon peeking through the still-leafy branches. We leaned on the railing on the left edge of the porch.

“What do you have against Sean?” I asked Sasha.

“There’s nothing wrong with him, really. I know you like him a lot.”

“I love him. He’s kind-hearted, he’s sexy, he’s affectionate, and charming. He’s -”

“I know, I know. I just think he’s not really a good match - ach.”

She shook her head, and looked down, rubbing her forehead with her hand. I only saw her do that when she was nervous. She looked back at me.

“I have to stop talking, now. Meghan, I can’t try to give you advice about him. Because I can’t be objective about you twos’ relationship.”

As she spoke, I listened, but I also took her beauty in. She even looked great in the harsh light of the porch safety light, and she really looked like a man, with the binder and gender-bending makeup. I started wishing she was a man, so that I could actually be attracted to her - because she would be an amazing boyfriend. Genuinely compassionate, creative, patient, funny. Honestly, she was a lot of things that Sean tried to be, but failed at.

She noticed that I had been staring at her too long for ‘just roommates’. She was blushing, and she looked down again.

“Why can’t you be objective about him and I?”

She looked me in the eyes, and I could see tears starting on the edges. “Because I want to be your boyfriend,” she said finally.

“Boyfriend?” I asked, stunned by her impossible desire. “But - but - I really only date men,” I stammered.

Was Sasha a man? I stared at her, and plumbed the depths of my memory to figure out how masculine she really was. Her way of speaking, her dress, her attitude, her taste in music and booze and pastimes. She even watched football, for God’s sake. I’ve never met a college-aged woman who watched football.

I assigned “he” to Sasha, and it was like an out-of-focus image of the person in front of me came into sharp detail.

“If you only date men, then just let me be your man,” he said, before he came closer, and placed his lips onto mine. I yielded, and wrapped my arms around his slight shoulders. We kissed madly, tasting each other, gripping each others’ bodies over our costumes.

“Let’s go back to the dorm,” he said, putting his hand out. I grabbed it, and held it giddily, like I was keeping a secret.

We turned around, and I spied Sean in the kitchen, through the sliding door. My heart thumped in my chest, the sound filled my ears. Sasha gripped my hand harder.

“He was going to find out sooner or later. Might as well rip the bandaid off,” Sasha said, when he spotted Sean.

“But-”

“I’m done playing pretend. All my cards will be on the table, for now on.”

Sasha looked at me, then held my hand firmly as he turned his head towards Sean. I was not ready for a fight between my old boyfriend and my brand new one, but it was inevitable, so I braced for a fight. I took a deep breath, and began to walk forward.

My step faltered. It never reached the ground. I felt stuck in time, as the single moment of my footstep stretched out. The action of the party I saw through the lit glass doors in front of me somehow paused. The world’s details stuttered, and became the shape of a tunnel, somehow zooming out and in at the same time.

The ground rushed towards me. The only sounds I could hear were my own heartbeat and rushing wind.

Throughout all of this, the only normal thing I could sense was Sasha’s hand firmly in mine. He kept hold the entire time, and seemed to be experiencing this time and ground rushing along with me, because he also let out a startled yelp.

The wind stopped. I looked at Sasha. He was still holding my hand, but he was now stark naked, tits and unshaved cunt and all. He started laughing, and I looked down at myself, noticing that I was completely bare as well.

“What the fuck?” I asked.

I stood up, and fell on my ass, letting go of Sasha’s hand. I was on some stretchy fabric floor, a little like a trampoline made out of rough burlap. The tunnel vision started to clear, and I rubbed my eyes for good measure.

“I guess we’re gay enough for this fucking virus.”

“What?”

“We shrunk, Meghan. Look around.”

I looked around. We were standing on the black, thick fabric that was my binder. It was now the size of a large college classroom to us. If I had to guess, we both seemed to be about a centimeter tall now.

“No. No! This isn’t fair! You’re a transgender man! I’m a straight woman, so, we’re safe, this is a normal, heterosexual attraction!” I shouted at the curse, or the virus, whatever it was, for its ambiguous rules. Were transgender people queer too? Does that mean that even a straight attraction to a trans person is queer? I never learned about this in health class, that curriculum was removed by lawmakers a year before I took it.

“Are you straight? You seemed to really enjoy wearing this binder we’re standing on.”

I said nothing. I looked away from him.

“You got the binder ‘just for the costume’, right?”

This binder was his idea, not mine.

“This is your fault!” I shouted, turning back to him. “I’m just… I fell for your transgender brainwashing!”

“Come on, Meghan. You’re trying to tell me that you’ve never imagined a different body for yourself? A man’s body?”

“I haven’t-” I looked down from him. I could feel that I was red in the face.

“I saw you watching that gay man’s point of view porn the other day. The guy with the huge cock who fucks his twink roommate.”

“I- that’s just-”

“You came when the porn showed the point-of-view guy cumming. That’s one of my favorite videos, too.”

I shook my head.

“It’s - okay, but that’s just a gender change fetish. It’s not a gender identity. It doesn’t mean I’m queer!”

“Right, egg.” Sasha said, gesturing pointedly at the giant binder we were standing on.

“Do you think I don’t remember the dreams you’ve told me, about being Eddie from Stranger Things? Your trans X-Men dreams about being Wolverine? Lemme know when you wanna change your pronouns and name.”

All of these confused feelings from my life came back to me in a flood. The intense crushes I had on my male classmates that felt totally nonsexual – until I’d have a dream about having their flat-chested, muscular body. It all fell into place as I sat on top of my enormous breast-trapping binder.

I stood up. It was now officially too late to deny anything.

“Speaking of ripping off bandaids, Sasha. If I could really pick any new name - well. I’ve always thought that Zack sounded cool.”

“It is cool. I never told you this before, but online, I go by Gabriel. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Zack.”

“He / him,” I added.

“Oh! Me too!” he high-fived me. I smiled, forgetting how screwed we were for a moment.

I had watched a YouTube video about a tiny man surviving in the wild. I remembered all of the rules he presented, including, never go outside of your enclosure at night. There was no way of avoiding that for us, now.

We carefully walked over the bouncy, unstable fabric, looking for shelter.

As we reached the edge of the huge underwear, the sliding doors that were now hundreds of our-scale-feet in front of us, slid open. The now-skyscraper-sized Sean was sliding it along its loudly-screeching track. He and his dorm roommate Josh were walking outside, probably to smoke a joint.

I was not prepared for this encounter when we still looked like members of the same species. Now that I was the size of a ladybug, I stopped dead in my tracks, and stared up in horror, at my clearly tipsy, gigantic, soon-to-be-ex, boyfriend.

The sneakers of the pair of college titans shook the wood of the back patio with every step. They laughed at some joke, and even though their heads were so far above us, it sounded like overly loud concert speakers blasting our ear drums. I jumped up and down and waved my arms, hoping he’d see us, and at least take us to the sanctuary building.

Last spring, at a crowded cafeteria table, Sean had told me he would bring a tiny to a sanctuary, if he ever found one. I believed him, then.

I had my doubts, now. He could have an unbecoming cruel streak when he was drunk, and it had gotten worse lately.

========

Sean went to the kitchen to toss his empty beer can into the recycling pile that was overflowing from the trash bin. Josh was standing in front of the kitchen table laid out with orange and purple jello shots, chatting with some freshman about his “The Boys” costume.

“I loved that show, but the last - oh hey! Sean!”

Josh and Sean’s faces both lit up in recognition.

“Hey Josh! You got anything good on you?”

Josh patted his pockets, then grinned wide.

“Hell yeah, I do. I got a pack of state store joints from California.”

“I knew I could count on you, big J. This week’s been shit. I need to get fucked. Up. Let’s go out on the back porch.”

Josh offered weed to the freshman, whom politely declined.

The two seniors walked out of the back door of the crowded party. They took a few steps onto the porch before looking down.

“What? Somebody left their clothes out here?” Josh asked.

“Ooh,” Sean said, with a slight touch of excitement. “You know what that is, don’t you, Josh?” he asked.

“What?”

“You really smoke too much. Piles of clothes. It’s costumes from a pair of shrunken fags.”

“Oh, I see.” Josh put his joint back in its case for a moment. That could wait. This was more interesting.

“You’ve never seen this?” Sean asked.

“No. I’ve seen it from a distance, and my girlfriend told me about how she rescued a shrunk fag once. But I never saw it happen in front of me like this. Have you?”

“Yeah, last winter. I came across a pair of them, in clothes like this. I crushed ‘em. I mean, when they’re that small, they’re…”

Sean paused, searching for the right words.

“I mean, they’re not people anymore. They’re fag-bugs. Serves em right for behaving that way in the era of the shrink virus.”

“We’re on the same page, Sean. You wanna do the honors?” Josh suggested, hesitation in his voice. He wasn’t as sure about the morals of crushing tiny gay men as Sean was. He had a gay friend once in high school, before he moved away. But Josh didn’t want to pick a fight about politics with his best friend.

“I’d love to,” Sean said, as he considered his options in his head.

Last time, Sean had crushed the shrunken fags under his winter boots. It was fast, but afterwards, he remembered being disappointed that he hadn’t really felt the crunch through the thick rubber soles.

This time, Sean wanted to really savor all of the sensations these little sodomite specks could afford him.

Sean knelt down, and looked for the two little men. It didn’t take long - unlike the last two, who were fleeing and hiding, these two were jumping up and down, clearly trying to get his attention.

It was dark out here, since the porch light was mostly blocked by Sean’s body, but there was just enough reflected light that he could make out the pale skin of the two men against the black tank-top they were jumping up and down on.

They looked like incredibly frail, long-legged bugs, but they moved their limbs frantically, gesturing for him to notice them. Why?

A thought bubbled up through Sean’s beer-soaked mind. These shrunken faggots were getting his attention because they expected him to rescue them.

How delicious.

===============

As ‘Gabriel’/’Sasha’ and I jumped up and down, I prayed that Sean would notice us. By a miracle, he did. He gestured towards us while talking to Josh. He then leaned down towards us. He shifted his weight onto his knees, shaking the porch beneath us so much that Gabriel and I both fell onto our backs. He was now resting his mountain-like form on the edge of my Frodo costume. I was excited to show it to him earlier this night, I knew that he loved the movies as a kid.

Sean’s head of shaggy blonde hair was lit from behind by the porchlight. It glowed like a gargantuan angel’s halo. We were now in a deep shadow, as his awesome shape had blocked all of the light from directly hitting us.

It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light in his shadow. As soon as I could make his billboard-like face out in the dimness, I saw that it was twisted into an amused smirk.

“You two sinners want me to rescue you?” he whispered. I could make that out over the background noise. His overwhelming whisper sounded like hisses coming out of a broken jet engine.

“Yes!” I screamed.

Sinners, I wondered? The relief of being rescued by my lover fought directly with the fear that came from being described that way by my sweet – but half-assed-Christian – boyfriend.

Gabriel stopped waving his arms. He looked at me in terror.

“Fuck that! Flee with me, Zack!”

Gabriel turned around, and started making his way across the stretchy floor into a fabric crevice a few dozen scale-feet behind us.

“Sean! Don’t you recognize us? It’s - me! ‘Meghan!’ And that’s - um-”

I hesitated. Sean and I could talk about our new names and pronoun sets after we survived this Satanic Saturday night.

“- that’s Sasha, my roommate!”

I saw nothing register on Sean’s oversized face in response to my words. He probably couldn’t even hear me.

I was reminded of the last time I had heard a cricket chirp - shrill, but formless in phrase.

As I was realizing the hopelessness of getting the giant to recognize us, he moved his train-length forearm forward, reaching his hand towards Gabriel. It took up my entire sky as it passed just a few scale-stories over me.

Two of his horrifying fingers, each one three times as thicker as I was tall, pinched around Gabriel. Gabriel screamed in terror, as he was lifted up. I had no idea how hard Sean was pressing down on Gabriel with his titanic fingertips.

I zigged and zagged, running towards another fabric fold to Sean’s left. Without expending any effort, the giant simply moved his hand toward me, faster than I could possibly outrun, and pinched me with those same fingers. I was now right next to Gabriel, though all I could see was Sean’s thick, ridged fingerprint skin directly in front of my pinned face.

“Gabriel!” I screamed.

“Zach!” he screamed back.

“We’re alive!” I reached out to him, and we found each others’ hands, between the all-encompassing finger pads. We squeezed each other’s palms tightly. Tears started forming in my eyes in relief. Maybe we would get through this horror together. Maybe this was just Sean’s lazy, drunk way of getting us to a shrunken shelter.

After this, at the shelter, we could live with the other tiny gay people. We could all wait for the shrinking virus vaccine together. It didn’t even matter if the normal gay men - the ones who weren’t transgender, what’s that word? I heard it once, before the virus made it terrifying to talk about those topics with gay people - anyway, even if the natural-born gay men didn’t accept us as ‘real’ shrunken men. It didn’t matter. Gabriel and I could be each other’s soulmates in the shelter, until the cure for the shrinking virus was finally discovered. And then, at normal size, we could finish college together.

I was broken out of my fantasizing by my stomach turning. Our huge captor quickly turned his hand upside down, and let go of Gabriel and I. We fell a short distance to the top of Sean’s palm, instinctively turning to place our hands under us in the fall, letting go of each other.

“You two on a date tonight? You just had to keep being gay as hell instead of just straightening up and dating women?”

I didn’t even know where to start with this tirade the truck-sized mouth was whispering towards us. I had finally caught my breath after the fall onto the huge, sweaty palm. It smelled like garlic pizza and gym equipment.

Knowing that this might be the end, I used all of my strength to crawl over to Gabriel. I grabbed his hand. He grabbed mine back, then brought me close. We laid on the enormous palm, naked, holding each other tight. The feeling of Gabriel’s soft, loving, naked body against the front of mine was like a sensory shield against the rough, hateful skin and voice we were both surrounded by. I wished the roles were reversed, and it was Gabriel’s palm – yielding, compassionate, enraptured - that I was sitting on instead.

“You two are so addicted to sucking cock that it was worth the risk of shrinking? You couldn’t even act normal, even just to save your own lives. Pathetic.” Sean said.

I kissed Gabriel. He kissed back. We started making out like our lives could be saved by it. In a final act of defiance, Gabriel moved his mouth to my cunt and started sucking it.

“You insatiable pervs, you’re still trying to fuck on my hand. Gross!” Sean said, before crushing us quickly between his palm and his left index finger.

My giant ex-boyfriend’s finger was so fast, and so powerful, that I didn’t even notice that I had been killed. I didn’t have time to feel pain. The lights simply went out forever for Gabriel and I.

=========

“Dude, gross. They were trying to have a threesome on my hand,” Sean said to Josh, wiping the red smears that used to be two people onto his jeans and shuddering. He stood up. “I gotta go wash the gay off my hands. Wait for me with the joint, don’t bogart,” Sean said.

Sean had really wanted to savor that moment of crushing the two sinners. Instead, he came away from the defiant threesome grossed out, and, much to his horror, a tiny bit turned on. He had a semi in this public place right now.

Sean thought un-sexy thoughts about physics homework as he washed his hands 3 times in a row in the frat house bathroom sink. His hands still felt greasy with faggotry, but he knew it was in his head - he had used plenty of soap.

“Not gonna shrink,” he thought to himself, as he got back to the party.

While smoking the joint a few minutes later, Sean noticed that his jeans felt a little looser than he remembered. His shirt was baggier than he thought he remembered, too.

“Dude, you’re just getting paranoid. This stuff is Sativa, it does that anxiety attack stuff more than the type we usually get, Indica,” Josh explained the ways of the herb sagely.

Sean’s heart pounded in his chest.

“Besides, you’re so-o-o not gay. You have that really hot girlfriend, remember? Who you like in a completely straight way?”

Sean remembered the time Meghan had cross dressed for a theater performance. Does that make her - what’s the word - transed gendered? Which would then make him gay? And shrinkable? He suddenly wanted to throw up.

“That bitch - that theater fag-hag bitch - with that lesbian roommate - freaks! If I shrink it’s all Meghan’s fault!” Sean ranted out loud.

“It’ll be fine, if you just chill. I need you to relax.” Josh tried to stay as calm as possible, like an adult navigating a kid’s tantrum. He took the last drag off of the shared joint, and crushed it under his sneaker.

“Where is Meghan, anyway? Wasn’t she supposed to meet you at this party?”

“Fuck if I know. I was getting sick of her, anyway,” Sean replied, trying to make his fear of her tainting queerness sound nonchalant. “Let’s go see what’s happening at Bacchus.”

The two drunk men left the party, into the shrinking-virus-full October night, trying to hide their mutual fear from each other. The terror that weighed on their every cross-faded footstep was that of stray queerness- of faggotry that they might catch on the wind, as easily as getting a whiff of a distant Halloween bonfire.

@TakoAlice8

Oh a shrunken woman doesn’t deliver too difficult a bite. Not nearly as much as a rodent of the same size, they just have little human jaws. The human skull is evolved more for facial expressions and brain size than bite power.

But speaking of brain size. I worry more about the crafty ones, who hide home made plastic shivs under their robes, than I do the bitey ones.

That’s the main reason they’re all naked.

@BigJacinto watched but instantly deleted from my history. I don’t need TikTok to know I’m horny, ever, I have a squeaky clean profile on there about my other interests