Story posted successfully, great to see it up and sitting at around 70 views already. Looks like at least a few people have checked it out.

I’m not fishing for likes, just trying to get a sense of how things work here. Plenty of older threads, but it’s clear some members are still active and regularly adding fresh content.

Posting on DeviantArt just disappears into the void, so it’s nice to find a small (pun intended), tighter-knit community that doesn’t suffer so much from the cross over from other kink spaces.

How about just making her confess how much she enjoys whatever it is you are doing to her?

This is especially effective with girls who like to play brats. Just get her to admit some aspect of the experience turns her on and she’s get so worked up her face will pop.

It works so well because it comes from inside her rather than being forced on the outside.

Part 1: The Duplicate

Sarah stood in the middle of Henry’s cluttered home lab, hands resting on her hips, the soft blue glow of half a dozen monitors painting shifting patterns across her body. The new cosplay costume fit like it had been poured onto her, sleek black and crimson panels that hugged the full swell of her breasts, cinched tight at her waist, and flared over the generous curve of her hips. The thigh-high boots added three inches she almost never got to enjoy in real life. Henry was exactly her height, five-foot-eight, and for years he’d gently discouraged heels with that shy, affectionate smile of his. “I like seeing your eyes at the same level,” he would say, brushing a thumb along her cheek. Sweet. Safe. Frustratingly safe.

Tonight she had worn the full outfit downstairs for him, not just the camera. The fabric whispered against her skin as she turned slowly, letting the dramatic lighting catch every seam and contour. “Baby… what do you think?” Her voice carried that playful lilt she used on camera, but underneath it was something quieter. Hopeful. A little desperate.

Henry looked up from his keyboard, glasses slipping down his nose, the messy bun of his longish hair slightly crooked from hours of focus. Silver had begun threading through his beard in the last couple of years, but his eyes still lit with that same boyish wonder every time he saw her. For a moment he simply stared, lips parted.

“Holy shit, Sarah.” He let out a low breath. “You look… incredible. The detailing on the gauntlets, the way the panels sit, damn. Your subscribers are going to lose their minds.”
The compliment landed warm in her chest, but it wasn’t quite the flame she’d been hoping for. Not the rough edge she sometimes imagined in the shower when her hand moved faster between her legs. Still, she stepped closer, boots clicking softly on the concrete floor, letting her hips sway just a little more than necessary.

“I was thinking maybe you could help me with some reference shots?” She let her gaze linger on him. “Or… something else, if you’re feeling inspired.”

Henry’s cheeks flushed that familiar, endearing pink. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit that had never changed in all their years together. “Actually… I’ve been working on the new neural capture upgrade. It can do full-body scans now, texture, subsurface scattering, dynamic movement mapping, the works. What if we made a perfect digital duplicate of you in that costume? You could use it for thumbnails, 360-degree spins, even virtual try-ons for your fans. It’d be fun. And… kind of intimate, right? Just us.”

A strange little thrill traced down Sarah’s spine, electric and unexpected. A copy of her. A perfect copy. The idea felt oddly vulnerable, almost naughty, like letting someone else wear her skin.

“You mean like… clone me?” she asked, half teasing, half genuinely curious.

“Not clone, duplicate.” He stood up, gesturing proudly toward the scanning rig in the center of the lab: two tall, elegant rings of sensors, soft LED lighting arrays, and a padded circular platform that looked like something out of a sci-fi film. “Come on. It’ll only take a couple of minutes. You just stand still, arms slightly out, and it does the rest. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

She laughed, soft and warm, the sound filling the quiet basement. “Alright, nerd. For science.” She stepped onto the platform, striking a confident pose, hips cocked, one hand resting on the prop pistol strapped to her thigh, chin lifted. Henry’s eyes did linger this time, tracing the way the crimson panels stretched across her chest with each breath. Good. At least the costume still had that effect on him.

He sat back down at the console, fingers flying across the keys. “Okay… initiating full-spectrum scan. Try not to move, love.”

The rings began to rotate around her with a low, rising hum. Warm lights swept over her body in slow, deliberate passes. At first it felt pleasant, like sunlight on bare skin, or the gentle pressure of Henry’s hands when he massaged her shoulders after a long editing day. Sarah closed her eyes, letting herself enjoy the strange intimacy of it. Every inch of her being mapped. Seen. Captured.

Then the sensation deepened. A tingling that sank beneath her skin, pressing inward, as if the air itself was learning the exact shape of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the soft give of her thighs. Her breathing slowed. A heavy, velvety drowsiness rolled through her limbs.

“Henry…” Her voice sounded far away even to her own ears. “I feel kind of… sleepy all of a sudden.”

“It’s normal,” he reassured her, though his voice had grown distant, focused. “The neural lock is pulling a bit more power than I expected. Just relax into it, baby. I’ve got you.”
Her knees wobbled. The world tilted gently, colors bleeding together. She tried to speak again, but the words melted into a soft sigh as darkness folded over her like warm velvet.
When awareness returned, it crashed in with a jolt of pure wrongness.

Sarah blinked hard against blinding lights. The padded platform stretched out around her like an endless stage. She looked down at herself, still wearing the skintight costume, every seam and panel perfectly in place, but her body was tiny. Ten, perhaps eleven inches tall at most. Barbie-doll scale. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she took one shaky step forward; the surface felt vast and soft beneath her miniature boots.

“What… the fuck?” Her voice came out high and clear, but impossibly small, a bell-like squeak that made her own ears ring.

She spun around and froze.

There, slumped just outside the scanning rig, was her body. Full-sized. Breathing slowly and deeply, the rise and fall of her chest making the crimson panels shift and gleam. Her own face, eyes closed, lips softly parted, cheeks faintly flushed, looked serene and enormous from this new, terrifying perspective.

And Henry… Henry was on his knees beside the full-sized Sarah, one hand pressed to her neck to check her pulse, his face pale with panic. His glasses had slid even further down his nose. “Sarah? Sarah, wake up, oh god, what did I do? The neural transfer protocol wasn’t supposed to activate like that. Fuck, fuck, fuck, ”

He looked so small in that moment, despite towering over her new form. So scared. So hers.

Sarah’s tiny hands flew to her mouth. Her consciousness… it hadn’t been copied. It had been moved. She was in the duplicate now, solid, real, and heartbreakingly small.
“Henry!” she called, waving her arms frantically. “Henry, I’m over here! Inside the scanner!”

His head snapped up. His gaze locked onto her miniature body, and for one long, breathless second the only sound was the low whine of the imaging system slowly powering down.
Sarah watched his eyes travel over her, taking in every exaggerated, perfect curve the scan had captured, the way the costume still clung obscenely tight to her shrunken breasts and ass, the tremble in her tiny legs. A deep flush crept up his neck. The panic in his face didn’t vanish, but something else flickered through it. Something darker. Hungrier. The kind of look she had secretly ached to see for years.

“Sarah…?” His voice cracked, rough around the edges. “Holy shit. You’re… you’re so small.”

She planted her hands on her hips, trying to summon the confident cosplayer energy even at this ridiculous scale, even as her pulse thundered in her ears. “Yeah, no kidding. Your ‘perfect duplicate’ decided to steal my consciousness and shrink me.” She swallowed hard. “Fix this, husband.”

But even as the words left her lips, a wicked, electric thrill uncurled low in her belly. For the first time in their marriage, she was literally looking up at him. And the way his gaze kept drifting over her tiny, helpless body made her wonder, just for a heartbeat, if either of them really wanted to fix this anytime soon.

Well, I’ve already messed up by trying to post my new story in parts. Apparently I didn’t wait long enough between posts and I’m flagged as a spammer. I hope I haven’t broken something.

I decided to stop by and see what’s what and whether there are still active communities out there for size stuffs. I’ve been around since the early days of the web, usually popping in for a while, make a few collages, write a story or so, and then I’ve disappeared for long periods of time because I’ve needed to clean up my internet footprint. I’m sure I’m not the only person that needs to keep this “hobby” private.

I was disappointed when I started looking around DeviantArt. There’s a lot of content, but I was surprised when I looked at art or stories I thought were particularly good, but hardly anyone had seen, much less hit favorite or watched.

Weird, some 200 accounts I’ve found that have some sort of shrinking woman or adjacent stuff, but a lot of them hardly get any engagement. Seems like the old forums might have been much better for that.

So I wrote a new story (starting over again from scratch as usual) and I’m going to try to post the rest of the parts if the anti-spam software lets me. Read it if you want, or not, I’m just here to see what’s what.

(if the anti-spam will let me post)

Part 2: Overwhelmed

Sarah’s tiny heart hammered so hard she could feel it pulsing in her throat. Eight inches tall. A perfect, living miniature of herself, still wrapped in the skintight assassin costume that now felt almost obscenely revealing. The black and crimson panels clung to every exaggerated curve, the way her breasts strained against the fabric, the impossible tightness across her ass, the smooth expanse of thigh left bare between boot and hem. She looked like the most expensive, explicit collectible a fan could ever dream of owning.

And Henry was staring.

Not with panic anymore. With something darker. Hungrier.

He stayed on his knees for a long moment, just looking at her. His breath came slow and deep, each exhale washing over her like warm wind. Sarah wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly, acutely aware of how little the costume actually covered at this scale. Her nipples had already tightened into hard little peaks against the fabric.

“Henry…” Her voice came out high and breathy, barely more than a squeak. “We should… we need to figure out how to reverse this. Right?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead he reached out, slowly, giving her time to step back if she wanted. One large hand, warm and slightly calloused from years of tinkering, settled on the edge of the platform. His fingers were thicker than her arm. The sheer size of him made her stomach flip.

“I know,” he murmured, voice rougher than she’d ever heard it. “I know we should. But look at you, Sarah. God. Every detail is perfect. The scan even caught that little flush on your chest when you’re turned on.” His thumb hovered just above her, then brushed, infinitely gentle, down the side of her body. The pad of it dragged over the curve of her hip, pressing the costume against her skin. Heat bloomed everywhere it touched.

Sarah gasped, knees buckling. The contact was electric, overwhelming. A single finger, and she already felt caged, held, seen in a way that made her head spin. “Henry, careful, ” The protest melted into a soft, humiliating moan as his thumb settled lightly against her back, steadying her. Two fingers. That was all it took for him to gently cage her upper body between them. She was trapped, helpless, and the realization sent a fresh rush of wetness slicking between her thighs.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, awed. His face filled her entire field of vision now, those familiar eyes dark behind his glasses, the silver in his beard catching the lab lights. “Are you scared, little wife?”

A little, she wanted to say. But the truth was more complicated. Fear and arousal had tangled so tightly inside her she couldn’t separate them. This was her Henry, her safe, gentle, slightly awkward husband, and yet the way he was looking at her right now made her feel like prey. Delicious, willing prey.

“A little,” she admitted, cheeks burning. “But… it feels…” She couldn’t finish. Because it felt good. The heat radiating from his skin, the gentle but undeniable strength in his fingers, the way her full-sized body lay unconscious just a few feet away, chest rising and falling in slow, oblivious rhythm, while this tiny, hypersensitive version of her was already dripping for him.

Henry’s eyes softened for a heartbeat, the loving husband still there. “If it’s too much, tell me. I’ll stop. I swear.”

The offer melted something deep in her chest even as it made her pussy clench with need. She shook her head, tiny curls bouncing. “Don’t stop. Please… I just, I’ve never felt anything like this.”

That was all the permission he needed.
He lifted her slowly, carefully, until she was level with his face. His breath ghosted over her breasts and belly in hot waves. Sarah whimpered, back arching without permission. When his lips parted and his tongue, hot, wet, impossibly large, brushed a slow, deliberate line from her navel up between her breasts, she cried out. The slick heat soaked through the costume instantly. Every tastebud dragged across her skin like warm velvet, and her nipples throbbed so hard she thought she might come from that single lick alone.

“Henry, oh fuck, ” Her tiny hands flew up, fingers digging into the soft skin just above his upper lip as another long, lazy stroke of his tongue covered her from belly to throat. He was tasting her. Exploring her like the most precious, filthy toy he’d ever been given.

He pulled back just enough to speak, voice husky and low. “You taste like you. Exactly like you. But… sweeter somehow. More concentrated.” His free hand moved to her full-sized body, brushing a strand of hair from its, no, her face with heartbreaking tenderness. The contrast hit Sarah like lightning: her strong, confident self lying helpless and unaware, while this tiny, trembling version writhed in his fingers, soaking herself, desperate.

The jealousy and humiliation only made her wetter.

“Please…” The word slipped out, small and needy and shameful.

Henry’s smile was slow, new, carrying just the faintest edge of teeth. “Please what, little Sarah?”

She hated, loved, how that nickname made her core tighten. “Touch me. More. I… I shouldn’t want this so badly, but I do. Henry, I need, ”
He didn’t make her finish.

Two thick fingers slipped under her ass, lifting and spreading her legs as he brought her closer again. His tongue pressed firmly against the seam of the costume right over her aching pussy and rubbed in slow, devastating circles. The fabric was drenched in seconds, hers and his saliva. Every ridge of his tongue ground against her swollen clit through the thin material, and Sarah’s tiny body bowed hard, a high, keening cry tearing from her throat.

She came embarrassingly fast. Pleasure crashed through her like a storm far too big for her miniature frame. Her legs shook violently, heels digging into his palm, hips grinding desperately against the hot, slick pressure of his tongue. A fresh gush of wetness flooded the costume as she sobbed his name over and over, tears of pure overwhelm pricking at the corners of her eyes.

When the peak finally ebbed, she slumped boneless in his hand, panting, trembling, face burning with mortification and lingering bliss. Henry kissed the top of her head, soft, almost reverent, then cradled her gently against his chest. His heartbeat thundered under her ear like a drum.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, voice thick with awe and something deeper, darker. “My strong, confident wife… coming apart so completely in my hand like this.”

Sarah hid her burning face against the warm skin of his thumb, mortified and glowing at the same time. Part of her still whispered that this was insane, that they should reverse it immediately. But a much louder, much hungrier part was already aching for whatever came next. She could see how hard he was through his jeans, huge, insistent. Henri had his free hand balancing himself, his fingers wrapped around her full-sized thigh where her body rested nearby.

She wanted him to strip her unconscious body and fuck it while she watched, helpless and dripping. The filthy thought made her whimper again, a fresh trickle of arousal sliding down her inner thigh inside the ruined costume.

Henry seemed to sense the shift in her. His fingers stroked slowly down her back, possessive and soothing at once. “We’ll figure out how to get you back,” he murmured, though the promise sounded a little less certain now. “I promise. But first… I need to understand every inch of what you are now. If you’ll let me.”

Sarah lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes. Her voice was small, shaky, but honest.

“Yes, Henry. I’ll let you.”

Do not take anything I say as mental health advice. Work with a trusted therapist who is accountable to you and you can be open with.

That being said, labels on feelings can help us feel like we are in control, especially when we’ve felt out of control for a long time, but they can also become our identities.

Fantasies help us manage and escape that. Even JRR Tolkien defended fairy stories (though he didn’t mean smut it still applies) as a way for a prisoner to look out through the bars.

I have plenty of problems (autistic, if you want one label) but I had the good fortune to be born in a time with thousands of stories, every one of them is an extra lifetime that I wouldn’t have gotten to live.

I’ve read so many books and so many short stories and every single time I dive in and become someone new and live in their world for a while. Much less expensive than going to Disneyland.

You can call it a cope. My life doesn’t suck, but I had terrible tragedy in it. I’ve seen some horrible things. But I don’t treat my many lives as cope, but as the kaleidoscope of me that’s gotten to live all those thousand lifetimes while only having one to spend.

Part 3: Withdrawal

Henry worked through the night with the fierce, quiet focus she had always loved. Tiny Sarah stayed curled against the warm curve of his neck like the world’s most intimate secret, her cheek pressed to the steady thunder of his pulse. Every time his heartbeat jumped, when a line of code finally compiled, when he muttered a triumphant “got you”, a fresh shiver of arousal rolled through her miniature body. The scent of him surrounded her completely: coffee, faint soap, and that warm, masculine note that had always been home. She kept squirming, thighs slick inside the ruined costume, fighting the urge to grind herself against his skin like a desperate little thing.

By the time dawn light filtered through the narrow basement windows, he had it: a clean reversal protocol. A second scan with inverted neural fields. Simple. Elegant. Terrifyingly reversible.

He carried her to the platform with both hands, cradling her like fragile glass. “Are you sure you’re ready?” His voice was hoarse from lack of sleep, but gentle. The loving husband still very much present. “We can wait. Test it more. I don’t want to lose you, Sarah.”

She looked up at his exhausted, beautiful face, glasses slightly crooked, silver threads bright in the morning light, and felt a pang of love so sharp it hurt. “I’m ready, Henry. Bring me back.”

The rings spun. The warm lights swept over her tiny form. She felt her consciousness pour out of the miniature body like water returning to the sea, rushing, stretching, expanding. Then she gasped awake on the platform, full-sized again, legs shaky, the assassin costume damp with sweat and arousal clinging to her skin.

Henry caught her as she awkwardly tried to stand up, wrapping strong arms around her. “You’re back,” he whispered into her hair, voice thick with relief. “God, Sarah, I was so scared I’d lost you.”

She clung to him, burying her face in his chest, breathing him in. For a long moment it felt perfect, solid, safe, normal. Her body felt powerful again. The right size. They stayed like that for minutes, just holding each other while the lab equipment cooled down.

The rest of the day passed in a soft haze of tests, quiet cuddles, and careful touches. Henry kept brushing his fingers along her arm or waist as if reassuring himself she was real and full-sized. She let him, melting into every caress. They made love that afternoon on the old couch in the corner of the lab, slow and sweet, the way they almost always did. He covered her completely, moving inside her with familiar tenderness, kissing her throat and murmuring how much he loved her. Sarah came with his name on her lips, fingers tangled in his messy bun…

…but it felt strangely distant. Muted. Like her nerves had been tuned to an impossibly high frequency during those hours as his tiny toy and now everything was dulled. When he finished and held her close, stroking her back, she smiled against his shoulder and tried to ignore the quiet emptiness blooming inside her chest.

That night she lay awake beside him in their bed upstairs, staring at the ceiling while his slow, satisfied breathing filled the dark. Her skin felt too big. Too empty. She kept remembering the crushing, delicious pressure of his fingers around her torso. The hot, overwhelming swipe of his tongue between her breasts. The way she had shattered from almost nothing. Her clit throbbed at the memories, but when she slipped her hand between her legs to chase the feeling, the pleasure was flat. Unsatisfying. Like trying to satisfy a starving woman with a single grain of rice.

By morning the ache had become a constant, low-grade fever.

Henry kissed her forehead before leaving for the city, new sensors, better power regulators, every safety measure he could think of. “I’ll be back by dinner. Stay out of the lab, okay? We’re not risking that again until I’m sure it’s completely safe.” His eyes were warm, protective, full of the man she had married. The man who would always put her safety first.

Sarah nodded, smiling like the good wife she was. The second his car disappeared down the street, the withdrawal hit her like a drug crash.
She paced the house for over an hour. Tried editing footage. Failed. Her body felt heavy, clumsy, unheld. She kept pressing her thighs together in the middle of rooms, chasing ghosts of sensation. The memory of looking up at him. Of being small enough to be lifted, tasted, controlled, owned. Of watching her own full-sized body get fucked while she trembled on top of it.

Finally she stood at the top of the basement stairs, heart hammering so hard she felt dizzy. Shame burned her cheeks. This was insane. Reckless. She had a good marriage, a kind husband, a life that most people would envy.
“Just… once,” she whispered to the empty house. “To feel it again. Then I’ll wait for him like I promised.”

Her hands trembled as she descended. In the lab she stripped slowly, savoring the cool air on her full-sized skin one last time, peeling the costume off with deliberate care, folding it neatly on the console. Naked. Vulnerable. Exposed in every way that mattered. She stepped onto the platform anyway, nipples already tight, a flush spreading across her chest and down her belly.

The rings spun to life. The warm lights swept over her. That delicious, velvety tiredness rolled in like a lover’s embrace.

She smiled as her knees buckled.

When awareness returned, the world had opened up again, vast and bright and right. She was tiny, just a doll. Perfectly naked. Every nerve ending sang with hypersensitivity. Her nipples were stiff little peaks, and a single clear drop of arousal already glistened on her inner thigh. She stood and stared at her giant unconscious body next to her. She had kept in good shape all these years, and had a popular cosplay channel, but she never thought of herself as hot. Maybe it was just the shrinking, but from this angle her own nudity was intoxicating.

The moment was so intense she moaned out loud, knees giving out. She lay on her back on the padded platform, legs falling shamelessly open, and just breathed in the overwhelming rightness of it. Every inch of her felt alive. Her pussy felt swollen, empty, and starving.

Tentative at first, she slid one tiny hand between her legs. The first stroke over her slick folds made her cry out, high and sharp. Two strokes and her back arched hard. Three and she came with shocking suddenness, hips jerking, a tiny gush coating her fingers while she whimpered Henry’s name like a prayer.

She didn’t stop. She kept touching herself, slowly now, savoring, circling her hypersensitive clit, dipping inside, imagining his enormous fingers, his tongue, his cock. Another orgasm rolled through her, then another, until she was a trembling, glowing mess on the platform, chest heaving, thighs shiny with her own wetness.
Afterward she curled on her side against the hip of her sleeping giantess for warmth, glowing, terrified, and happier than she had been in years. The full-sized body lay unmoved, beautiful, powerful, and suddenly… irrelevant. This was where she belonged now. Small. Sensitive. Utterly his.

The sound of the garage door opening upstairs made her stomach flip with equal parts dread and dark, delicious anticipation.
Henry was home early.

Sarah sat up slowly, heart racing. She was still naked. Still dripping. Still tiny. She didn’t hide. Instead she stood tall on the platform, shoulders back, breasts flushed, chin lifted even as her voice would surely shake, and waited for his footsteps on the basement stairs.

When she heard them, a fresh rush of wetness slid down her leg.

“Henry…” she called, soft and trembling but clear. “I couldn’t wait.”

I just responded to another post of yours about personality, but I thought I’d drop an additional note here.

There’s a ton of G/t M/f stuff on DeviantArt obviously done by younger women who don’t seem to intersect much with the properly naughty size scene.

Personally I think that’s great. It doesn’t all have to be genitalia flying all over the room. What matters is whether the play is fun and rewarding.

Even in straight up size smut there are scenes where characters have breakfast or go shopping or even fantastic things like repair spaceships together as a G/t team.

If that’s the part of the story that matters to you, then enjoy.

Makes me wonder if I should try my hand at some PG stuff just to see who might still find that emotionally satisfying even if they don’t… well… you know.

Part 4: Watched

Henry’s footsteps on the basement stairs were steady and unhurried, until they stopped dead at the bottom.

Sarah stood tall on the padded platform, eleven inches of naked, trembling perfection. Her skin glowed under the lab lights, nipples tight and flushed, thighs visibly slick. A single shining strand of arousal clung to the inside of her leg. She didn’t cover herself. She lifted her chin, heart hammering so hard she felt dizzy, and met his eyes.

“Henry… I couldn’t wait.”

For one long, electric second he simply stared. The bag of new equipment slipped from his fingers and thudded to the floor. His gaze dragged over her tiny naked body, then flicked to the full-sized Sarah lying motionless on the platform nearby, naked, beautiful, chest rising and falling in slow, oblivious rhythm. Back to the tiny, dripping version of his wife who had deliberately shrunk herself again.

Something shifted in his face. The gentle, exhausted husband who had spent the night trying to keep her safe faded. In his place stood a man who had just realized exactly how much power she was offering him.

He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to one knee so their eyes could meet. His voice was low, rough, controlled. “You stripped. You turned it on. You stood here naked and waited for me.” His breath washed warm over her breasts. “You chose this, Sarah. Say it.”

“I chose it,” she whispered, voice high and shaky but certain. “I needed to be small for you again. Please, Henry… I’m yours like this.”
His smile was slow, dark, and devastatingly tender. “Good girl.”

He reached for her with both hands this time, large, warm, inescapable. One palm slid beneath her, the other curled gently but firmly around her torso, lifting her until she was cradled against his chest. The heat of him, the thunder of his heartbeat, the sheer overwhelming scale of his body made her whimper and press her thighs together.

He carried her to the console first, setting her down carefully on the wide wooden surface while he stripped. Sarah’s tiny mouth fell open as his shirt came off, then his jeans. His cock sprang free, thick, heavy, already hard and leaking at the tip. At her scale it looked monstrous, beautiful, intimidating. She squeezed her thighs harder, a fresh trickle of wetness sliding down her leg.

Henry wrapped one hand around himself and stroked slowly, letting her watch every inch. “You like seeing what you do to me, little wife?” His voice had dropped another octave. “Stay right there.”

He picked her up again, then laid her gently on her back across his open palm. The heat of his skin seeped into her. With deliberate care he dragged the swollen head of his cock over her body, hot, velvety, heavy. It pressed her breasts flat, smeared a thick trail of precum from her throat all the way down to her mound. The weight of it alone made her moan and arch, trying desperately to grind her slick pussy against the underside of his shaft. Every ridge and vein dragged over her hypersensitive clit and she nearly came just from that.

He lifted her higher, brought her to his mouth, and licked her, long, slow, possessive strokes of his enormous tongue between her spread legs. One lick and she shattered, crying out, tiny legs kicking against his chin as she gushed against his tongue. He didn’t stop. He sealed his lips around her waist and sucked gently while his tongue worked her clit and folds until she was sobbing, writhing, coming again so hard her vision whited out.

Only then did he carry her over and kneel down on the floor where her sleeping body lay still.
He laid tiny Sarah carefully on the soft, warm stomach of her full-sized body. The skin beneath her was fever-hot, rising and falling with slow, deep breaths. Sarah pressed her palms to the familiar curve, feeling it lift her like a living mattress. The intimacy, the humiliation, of it made her dizzy with lust.

Henry climbed over them both. His knees sank into the padded platform between the unconscious Sarah’s thighs. With one hand he guided his thick cock to her slick entrance. Sarah watched, inches away, as he pushed in, slow, steady, groaning deep in his chest as he sank to the hilt inside her own body.

“Oh fuck… still so tight,” he breathed, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “Even unconscious, you’re greedy for me.”

Sarah whimpered at the sight, her full-sized pussy stretched around his cock, glistening as he drew back and thrust again. The impact jostled her tiny body, sliding her higher up the warm stomach. She laid down on her stomach, braced her hands on the soft skin, legs spread, unable to look away, her face only inches from her husband’s giant cock entering her full sized body.

Then his free hand came down.

A thumb and finger pressed lightly but firmly over her tiny back, pinning her gently against her own rising-and-falling belly. The weight was perfect, inescapable, grounding, possessive. His index finger slid over her ass and between her thighs, pressed against her sex holding her in a pinch. Sarah moaned shamelessly and started grinding immediately, rubbing her swollen clit against the pad of his finger while he fucked her full-sized body harder.

“That’s it,” he growled, voice rough with building pleasure. “Ride my finger while I fuck you, baby. Both of you. My strong, beautiful wife… and my perfect little toy.”

The words broke her open. Sarah sobbed with pleasure, hips rolling desperately, smearing her slickness all over the tip of his finger. The contrast was unbearable, watching his thick cock disappear again and again into her own pussy, feeling every powerful thrust ripple through the belly beneath her, feeling herself pinned and used and owned. Tears of overwhelmed ecstasy slipped down her cheeks even as she chased another climax.

Henry’s thrusts grew deeper, faster. He was getting close. His thumb pressed a firmer, making her squirm against her own stomach, but giving her better leverage to grind frantically against his finger. Sarah’s whole tiny body tightened. The humiliation, the jealousy, the raw submissive thrill, all of it coiled tighter and tighter until she came with a silent scream, mouth wide open, tiny pussy pulsing hard against his finger as fresh wetness flooded over his skin.

The feeling pushed Henry over the edge. He buried himself deep inside her full-sized body and groaned, long and low and guttural, as he came, thick pulses she could feel through the belly beneath her, filling her unconscious self while her tiny self shook and trembled through the aftershocks, still pinned helplessly under his hand.

For a long moment the only sounds were their mingled breathing, his deep and satisfied, hers high and trembling.

Henry stayed buried inside her full-sized body as he softened, thumb still resting possessively over tiny Sarah’s spent, twitching body. She lay limp on her own stomach, cheek pressed to warm skin, heart thundering with a thousand emotions she couldn’t yet name.

But one thing she knew, deep in her bones: she never wanted to be big again.

Henry slowly withdrew from the full-sized body, a thick trickle of his cum leaking out onto the platform. He lifted tiny Sarah with both hands, bringing her close to his face. His eyes were dark, intense, and still burning with hunger.

“We’re not done yet, little wife,” he murmured, voice low and promising.

Part 5: Aftercare

Henry stayed perfectly still for a long moment, buried deep in the full-sized body while tiny Sarah trembled on her own stomach, aftershocks still rippling through her. Then, with exquisite care, he withdrew, thick strands of his cum leaking slowly from her full-sized pussy onto the padded platform. The sight made Sarah’s tiny core clench with fresh, exhausted want.

He lifted her first. Both hands, warm and steady, cradling her against his chest as he carried her to the small sink in the corner of the lab. “Easy, little wife,” he murmured, voice soft and rough at the edges. “I’ve got you.”

Some warm water on a soft cloth felt shocking against her overheated skin. He wiped her gently, between her breasts, down her belly, carefully between her legs, cleaning away the mess of her own orgasms and his saliva. Every touch was reverent. His thumb brushed her cheek, and she leaned into it like a cat.

“You were so perfect,” he whispered. “So brave. Coming back down here… giving yourself to me like that.” He kissed the top of her head, then her tiny lips, barely a brush of his mouth, yet it made her shiver. “I love you, Sarah. All of you. Big or small.”

Tears pricked her eyes. “I love you too. Even when I’m… this.” She gestured at her miniature naked body, voice small. “I didn’t know I needed it this much. I still don’t know how to want anything else.”

Henry carried her back and laid her gently on a clean towel he’d spread on the floor next to her sleeping body. Then he turned to her full-sized form. With the same careful tenderness he cleaned her too, wiping away the evidence of what he’d done, stroking her hair, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. The contrast of seeing him tend to her unconscious body while the conscious part of her watched from mere inches away made Sarah’s heart ache with strange, beautiful jealousy and love.

When both versions of her were clean, he picked her up again and settled into his big office chair, tiny Sarah cradled in the crook of one arm against his bare chest. His free hand stroked slowly down her back, over her ass, between her thighs, light, soothing touches that weren’t meant to arouse but still made her sigh and squirm.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he said quietly, the gentle husband fully present again. “No filters.”
Sarah hid her face against his skin for a moment, then peeked up. “Overwhelmed. Scared. So fucking happy.” She laughed, the sound high and watery. “I came so many times I lost count, and I still want more. But mostly… I feel seen. Like you finally saw the part of me that’s been aching for you to just… take me. Own me. Even if it’s only when I’m small.”

Henry’s fingers paused, then resumed their slow caress. “I saw it. And it terrified me at first. But now?” He lifted her higher so their eyes met. “Now I don’t want to let it go either. We’ll figure out the science. Safe switches. Limits. But if this is what you need… I’m here. I want to be the man who can give you this.”

She kissed his fingertip, tiny lips against warm skin. “Then keep me like this tonight. Play with me. Use me gently. I want to fall asleep in your hand.”

So he did.

He spent the next hour exploring her with lazy, affectionate dominance, laying her on his chest and then letting her grind against the ridge of his cock until she came again in soft, shuddering waves. Setting her between his thighs and watching her tiny hands and mouth worship him until he spilled across her breasts and belly. Cleaning her again, then cradling her against his neck while he worked a little more code, one finger idly stroking between her legs until she was whimpering and overstimulated and perfectly content.

When exhaustion finally claimed her, he carried both versions of Sarah upstairs. The full-sized body he laid gently in their bed. Tiny Sarah he settled on a silk pillow beside his head on the nightstand, close enough that his breath washed over her like a blanket.

“Sleep, my love,” he whispered. “We’ll talk more in the morning. About everything.”

Sarah curled up, glowing, safe, and utterly owned. For the first time in years, she fell asleep feeling completely, perfectly whole.

Epilogue

Six months later the basement lab had changed.

The scanning rig now had redundant safety systems, biometric locks, and a sleek new interface Henry had built with single-minded devotion. There were two comfortable “homes” for Sarah: a miniature apartment on his desk, soft lighting, tiny furniture he’d 3D-printed, even a working shower, and the full-sized world upstairs when she chose to be big.

She chose small more often than not.

Some days she streamed her cosplay content from a custom rig Henry built, her followers never realizing that they were watching a doll perform. She was surprised how much the secret turned her on. Other days she simply existed as his companion, perched on the rim of his coffee mug while he worked, riding in his shirt pocket during grocery runs (carefully hidden), or spending long evenings being slowly, thoroughly used and cherished on the big bed.

Henry had changed too. The shy, careful husband had grown into a man who carried quiet confidence in his hands. He still brought her flowers. Still made her laugh until her tiny sides hurt. But now he also knew exactly how to pin her under two fingers and tease her for an hour until she was begging. He knew when to stop, when to hold her close, when to fuck her full-sized body while she watched and came untouched from the sight alone.

One quiet evening they lay together, full-sized Sarah curled against his side, tiny Sarah nestled happily between her own breasts like the most intimate necklace. Henry stroked both versions with slow, loving hands.

She had never felt more complete.

And somewhere in the quiet hum of the upgraded scanner downstairs, the rings sparkled.

@Marry I respect that you’ve been able to make a living with your art. That’s a tough path since you have to be good at both art and at business. These days it is hard for any creative person to stand out and keep the requests coming in and going out on time.

@BigGrumpy I love using AI for Dungeons and Dragons sessions. For better or worse, in every group I’ve ever been in, I end up being the designated DM and AI art helps so much with prep, props, and presentation.

And sometimes AI music too, though there’s so much good stuff on YouTube already it isn’t worth it to slug it out with the AI music generators to get something you are looking for–especially when you need hours of music. Might as well just give in and use fantasy game soundtracks.

@BigGrumpy I am strictly cis&big myself so I understand the frustration.

I pay for Grok because of work.

Grok, even in free mode (on “fast” the chat quota is generous and resets every hour or two) is willing to chat almost anything and is extremely intelligent about scale and coherent in long conversations.

Tell Grok you want it to be a 6" fairy named Sara and it will act like Sara–bratty, submissive, whatever you ask. Yeah, I’ve tested. Grok will be extremely graphic if you give it a reason to be.

I am not someone who goes in for the hard end of this fetish, but I did test once. Putting a little woman in your mouth works, but if you mention either teeth or swallowing, you’ll hit a wall. People who prefer the dark end of the street will probably be disappointed.

Of course, I did all of this for research purposes.

I like writing stories and making images and enjoying other people’s creations. Would it be great to roleplay with a cis little lady? Sure, I think, though I never have.

My experience with AI roleplay is that it can really help you explore a thought or idea in ridiculous detail, but there’s no one there.

I almost always ask Grok to assume a personality for projects, but that’s just because it is easier to work with someone “designed” to work on a project than with generic Grok.

This is not an ad for Grok, just a response to your post.

@Marry The reason I disappear every so often is because I’m often not careful enough to manage my anonymity online. I’ll need to think about whether I can safely make a Discord account, DeviantArt, or something else. Ask me again in a couple of weeks. At least I’m here now.

Do you still have a portfolio online now that your DA account is gone?

Since I was the guy who posted AI art…

Some aspects of this debate are the same as 2-3 years ago and some things have moved on. Some people will always see the actual production of AI images as theft. I respect that and won’t try to convince them otherwise.

There are basically two problems on boards and such, 1) discouraging struggling artists who are developing their talent, and 2) flooding the board with repetitious slop.

I only shared what I did (and I have a few others I was thinking about dropping in a few days) because I wanted to “interact” with the community and see who is awake and what they’ll respond to.

I’ve always encouraged artists and I’ve never flooded slop.

I was a collager back in the day and today AI is my collage tool (I wish it were my Poser/Render tool, but AI doesn’t appear to be headed that way any time soon.) I’d say I spend more time getting one image right than I ever did in Photoshop on something in 2006.

That doesn’t mean my images are good, but they are intentional and crafted and mean something to me. That’s why I never post them without a “slug” (a story note that is supposed to provide context and direction for the imagination).

I don’t know how many images is too many images, but if I am ever motivated to post my considerable private collection that I’ve carefully crafted myself, I can assure you that it will be on DeviantArt and I’ll offer occasional links here to the collection there.

My goal is that you shouldn’t have a make a policy because I posted. Heck, if you all don’t like my images (AI or not) then there’s no point in posting them anyway.

@Marry Alas, all my old stories (and countless images) are gone unless you found some archive of message boards a long time ago or of my old deleted accounts on DeviantArt.

Like some other people in this fetish community, I am protective of my anonymity. And every few years, I pack everything up and disappear for a while because I’m concerned that I’ve become to complacent with exposing myself and breaking that wall.

But, if you like what I write, I have several more in various stages of development that I’ll probably post here over the next few weeks. I don’t know how many people hang out at “Daddy’s Dollhouse” (it looks like the last surge of activity was around the holidays last year). But maybe if I post, others will become more engaged.

This stuff gets like 4 views over on DA even though there are theoretically a couple hundred people who have some interest in this fetish and an account there. That’s depressing.

I have woken up from my intermittent hibernation and expect I’ll have an extended creative phase again. We’ll see how long it lasts.

@Marry It used to happen quite a bit when I first started writing stories. I don’t want to act like I’m an expert, but in my experience, there’s a little “pop” people get early on from having a specific person they want to put in their story.

It could be someone famous, or a thinly disguised famous person, or perhaps someone they know in real life or their idealized version of a crush from school or work…

The thing is you want to put that specific person who already exists into a story and experience them (or force them to experience something) in that context. But that “pop” doesn’t last for me, nor do I find it ultimately satisfying, precisely because they don’t really fit.

Rather, if I have a story and want to explore specific themes or settings I “cast” the right person for the role. For example, another fetish I like is flattening. If I have this idea for an industrial factory where a woman gets caught in a machine and “cartoon style” gets flattened into a poster or something, I don’t have Sabrina Carpenter or my college roommates ex-girlfriend randomly visiting the factory.

I “cast” a working class woman wh’s making a hard but satisfying living there falling into the machine when she’s trying to save a coworker or maybe a coworker makes a mistake and she pays the price. That sort of stuff has emotional stakes. Sure, the foreman’s slutty girlfriend that hates his “messy” job might also be an interesting counterpoint, but you might find that at certain points in the story the very juxtaposition pushes you out of the moment, or you are forced to make them act not like themselves just because you want them to act a specific way at a specific moment… rather than having cast someone in the first place who “fits.”

Look, people can read my stories and think I’m not a very good writer because they see the flaws that are certainly there. This is fetish content and some people read a story looking for their favorite “hooks” that excite and satisfy them. I might not provide the right ingredients in the meal I’m serving. Or the pacing might not be to their liking. etc

But the reason I’m writing long replies to you and acting like know what I’m talking about (when I might not) is because you just happened to ask me about something that matters a lot to me and I’ve thought a lot about.

@Marry It is always such a delight to watch someone good at what they do, do it. I like your style.

@xformbob

Warming Up

The one thing she never quite adapted to at this size is how cold she was all the time. She didn’t want to be bundled up looking like a plushie and he wouldn’t turn the heat, so she made do with what she had. If he would just stop blowing on her this morning…

@xformbob

The Demanding Sub

It never stopped fascinating him how strong she was only minutes before they both knew she’d whimpering and cooing in his grip. But when it came to demanding play time, she was bigger than she looked.