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Gilded Cage

Once upon a time, I wrote a M/f story for a prior incarnation of the Violent Shrinking Woman forum.  Heads up if being involuntarily shrunk, kidnapped, and molested by a Giant are not your cuppa tea…

Gilded Cage
Act 1

Richard was a recruiter. His “prospects” rarely knew they were on his list until it was too late, nevertheless, his record was nearly flawless.

He had faithfully served the Organisation for years, targeting scientists and other “assets” for recruitment. Most of the “recruited” were so suitably impressed with the act of recruitment that they cooperated willingly, but there were a few notable exceptions.

In one case, a particularly stubborn computer scientist had protested quite vehemently… refusing to do the software development that the Organisation had mandated. His resistance had quickly melted when he was shown his wife, collared and reduced, trapped under a glass cake cover in a terrarium filled with vicious Australian funnel web spiders, their fangs clicking greedily against the glass as they strained to get at the juicy and appropriately terrorized morsel inside. The scientist had immediately agreed to do the work– a new software algorithm for sequencing genetic code, and had wound up doing quite a good job of it. The results were “leaked” to the Human Genome Project, allowing it to be completed well ahead of schedule, thereby furthering the Organisations efforts in the field of Eugenics. Rumor had it that the scientist had actually become a willing participant from that point forward, and that he had acquired a taste for keeping his wife reduced and at his disposal.

But all good things must come to an end. Richard knew and accepted this. At the ripe old age of thirty five, he was feeling the heat of the younger Members nipping at his heels. He was losing his edge. He was taking less chances. But his career with the Organisation had been the stuff of legends. Daring abductions under the tightest of security. It didn’t matter if the targets were corporate, university or government assets. Richard had been the “go to” guy. Richard was the recruiter that delivered.

Sitting in the Director’s reception area, he thought about his impending retirement. He knew the Organisation would find use for him as a trainer and consultant– that much was assured. No… his concerns were much more self serving. He was wondering if his “gold watch” request would be granted.

The receptionist rises from her desk and smiles cheerfully, her hybrid collar just barely visible under the open top of the crisp business blouse she wore.

“Sir, the Director will see you now” she says, leading him to the dark mahogany doors that opened into the Directors office.

He smiles politely and takes a deep breath, rising and following the girl. He doubted that the Organisation had ever been presented with a gold watch request quite like his!

The Director rises to meet him, greeting him warmly with a firm handshake and offering him a seat in the nearby conversation area.  Richard takes this as a good sign… they would be speaking frankly and as near equals. Had he been directed to sit before the huge desk, he would have known that his request had been denied. There was still a chance.

Over steaming mugs of coffee, they talk about the Organisation and Richard’s career. Laughing… swapping war stories… musing on the shortcomings of the latest crop of young new Members, as well as the declining quality of their adversaries. While they chat, CNN hums on a television monitor mounted in a nearby wall bookshelf– audio/visual wallpaper at the moment… things had been relatively quiet as of late. The Organisation was currently in “heads down” mode… trying to integrate the latest genetic findings with their admittedly old fashioned human breeding programmes. Eventually, the discussion wanes. The Director takes a sip of coffee and sets his mug down, leaning forward with a questioning look on his weathered and hawk-like face.

“Now Richard, about this gold watch request…”

Richard nods slightly, his eyes searching the Director’s face for some clue…

“…are you sure this is what you want?”, the older man continues… “You know that we appreciate the contributions you’ve made to the Organisation. Your work has been invaluable. Nor do I question that your request would expose us to any unnecessary risks….”, at this the Director chuckles… “compared with your other accomplishments, this strikes me as taking candy from a baby. But thats my point exactly… is this all that you want?”

Richard smiles, nodding confidently as his eyes track to the nearby television screen and the soft drink commercial that blares loudly… selling soda and sex… the dancing pitchgirl gyrating and singing with a thousand watt smile, her enthusiasm and youthful beauty enough to get a rise out of even the most jaded male.

“Yes Sir… I want her”, Richard replies simply.

The words “Bethany and PopCola!” blaze across the screen as the girl finishes her dance with a flourish.
***

Act 2

(Opens to the tune of David Bowie’s “Young Americans”….)

Bethany Jane Collins (simply ‘Bethany’ to her countless legions of fans) was feeling pretty smug. She was the “it” girl of the moment. Her latest song was another smash hit… the tour was selling out in all venues… and things were going so well on the road that her handlers had agreed to let her play hooky for the night.

Jetting from New Orleans to her exclusive hideout on Sannibel Island before the next show in Dallas, she mused on how well she had managed to kill two birds with one stone– getting some private playtime with her latest conquest (a relatively unknown young male model who had the most incredibly talented tongue!), and dumping her previous studboy– an up and coming young actor who was trying to break out of his television career and into film. Much like the string of golden boys that preceded him, Eric had turned out to be lame-lame-lame. Sure, he was good in bed… but he lacked imagination. Bethany craved new experiences… and her new toy, Sean, was both attentive and properly awed by her celebrity status.

Bethany was a product of the O-town pop factory… the latest in a string of manufactured bubblegum stars that seemed to spring from obscurity to overexposure in the blink of an eye. She had been born to an upper middle class family with society ties… new money, but money nonetheless. Raised in relative obscurity, her mother had started her on the kiddie pageant circuit at a very young age… her childhood had been filled with dance lessons, singing instruction… then finally television commercials and a kiddie cable show. Mom was ecstatic. It was no big secret that the Mother was living vicariously through her daughter’s success. Bethany didn’t fault her in the least. “Let Mom have her little thrills”, she thought, “…while I sample the platter that life has to offer!”

Bethany’s youthful appearance belied her 22 years of privileged life. This was no mere accident… rather a shrewd and calculated marketing ploy on the part of the producers who had recruited and groomed her for bubblegum stardom. Market studies had shown that the previous female bubblegum stars, all pretty much in their ‘jailbait’ years, had amassed a pretty respectable “closet” fan base– young adult to middle aged males who couldn’t help but drool over the fresh and bouncy images they were bombarded with on a daily basis. But Bethany was different… the unspoken message seemed to be: “Go ahead and drool openly boys… this one is legal”.

Settling back in the plush first class seating of the private jet they had rented for the jaunt, Bethany stretches like a satisfied kitten and gives her bodyguard Vic a smile across the aisle. Vic returns the smile and goes back to his sports magazine, secretly relieved that “the princess” (as she was not-so-affectionately referred to by most of her support staff) seemed to be satisfied and content for a change. Out of the corner of his eye, Vic notes that his “assistant”, a burly muscleboy by the name of Deke (who had blown his shot at an NFL career by way of a drunken college brawl that had landed him a nice little manslaughter charge), was once again picking his teeth and examining the ‘findings’. “Christ…” Vic thinks… “I told him… she catches him doing that and he’ll be ‘gross’…”, which was pretty much synonymous with ‘dismissed’ in the princesses entourage. Vic just rolls his eyes and gets back to the latest rundown of draft picks, surrounded by the comforting white noise hum of the learjet’s engines as it streaks through the cloudy night sky, crossing the Gulf of Mexico for it’s rendezvous with ‘princesses playpen’.

After a while, the flight attendant starts making his rounds… starting with Bethany of course… who orders her usual double Pina Colada. As she takes her drink from the vaguely attractive but sorta old guy, Bethany can’t help but feel that his eyes are lingering a bit more than they should, and she makes a mental note to complain to the charter service. “After all..”, she thinks, “a firm that specializes in catering to celebrities like herself should damn well be briefing their people on maintaining a proper distance when serving the clientele!”

Vic simply grunts that a “mineral water will be fine”… and a hard stare back at Deke pretty much tells him to follow suit, instead of his usual “Budwahser”. Vic had been having a devil of a time keeping Deke off the suds during on-duty time, and he’d be damned if he was going to catch any flak for Deke’s seemingly endless thirst for “Budwahser”…

Surprisingly, none of this is lost on Bethany, who took a secret delight in Vic’s eternal struggle to keep Deke from being a total fuckup… so when the barely audible “fwup fwup” sounds register from behind her… and Vic starts clawing at the back of his neck in some sort of drunken pantomime, she starts giggling, thinking that Deke has shot a spitball or something at Vic in retaliation for the mineral water eyeballs… but then she sees the small matte black wasp… (no… a dart?!?) sticking out of the back of Vics neck.  Then Deke pitches over the seatback next to her.

Bethany’s short hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

For a heartbeat she sits frozen…

…and is rewarded by a sharp sting slamming into the fleshy side of her neck… and a wave of soft fire that radiates from the impact point as the tranq drug quickly takes effect… blunting her belated attempt to leap from the seat– instead she makes a spastic half-turning fall that wedges her against the seatback in front of her… looking back at her attacker…

The flight attendant just smiles…wisps of Co2 vapor still rising from the open end of a disposable pen that he holds pointed at her… and he nods in response to the barely audible question that she struggles to form as she quickly sinks into the fog of the tranq drug– “wh.. who..”

The guy’s grin gets wider… an obscene parody of the grin-lock she had seen on the faces of her teenybopper fans during autograph signings…

“Bethany… I am your biggest fan”, he says simply.

It’s the last thing Bethany hears before the fog turns ominously black and she goes under.

Richard quickly retrieves his darts and props his impromptu party of three back into a rough semblance of sleep-seating, then reloads the dart-pen and trundles the drink cart up to the cockpit.

Two more “fwups” later and a quick check of the autopilot, and Richard returns, whistling as he leaves the cockpit. He kicks the drink cart into the front side-galley and grabs a heavy jacket and backpack from the overhead cabinets, then trots quickly over to Bethany’s row. He puts on the gear and plucks a small plastic packet from one of the jacket’s many pockets, then kneels down next to the slumbering pop-singer…

His gaze lingers for a moment… “Like an Angel” he muses… and he hums a few bars of Bethany’s latest hit, chuckling to himself and brushing a stray lock of blonde hair back from her eyes, then pulling the fresh hybrid collar from its packet and curling it around her all-american cheerleaders neck.

Richard flicks the end caps off the new collar with his thumbs and holds the bare ends together, watching the almost imperceptible blur as nanotech devices knit the material together at the molecular level, joining circuitry and leather, and cinching the collar to a predetermined snugness, the extra material bled off in a cool wispy smoke of discarded metal and organic particles.

Satisfied that it was primed, he lets go of the collar and grabs the discarded caps, shoving them into his pocket and waiting for the joining process to complete…

When the surface of the collar joint shines with the same consistency as the rest of the material, Richard pulls the Fob from his pocket and quickly punches in the sequence for the calibration routine… and the Collar glows faintly red… Bethany moaning and stiffening as the dull ache of calibration manages to cause uneasy dreams in her tranq’ed down haze…

Richard clicks his teeth impatiently… and is finally rewarded by a tiny chime from the Fob… calibration complete!  His grin couldn’t be any wider as he switches modes and points the Fob at the elegant Collar, wrapped snug around the pop singer’s long and lovely neck…

“It’s showtime Beths”, Richard murmurs as his thumb mashes down on the oval button…

The collar glows a faint hazy Cherenkov blue… then in an eyeblink, Bethany’s travel clothes– wide bell bottomed hip hugger jeans and an untied midriff shirt.. lay empty across the seating… almost like a tube of clothing. Her heavy cloggy shoes fall to the aisle with twin thumps as the “clothes tube” settles flat… except… for a small outline bulging about where the shirt and pants hems meet.

Richard gingerly spreads the shirt and pants fabric apart… and inhales sharply when he reveals Bethany Collins, naked and perfectly formed… no larger than a Barbie Doll. He unzips an inside jacket pocket and takes out a foot tall rectangular box… padded inside with a porous foam material, the rigid outside of the box criss-crossed with rows of tiny airholes.

Richard carefully scoops up the nude miniaturized pop star with both hands, laying her on the padding and closing the lid… then snapping shut the six travel interlocks around the sides and tucking the box back into the pocket, zipping it shut, tight and snug.

He stands and trots back up to the cockpit… unclips a small black box from his backpack and sets it against the autopilot CPU… and a software virus is transmitted into the memory of the machine… in one minute the autopilot will have been “incorrectly calibrated”… and all traces of the virus deleted… sending the plane into a lazy one gee rolling turn… banking it over enough for Richard to bail out… and also to convince the crash investigators that the pilot had transposed an entry code in such a way as to mask the course change from them at night… if they were distracted… say… having a drink or chatting with the flight attendant… a freak one-in-a-million thing really…

Richard retrieves his virus box and returns to the cabin, waiting by the pressure door and looking disdainfully at the still drooling bodyguards. When the time is right, he grins, waves, and says “buh-bye”, then he pops the hatch open and leaps into the bracingly cold night air.

After an exhilarating free-fall, Richard’s airfoil canopy pops open and he starts guiding it towards the “Shrimper” that waits at the pre-determined spot. His wrist GPS ticks out the bearing and range as he struggles to ace a dry landing on the seemingly ramshackle boat. The orange glow of a distant fireball plays along his face as the doomed jet slams nose first into the dark waters of the Gulf… the dull roar of the explosion coming moments later.

As befitting his final recruitment… Richard’s feet slap the hard deck of the shrimp boat precisely where he needed to, and he easily absorbs the shock of landing. While the attendants help him shed the parafoil rigging, he thinks that this was going to be a very long ride back to his place in San Fran… a long ride for him anyway.

Bethany, on the other hand, would be spared the trip. Her awakening had been timed very carefully.

News sources across the country are synced together in one of those mass media moments: “Special Report”… the sinking feeling in the gut of the older people, wondering what was to follow… the relief when the announcement was made, and the contrast of that relief with the delicious angst of the younger set.

“A charter flight carrying pop singer Bethany Collins has disappeared from air traffic control radar and is assumed down over the Gulf of Mexico… Coast Guard search and rescue craft are currently racing to the last reported position…”

***
Act 3

Bethany’s first sensation was cold… cold around her ankles, her waist and her wrists. As she slowly surfed back to a conscious state, something was nagging at the barely coherent corner of her mind… something about black wasps… and…

“Vic!!!” Bethany shouted… her eyes flying wide open.

She was immediately disoriented.

Looking ahead, she had a hard time seeing clearly at first… she thought it was her eyes, but like a shifting optical illusion, the sheet of clear but not perfectly smooth plastic resolves about a foot away from her face.

She was pinned with her back against some hard but brightly colored surface… like a wall…her arms and legs were spread slightly out– wrists, ankles and waist each circled snugly by a single loop of stiff cable that came out of a hole in the surface on one side, over her, then back into another hole in the wall on her other side.

And the clothes she was wearing… “what the fuck is this” she wonders.

Around her neck she could feel a snug choker necklace of some sort. Then a white midi-tee-shirt, so short it barely drapes over her boobs, the hem dangling well away from her upper belly… but the fabric weave is so coarse! It reminds her of a knitted afghan or something. Moving down, a godawful see-thru micro mini-skirt made of dark pink plastic is wrapped around her waist…and what the fuck, no underwear!!? When she flexes against the cables, the heavy plastic of the skirt makes a loud crinkling noise. Her feet were encased in some kind of goofy plastic replicas of high heeled ankle boots. They felt more like shoe shaped vases on her feet instead of real footwear as she wiggled her toes inside the smooth white plastic and flexed her ankles, trying to squeeze her feet out of the fake boots and through wire cables… but no such luck.

The room beyond is distorted and huge. An enormous Deskphone sits about 20 feet away from her. Suddenly she understands…

“Morty!!! You son of a bitch! The joke is over!” Bethany shouts, her voice sounding a little muffled by “this crappy plexiglas” as she grunts, straining against the cables. “Mortyyyyyy!!!!”

That fat bastard had gone too far this time! His ass was grass. Bethany had been looking for an excuse to dump her producer– a gross, blunt, cigar chain-smoking dinosaur who looked like he had stepped out of some cliche 1940’s Hollywood. This was his handiwork. That dickhead had pulled his Orlando strings and had set her up in one of those OmniStudio simulation rides… probably that ‘Fly to the Future’ thing… and they had popped a different movie in to freak her out. Well… nice try Morty, but you stepped in a big pile of shit this time.

“Mortyyyyyyy! Every second I’m stuck here is a percentage point off your cut!!!

Some movement catches her eye… a huge door opening on the other side of the airplane hanger sized “room” on the screen in front of her. A Man steps into the the room and quickly crosses over to the foreground, almost filling her field of vision as he sits down at the desk and stares at her, his chin resting on folded hands. It’s that goddamn flight attendent!

“Mortyyyyyy! You asshole!!! If this is some kind of music video idea… you can stop the pitch get me the fuck off!”

The image of the Man before her tilts his head quizzically, then chuckles, the loud echo of his low laughter sounding like one of her concert hall sound systems. He stops chuckling and looks her in the eye (creepy realism! she thinks), then his low amplified Voice rumbles–

“Ahhhh! You think this is some kind of prank”, the Man’s Voice booms.

‘Oh great… it’s interactive’ Bethany thinks, ‘and this guy is getting a free beaver shot along with his actors scale’

“you just tell morty his little joke is beyond lame now, and get me the fuck out of here!”, the pop star shouts at the giant Man, looking defiantly back into his huge eyes… thinking that the pickup cameras must be embedded somewhere near there on the ‘screen’.

In spite of herself, she flinches when the Giant’s cupped Hand looms close to the plastic rectangle that covers her… and she starts to say, “oh come on now… really! stop with this funhouse crap and”

But she stops in mid-sentence… her mouth still open.

The Giant’s huge ‘virtual’ Fingers and Thumb had gripped the plastic on either side of her!

They were pressed flat against it.

They were squeezing it!

Bethany’s ears popped and she started screaming as The Hand pulled the plastic rectangle away, exposing her to a cool wash of fresh air.

Straining frantically, Bethany screams and screams… and her cries go up an octave when the Giant Man slides a huge lighted makeup Mirror in front of her… showing her the “wall” she was attached to for what it really was– a brightly colored “blister card”… the type that hangs on a toy store pegboard… specifically… it was packaging for a “Bethany” doll, leaning against a huge desktop Vase.

Except now, the real Bethany Collins was mounted on it.

The realization comes crashing down on her… and looking at the image of herself, transfixed on the colorful cardboard square, she stops screaming and starts shaking her head… trying to deny her senses… babbling in a tiny panicky voice– “oh fuck no… please no please oh fuck this is insane.. oh no no… people can’t be made into dolls… no this is a dream… just a dream… ohgodplease… wake up… wake up… somebody please wake me up…

The Giant Man watches the shrunken pop star in the throes of her desperate denial, an amused smile on his face.

“Poor little thing…” He Chuckles, “I assure you this is not a dream!”

Bethany cranes her neck to look up at the Giant’s Face, her little blue eyes looking pitiful and scared, her bound doll-sized body shaking with fear and shock in the loops of wire that pin her against the cardboard.

“please mister… i’ll pay you… i’ll get you whatever you want… just put me back… i promise… nobody needs to know… i’ll do anything…”

And the Giant Laughs, cutting her pleading short…

“Oh I have everything I could ever want now!” His Voice echoes, his huge brown Eyes narrowing as they stare at her sleek but tiny body, his Smile wide and predatory.

“But you’re right about one thing my little songbird…” He chuckles, “you will do anything…”

His Hand rises from the Desk, the loglike Index Finger extended as it homes in on her miniature boobs.

Bethany starts protesting… squeaking “no!! please no!!” over and over again as she desperately tries to avoid that Fingertip… the skin at her wrists and ankles starting to chafe from her efforts…

The Giant makes a loud “Mmmmmmmmm” sound as his insistent Finger twiddles each of her jiggly little tits for a bit… then it pinches the tee shirt and rips it off like so much tissue paper, dropping it on the Desktop.

Bethany stops struggling and looks up at Him, her tiny tits shaking as she gasps for breath, her gaze following the Finger as the Giant puts it to his Lips and licks the Fingertip with His terribly large and glistening Tongue.

“Tell me Bethany… does the term ‘anatomically correct’ mean anything to you?” the Giant rumbles with a smirk as His wet Fingertip slides under her trashy plastic doll miniskirt.

Bethany throws her head back and screams as the huge slippery Fingertip finds her tiny sex, gently pushing against her labia and wiggling in a little tickling motion, the slickness and gentle pressure spreading her pussy lips apart.

A feeling of mortified horror washes over her as her sex lubricates in response to the steady and relentless rubbing, her tiny clitoris stimulated by the slippery ridges of the Giant’s Fingerprints.

Soon the doll sized girl is grunting and wriggling in the twisty-wire bindings… feeling her sex slowly building to an orgasm. As much as she tries to resist, the steady back and forth motion of His Fingerprint ridges bumping against her tiny clit is too much… and soon she lets out a frustrated cry of defeat mixed with pleasure as the orgasm blooms, her little body stiffening on the cardboard mount as the climax explodes, shooting out from her sex along all her nerve pathways and filling her tiny world with sweet electricity for a brief moment.

When the wave of pleasure subsides, the tiny girl unstiffens and hangs her head in shame, her long blonde hair covering half of her face as she struggles to catch her breath, and the Giant’s Finger finally relents and withdraws. He Chuckles in amusement, loud and rumbling, and a miniscule teardrop falls to the desktop, unnoticed by her Giant captor.

the tiny living bethany-doll finally catches her breath and sniffles a few times, then raises her head when a breeze and some motion catches her eye…

her scream is hoarse and tinged with madness as she gazes wide-eyed at the enormous Cock Head that bobs obscenely, mere inches from her chest. she starts shaking her head violently from side to side and the Giant just smiles and nods…

“Oh yes… it’s My turn now little one”, He says, somehow quietly in spite of his echoing, amplified Voice.

His huge Cockhead slides between her miniature breasts, pushing them painfully apart and sliding up and down between them… the Cocktip poking her in the chin every stroke or two… and a glistening globe of pre-cum eventually forms on the Tip and drips down to lubricate her tiny cleavage.

As the Giant takes his pleasure against her, bethany can feel the heat building in the monster Penis as it rubs and rubs against her tiny body like some kind of sensuous dancer nearly as tall as her, the tip-hole occasionally kissing her chin and neck… leaving dabs of the sticky, clear pre-cum on her. After a while, the Cock-skin grows tight and shiny, and she feels bumps rising under the taut skin…

bethany moans and tries to turn her face away, anticipating the inevitable eruption, but it doesn’t help much… the Cock starts pulsing, and gobs of hot semen spurt from the Tip, sticking jelly-like to the side of her doll-face and neck… coating her chest and dripping down her flat tummy to the hem of the trashy plastic miniskirt.

bethany squeaks in disgust as the shooting strings of cum gradually subside, then the Cock withdraws and she looks up, her eyes narrow with anger as she stares defiantly up at the smiling Giant. He responds by wiping the tip his cock against her face, smearing the cum on her cheek all over her mouth and nose, and the tiny girl sputters and nearly chokes as she struggles to breath through the thick white jelly, coughing and spitting, her eyes filled with tears…

“What’s the matter little one?” the Giant taunts, “you think you’re too good to swallow?”

He tucks his Cock back into his Pants and zips up, then throws his head back, laughing at the tiny dollgirl with his hands on his hips.

“Well then… I suppose I should clean you up before I put you in your new home”, the Giant says, casually grabbing the cardboard and lifting her off of the Desktop with breathtaking speed.

Hyperventilating… the miniaturized girl struggles to control her breathing as she soars upward, but it’s no use… her tiny eyes roll back in their sockets, and the world goes mercifully dark… for now.

***
Act 4

bethany’s first dimly felt sensation is a gentle rocking motion and a liquid warmth.  For a moment she’s disoriented, and thinks she’s at her spa.  she can even feel her favorite masseur working on her bod… except… Lars hands feel strangely blunt today… and they have a peculiar ridged feeling to th…

bethany snaps fully awake in an instant, her tiny heart nearly leaping out of her doll sized chest…  she is cupped in the Giant’s Hand over a huge white washbasin, naked and lathered with a fragrant liquid soap.  The Giant’s Fingers are slipping all over her body, working the soap suds, and lingering possessively on her little doll tits, belly and thighs.   the miniaturized girl starts screaming and struggling, trying to avoid the Giant’s huge fleshy digits as they play relentlessly with her.  she feels her tiny ass starting to slide out of his Hand and she rolls with it…

When Richard feels the reduced girl starting to slip from his grasp, he cups her firmly with both hands, pinning her arms to her sides and marveling at the feel of her tiny lean body– slippery, and squirming with *surprising* power in his hands.  Tiny shapely legs stick out one side of his two handed grasp and kick furiously.   The little doll’s face sticks out the other side, grimacing as the cords on her delicate little neck strain with her effort.

Eventually tiny bethany’s struggles weaken, and she lets out a frustrated scream and stiffens one last time, then sags limply in the Giants firm grip, winded from her futile efforts to break away from Him.

“Awwwww… whats the matter, has my little songbird come down with a bad case of modesty??” the Giant mocks as he curls one set of Fingers tightly around her arms and waist, then turns her on her back and starts squeezing a beach towel sized washrag over her with his free hand.  The warm water sluices over her curves, rinsing off the thin sheen of soap and sweat that’s left on her skin from wriggling in his fist

“go fuck yourself” the little pop star gasps… stiffening weakly again and groaning, her legs dangling off one side of the palm of the Giant’s Hand.

“tsk tsk… such nasty language from such a tiny thing” the Giant scolds as he pats her doll body dry with another washcloth, “you really need to control your temper little one” he remarks casually as he pinches one of her cherry sized titties for emphasis.

bethany yelps from the firm tweak and almost starts whimpering, but she bites her lower lip and resolves not to give this asshole the satisfaction

After she’s thoroughly dried and powdered, the Giant proceeds to dress little bethany in a schoolgirl doll outfit– a plaid skirt, a crisp white midriff blouse, knee high stockings, and black shiny plastic shoes. She tries to resist but she’s no match for his powerful Hands as they force her arms and legs into the right positions to slide the ridiculous outfit onto her lean little body.

When he’s finished, the Giant holds her out and looks her over with a hungry gleam in his eye.  “You like to tease don’t you?  The Giant chuckles, “Well, we might as well dress you for the part!”

Then he introduces her to her new home- on a green felt covered table in his well furnished Den sits a large dome topped cage made of glittering brass.  Along one side is a small round bed with silken sheets. On the other side, behind a very short modesty panel is a little china demi-cup, presumably her commode.  In the center is a swing that hangs from the top.

The Giant sets bethany on the swing and locks the Cage.

He sits down next to the table. “Now little one” He rumbles. “Sing for me”

Hopeless and terrified, little bethany  does just that.

 

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short story

Defender

It was Elizabeth’s third tour of duty in the sandbox… and she’d volunteered for it. Her friends and family thought she was crazy, and she agreed, maybe she was. Fuck if she was some kind of super patriot– she came to do what she could for the scratch poor tribals she saw caught between the giant gears of bullshit geopolitics. Not that she would admit that to anyone… fuck’em… let’em think what they want.

So another Saturday night ride out to the latest line in the dirt, one of those badass local sandstorms cranking up, and wouldn’t you know the convoy comes under fire just as the wind and blinding dust are howling and screaming around the whole mess.

Liz feels her ride take a hit and she’s tossed like a rag doll into the wind and fire and static discharge.

And that’s pretty much where *that* story ends.

She wakes up sore and groggy, half covered in dirt. She hears a plane screaming overhead and cracks open one eye, expecting to see one of “ours” given the current state of air superiority, but the fighter streaking by is like nothing she’s ever seen before and her training kicks in– hold still ’till it passes and then find cover.

So she does, but nothing looks familiar. Too much green… the footpath she woke up on has a low ridgeline on one side, a valley on the other, and close to where she’d been laying there’s some wreckage on the trail.

Her first impression was some kind of small remote controlled ground drone, armored and tracked, nothing she’d ever heard of before but who the fuck knows what gear the feds were screwing with these days.

Then she spotted the bodies.

Four of them scattered around the shattered mini-track… which she now saw as a tanklike thing, but way smaller, smaller than a smart car, and a totally unfamiliar design.

But the bodies… what the fuck!? Midgets? They were only about a foot tall… wearing typical military uniforms, but cut and colored like no faction she was aware of. The troops are all messed up bad, torn and broken, very dead.

But her focus was rudely interrupted by a growling sound up ahead, getting quickly louder, and she instinctively crawled deeper into the bush line, went prone, and stared out through the weird little leaves at the most fucking insane thing she’d ever seen…

Another small track pulls up and out hop more small soldiers, one obviously an officer by the orders he’s barking in a language she’d never heard before.

Liz holds her breath as a recovery team lands in a birdlike hovering flyer and gathers up the dead, then they dust off and eventually the other track tears off down the path.

Elizabeth lets out a shaky breath. “Well Toto… we ain’t in fucking Kansas anymore, that’s for sure.”

The next couple of weeks puts Liz in her survival training mode. She scouts out a small sheltered hollow in the ridgeline, barely a shallow cave, and as luck would have it the nearby valley has a village on a decent sized lake where she was able to poach some food and water at night when she wasn’t able to trap one of the little rabbity local critters– luckily not poisonous after a few tentative samples, and actually kinda tasty.

Once she had all that worked out, she started trying to figure how the fuck she got here… what the fuck *was* this place, and how to get back to where she belonged! The first night was a shock– totally unfamiliar night sky. No pattern she could figure out, and then there were the moons… yep. moons.

“Elizabeth Jane Kelly… whatthehell haveya gotten yerself into this time?” She muttered in her dearly departed dad’s heavy brogue.

So she keeps exploring and picking over the spot where she “landed”, for whatever good that did. Over time Liz gains a sort of distant familiarity with the little people in the village as she spies and waits for opportunities to sneak in and poach thier ample stockpiles of cheeses and grains. It’s mostly women and children, some elderly males, presumably the rest of the able bodied men were off fighting whatever the fuck conflict was raging away at the front she’d scouted about ten klicks down the footpath road. The one exception to the village mix was a young adult male she’d taken to calling “Red” in her mind, due to his full head of curly ginger hair and the well kept beard he sported. Red was a dynamic force in the village, helping out anyone in need and pitching in whereever he could, in spite of his pronounced limp, and she assumed that’s what kept him behind when the rest were off fighting. His own family seemed limited to an oldish mother and a kid sister who adored him, even after the good natured teasing that Liz sometimes witnessed Red dishing out to her. But she gave as good as she got, and it was obvious that they loved each other dearly.

As more time went by, Liz started feeling really grungy, and she decided to risk the occasional rinse in an isolated part of the lake during the godforsaken wee hours of the eighteen hour day. On a morning she was having one of these all too infrequent cleanups, leaning back in the altogether and enjoying her soak– one of the few simple pleasures her new reality afforded her! — a sudden gravel slide deposited none other than Red himself on the shoreline. Apparently Red had not only been spying, but really *enjoying* the view for some time, as evidenced by the state of his trousers– being not quite fully on, and he himself sporting a rather gallant lower profile… as it were.

Startled, Liz sits up and lets out a short “HEY!”, water cascading off her glistening nude body and dripping from all her high points as she scoots back and then tries to cover up as best she can under the circumstances.

For his part, Red’s face nearly matches the color of his curly hair, his mouth frozen in a comically rounded O, and he tears off half running half hopping and limping as he desperately tries to pull up his pants while making a hasty retreat into the woods.

And in spite of *her* cover being pretty much blown, Liz can’t help but giggle nervously and even goes so far as to laughingly call out quietly after the receding villager…

“Hey Red c’mon back, I’ll help ya finish!” She laughs, “ya little pervert!”

But all kidding aside, She immediately climbs out of the cool water and makes a hasty retreat of her own… spending the next two weeks laying super low and going hungry, waiting and worried that a posse of little warriors were going to start beating the bushes, or worse yet, carpet bombing the hills to deal with The Giant Water Lady once and for all.

But nothing happens.

“Well Red, either you’re too embarrassed or you’re a good egg, but my vote goes for both” Liz mused one evening in her shelter as she toasted in his general direction with a fresh bowl of village water.

And so it goes… the little war rages on around her, and Liz keeps wracking her brains trying to puzzle out the conditions that dropped her Somewhere, and carefully hooking the occasional fresh supply stash from Red’s town. She was starting to suspect that Red was helping her– it was getting easier, certain supplies were being left closer to the outer edges of the town.

“Thanks Red, *mwah*” She smooched toward the village one night, a cask of their thin alcoholic brew under one arm, a decent sized cheese wheel under the other.

Then on another night, all hell broke loose.

Liz was sneaking up to the village for yet another supply hook when she heard the sound of a disturbance. She recognized Red’s distinctive (albeit small, ha) tenor, and also his kid sister crying, and some other voices that she didn’t know– harsher and commanding. She picked up her pace and cautiously crawled to one of her vantage points, and came upon a scene that made her blood boil.

It was an APC patrol from the faction Liz had taken to calling the Occupiers– one of the troops had Red pinned against a tree near the lakefront, the soldier’s forearm hard on Red’s neck while he gut punched Red over and over again.

Two other two troops had Red’s sister cornered and were tearing at her clothes as she cried and fought back, but she was obviously overmatched and losing.

Liz felt her fury rise fast and hot… she really had no choice… with a strangled cry she broke cover and charged down the hillside.

The soldier working over Red saw her first, his widening eyes barely having time to register the sight of this furious Giantess charging down at him before her Boot connected, punting him with a bone cracking noise and launching him well above the treeline and off toward the horizon.

She turned and grabbed the other two assholes by the neck and smashed their faces against each other, then tossed them both far off into the lake.

Liz was turning to reassure the small young girl when she heard Red cry out, followed by the loud bark of cannon fire and a dull impact on the lower right side of her back, the force enough to spin her halfway around to see a soldier in the turret hatch of the APC that she’d neglected to check– he was furiously cranking the gun elevation for a head-shot when she drew her sidearm and blasted him to a bloody mess.

“Fuck fuck… oh jesus… fuck…” she chattered as the shock wore off and a massive jolt of pain brought her to her knees.

Red and his sister watched in open mouthed shock as Liz fought her way back to her feet and staggered off, nearly blind with pain, half trotting up the hill and toward her hidey hole… leaving a trail of blood spatters in her wake.

The trek back to her shelter was a pain filled red fog… and she crawled in just as the darkness was closing her vision with a contracting iris of oblivion.

* * *

A dim light joined the dull ache that had been her first shred of self awareness… that and a cool tingly wash against her sore back… then she hears Red’s quiet voice, and his sister’s questioning reply. Red repeats whatever he said and moments later Liz recognizes the low putter of one of the villagers small alcohol powered four-wheelers receding into the distance outside of her shelter.

Her eyes fly open and she tries to get up on her hands and knees, but the spike of pain in her flank and Red’s frantic waving downward prompt her to settle back. She’s lying on her stomach in the shelter, and a very concerned looking Red is standing nearby, next to a small pile of bloodstained linens, water buckets, and other unrecognizable stuff.

“Fixed me up didja loverboy?” Liz croaks ruefully.

Red looks puzzled.

Liz reaches around, wincing, and feels her back– there’s a makeshift dressing wrapped around her midsection. Red nods and reaches into a nearby bucket, pulling out a nasty looking deformed metal slug, makes a face, and points at her backside.

“knew you werea good egg” Liz mumbles along with a weak thumbs up that makes Red step back a bit until he understands it’s ok, then he nods and mimics the gesture.

“so tired” Liz manages… before she drifts off again.

Gradually her wakeful moments become more frequent. Sometimes Red is there to carefully change her dressings and feed her a thin soup he’s got in a cask that he rolls off the back of the four wheeler. Sometimes she wakes up alone, but in those cases there’s always food and drink within easy reach. She starts testing sitting up, and after a few setbacks she has some small victories. They start working on language– She learns that his sister’s name is “Denya” and he’s called “Kuden” but she jokingly insists on calling him Red anyway, and he finally gives up and applies her word for the thumbs up gesture-

ok Liz,” he laughs, “Red.”

Days and weeks go by, Liz gradually recovering from what by amounted to a gunshot wound– luckily far enough off center to miss anything important. She doubted that even Red’s good care could have pulled her though if her kidney or something else had been shattered. She starts taking small walks in the wee hours, Red hovering nearby in the little four wheeler like some kind of 12 inch tall nanny, fussing at her if he thought she was pushing herself too hard.

Finally after about six weeks they both agree that she’s recovered enough to resume her regular search for a way home. To celebrate her recovery, Red brings some of the hamlet’s stronger liquor, a rich purple meadlike drink.

But the mood is sort of bittersweet, both expecting that their regular contact will be diminished as they return to the routines they had before the encounter with the Occupiers.

Liz raises her small cask to Red and addresses him with some of what she’d picked up from their language work– “You saved me Red, fair skies to you and your kith,” then continues “I’m in your debt.”

“You saved us Liz. No debt owed.” Red promptly replies.

“aw Red, how could I let them hurt my secret bath watcher?” Liz replies, teasing him for the first time about their encounter at the lake.

Red’s face flushes and he looks down, totally embarrassed.

Liz sets her finger under the little man’s chin and lifts his face as she unbuttons her shirt.

“C’mon Red, you know you want to…” Liz says quietly as she curls her hand around his little butt and urges him to climb up onto her lap and into her topless embrace, “I do too.”

Afterwards, both naked and satisfied, Red nuzzling contentedly between her breasts, Liz marvels at the many ways they found to give each other pleasure. And that little beard… whew!

And the next morning they begin to make plans over breakfast. Plans to start disrupting the Occupiers from behind the lines… hopefully enough to give Red’s fighting people the opening they need to reclaim their lands.

short story

Mrs. Chandler’s Surprise

I first met Veronica Chandler when I started working in the men’s department at Niemann Marcus. She was a purchaser for the store– an attractive middle aged woman, tall and slim with elegantly styled blonde hair. Her fashion sense tended to the classic yet racy– leather pants, high-heeled designer shoes or boots, fur coats and leather gloves.

I got to know her better during the smoke breaks we often shared out by the loading dock. Mrs. Chandler was a stylish and accomplished smoker… sometimes she would do these slow french inhales, then purse her red lips and exhale a long stream of smoke up into the air– very sexy. I often had to try and hide the umm… effect… her smoking style had on me, and it didn’t help that sometimes she seemed to be teasing me– staring right at me with her crystal blue eyes over a long drag, then blowing her smoke toward me and smiling.

So things went on like that for a while– us chatting and joking during smoke breaks, working together when our tasks intersected– until one afternoon I was called out to deal with a difficult customer and I absent-mindedly left my tablet open on the table in the back breakroom.

Apparently Mrs. Chandler noticed it sitting there and decided to do me a favor by putting it on top of my locker, but I’d left it open to a very kinky story I’d been writing for myself– it was about a young couple who’d come into possession of a shrink ray and were using it to enhance their sex play in a lot of very raunchy ways.

She waited until our next smoke break to share what she’d discovered.

“Stephen I found your tablet sitting out on the breakroom table so I closed it and put it with your other things,” She starts nonchalantly, “…but before I closed it, I couldn’t help but notice your story.” She chuckles. “Shrinking for pleasure… what a very interesting concept!” She says with a playful smirk, followed by a jaunty puff on her long white cigarette.

I feel my face flush red with embarrassment… “Oh j-jeez Mrs. Chandler you must think I’m crazy…” I stammer, “…it’s j-just a weird sci-fi idea I had… I mean… it’s so out there…” I sputter.

“Oh don’t be embarrassed honey.” Mrs. Chandler reassures me, laying a slim gloved hand on my arm. “You might be very surprised at who would find such an idea attractive…” she purrs, “…and relevant.” she adds with a mysterious smirk.

I take a nervous puff from my Benson & Hedges and stub it out on the wall. “Well if you say so Mrs Chandler… and Thanks… your opinion means a lot to me.”

“Oh don’t mention it Stephen… it’ll be our little secret.” she replies with a smile and a conspiratorial wink.

I was so relieved that finding my kinky story hadn’t freaked her out about me, but I was puzzled by what she meant by that “relevant” comment.

As it turned out… I didn’t have long to wonder.

It was later that week… Friday. I was closing up the store, the last to leave as usual! I hear a tapping at the front glass doors. Exasperated and expecting to see some schlub with a last minute socks problem, I was surprised to see Mrs. Chandler waving and beckoning for me to come open the door. She’s dressed in one of her typical early winter outfits– leather pants, tall boots, a hip length silver fox fur coat, and her expensive silk lined leather dress gloves.

I stride over and quickly unlock the door for her. “Hi Mrs. Chandler, what’s up?”

“Oh Stephen, I hate to be a bother, but my car was making a strange noise shortly after I started it. Do you think you could come listen to it for me and let me know if I should be driving it or not?” she asks, tilting her head in her charming imploring way.

“Of course, give me a second, I was just about to lock up anyway.”

Soon we were at her car, a silver Mercedes-Benz two seater parked in a managers spot. Working class stiffs like me had to park out back by the dock, so I was hoping when we were done she’d at least give me a lift back there for my trouble.

We climb in– Mrs. Chandler locks the doors and starts the sporty car. “It took a little while last time. Do you mind if I smoke?” she smirks.

“Not at all… long as you don’t mind if I do.”

We both laugh and she takes her pack and slim silver lighter from her purse, selects one of her long white cigarettes and hangs it in her crimson lips, then shares her light with me. I can’t help but feel my crotch stirring from the closeness and intimacy of the situation.

We smoke together in silence for a while, but then Mrs. Chandler takes a deep drag and exhales loudly.

“Well I’m afraid I haven’t been completely candid with you Stephen.”

“Oh?”

“I really brought you here to show you something… something very special.” She says, opening the car’s center console and carefully taking out a small object. She holds it out to me, cupped in her slim gloved hand.

“Take a close look, tell me what you think.”

It’s a model car, about four inches long. Strangely enough, it’s a perfect replica of my car.

I lean closer, staring at it.

“Wow, that’s very detailed! Where did you get it made?” I ask, totally impressed but puzzled at the same time.

“I thought you’d say something like that Steve. Now I want you to try something. Click your key fob.”

Smiling and confused, I reach into my pocket and press the unlock button on my keyring.

…and the tiny car chirps… its pea sized headlights flashing twice.

“Wow… that’s amazing!”

Mrs. Chandler sighs and carefully stashes the tiny car back in the center console.

“Ok, one more thing to show you. I’ll explain as we drive back to your parking spot.” she says, putting her car in drive and heading around the store toward the loading dock.

“My late husband… in spite of his other shortcomings… was a brilliant material physicist. But he was obsessed with one project in particular… he wanted to devise a way to expand molecules so he could easily study their structure and nature first hand. Ironically what he wound up creating was a way to go in the other direction… and back again… but never larger than the original. You see, right before he died, my husband had developed a reduction device… like the shrink ray in your sexy little story.”

I feel my face flushing, because now I’m pretty sure she’s teasing me, an elaborate prank, but at this point she stops her car and puts it in park.

“So where *is* your car Stephen?” Mrs. Chandler asks with a devilish smirk.

I look to where it was parked… and… it’s gone.

She opens the console again.

“Look closer Steve… through the little windshield… at the front seat.”

I set my cigarette in the Mercedes ashtray and peer closely into the center console. The little car is sitting in a nest made from one of her Hermes scarves, and barely visible on its passenger front seat are the things I lug around with me all the time– a New York Yankees gym bag… the logo faded exactly right, also my travel coffee mug and some file folders that I’d dropped there…  just. this. morning.

She closes the console lid, cutting off my wide eyed gaze. I look up at her in disbelief!

Mrs. Chandler is smiling widely at me from the drivers seat. Her slim gloved hand is holding a smallish round pucklike device– it’s humming and tiny bright blue pinpricks of light are pulsing in the lens that nearly fills its diameter. She’s pointing it… at me.

“Time to shrink you.” Mrs. Chandler whispers, and her leather clad thumb flexes on a small metal stud embedded in the edge of the device.

…and I feel my skin tighten… and I can’t move any part of my body more than a few millimeters… a strong sinking sensation blooms in the pit of my stomach…  and I notice the top edge of the dashboard is starting to rise upward and at the same time move away from me… the rest of the car interior is doing the same thing… Mrs. Chandler watches me closely… grinning with anticipation… and She’s also gradually growing taller… and larger…  and my cock starts getting hard…

I try to cry out but all I can manage are little whimpering noises from the back of my throat… and then I can’t see over the dashboard anymore… I’m breathing in ragged gasps… Mrs. Chandler is now more than twice my size… a twelve foot tall Blonde Goddess, Her blue eyes sparkling with amusement as She grows even larger over me… and then I can’t see anything outside at all…  the car windows are too high and everything else around me keeps steadily rising and moving away from me… and then my head is lower than the top of the center console…  my cock stiffens even harder…  and the sensations intensify… everything rising and pulling away and getting larger faster…

and then I hear a loud >CLICK<

and the feelings abruptly stop.

I’m gasping for breath… my heart pounding…

I’m sitting in the middle of a huge cream colored leather bucket seat.

I’m only eight inches tall.

A large cloud of menthol smoke surrounds me… I look up at the direction it came from…

A Fifty Foot Tall Leather and Fur clad Giantess… Veronica Chandler… smiles down at me… Her gloved Hand is holding a giant Cigarette poised next to Her beautiful billboard sized Face!

“Oh look at you… such an adorable little doll!” The elegant Blonde Giantess gushes in a loud echoing Voice as She leans closer…

She takes a deep drag from her cigarette, the long white 120 rising at jaunty angle in Her crimson lips, then She slowly blows smoke at me again, Her huge icy blue eyes sparkling with a mad possessive glee.

my heart is pounding like crazy… i start scooting back on my ass… trying to move away from the fifty foot tall Blonde Goddess.

“oh please mrs chandler just make me normal again!” i shout up at Her… my voice small and quiet compared to Her loud echoing contralto.

“No little man, I have many fun games planned for us,” Giantess Veronica replies, “I want to hold you in my hand like a little toy,” She gloats.

…and before i can react the Blonde Giantess reaches down and captures me!

Her long leather clad fingers and thumb curl firmly around my body, warm and tight, pinning my arms to my sides and then lifting me up with dizzying speed off the car seat and up to her smiling Face!

i flex and grunt in her firm grasp, kicking my little legs as the Blonde Giantess examines me. Her Gloved Finger rudely explores my little body, touching and poking me at will. She discovers the bump in the crotch of my doll sized pants and her Fingertip lingers there, rubbing and twiddling the hard little nubbin underneath, making me stiffen up and squirm in Her grasp. She grins and takes another puff from her cigarette and blows the smoke right at my little crotch.

“ohpleaseveronica putmedown letmego” i gasp in my tiny voice, still flexing helplessly in her glove and kicking my doll sized legs.

“I’m taking you home with me little man. I have a fancy brass birdcage just waiting for you in my bedroom,” the Blonde Giantess purrs, “…you’re small enough to fit in my purse now.” She adds with an amused laugh.

She opens Her Purse and drops my squeaking and kicking little doll sized form inside, quickly snapping the latch closed over me.

I tumble in amongst Her Giantess Things…. a Virginia Slims 120’s Cigarette Pack… Lipsticks… Sunglasses… a Lighter…. a Makeup Compact… a four foot long “travel sized” box of Tissues. It’s dark and the smell of the purse leather is strong, mixed in with the faint scents of menthol tobacco and Her perfume.

I lay there in the dark… in shock… catching my breath… my cock still hard in spite of the nightmarish unreality of my predicament.  All I can think is… She has a real Shrink Ray… and She Knows… She read my story and She Knows what my fantasies are… holy shit.

I can feel her car moving… and I’m getting poked by her Purse Things so I start pulling Tissues out of the box and arranging them into a little makeshift padded nest. After a while the car stops and my breath is taken away again when the purse is lifted faster than any elevator I’ve ever experienced, making me let out a little yelp that She must have heard, because I hear Her laughing quietly outside as the purse starts swaying, punctuated by the regularly spaced loud >CLICKS< of high-heeled Boots striking the pavement.

Then I hear the loud jingling of keys– a door opening and closing with a huge >WHUMP< sound that I actually feel in my bones… a brief period of more dizzying swaying and the sound of heels clicking on a wooden floor… then the movement finally stops with an abrupt landing that nearly knocks the wind out of me.

The top of the purse >SNAPS< opens… Her beautiful and terrifying Face filling the opening, smiling down at me with delight.

“Well someone has been a very busy little man!” She teases, staring at me splayed out in my little nest of Tissues.

She reaches in and grabs me, Her long slim gloved Hand curling firmly around my body again, lifting me, little legs kicking furiously, up and out of her purse.

i’m suspended in her Glove over an enormous bedroom Vanity Table covered with various giantess items– Perfumes, Lipsticks, and Makeup Jars.  There’s a silver Jewelry Box, a glass Ashtray with lipsticked Cigarette Butts in it… and off to the side… a fancy domed brass Birdcage with a smoky dark sheer Nylon Stocking bunched up inside toward the back.

Mrs. Chandler’s elegant fur coat has been draped over the back of the vanity chair she’s sitting on, revealing that she’s wearing a low cut red halter top tucked into her close fitting leather pants, and her wicked looking high-heel Boots.

“Now I have you all to myself.” the Blonde Giantess gloats quietly, holding me firmly in Her Gloved Hand and stroking the side of my face with a pointy leather Fingertip.

“oh please just let me go mrs chandler!” i grunt, flexing in Her Glove and trying to avoid the Fingertip.

The Blonde Giantess pouts at my token resistance, then she smirks and sets me down on the Vanity.

i immediately scamper for the nearest cover… behind the Jewelry Box… crouching down and peering fearfully up at Her from around the side of the Box.

The fifty foot tall Woman laughs with giantess delight at my antics.

“It’s a long way down for you little man… you might want to stay away from the edge.” She warns me, only half jokingly.

Giantess Veronica leans over to grab her cigarette pack from her purse, her sleek giantess Tits straining against the thin red fabric of her halter top and shaking deliciously overhead as she pulls out one of her long white cigarettes and lights it, leaving it dangling in her red lips.

She casually reaches over and pinches the scruff of my shirt, lifting me up and depositing me back on the Vanity in front of Her.

She leans close, her Face filling my field of vision, and points a gloved Finger at me.

“You won’t be needing those clothes any more little man,” She informs me, Her Cigarette bouncing up and down with Her Words.

“Take them off and leave them in a little pile right here.” Her long leather clad finger taps the table in front of me.

my face flushes… i quickly shake my tiny head in mute denial.

“Don’t make me get nasty.” The Giantess growls, poking her Cigarette at me, moving it closer and making me flinch and cower from the heat, backing me up until i’m stopped by the Jewelry Box.

“… and if you don’t take them off, I’ll just rip them off your little body, and that might hurt a bit.” She adds.

i quickly hold my little hands up in front of me in surrender, trying to ward off the threatening Cigarette.

“ok ok i’ll take them off!” i squeak

The Giantess relents and leans back.

“Do it slowly… give me a nice little strip tease.” She orders, smiling and taking a deep satisfied drag, then blowing a huge cone of smoke up into the air.

“…and move closer so I can see all your little details.” She adds, tapping the table in front of her with a slim gloved finger.

i’m shaking… but my dick is getting stiff again as i slowly pry my shoes off… then peel my socks away and drop them one by one, looking fearfully up at Her to make sure i was doing what She wanted.

The Giantess nods and tilts Her Head for me to continue.

Next is my shirt, peeling it slowly up over my head and dropping it to flutter down with the other stuff.

“Mmmm… very nice, ” The Giantess murmurs when my bare chest is revealed.

i slowly peel my jeans off… stepping out of them and adding them to the little pile and feeling my face flush with heat because of the obvious tent in the front of my white underwear.

“Such a naughty little man,” The Giantess teases, “…now off with those so I can see everything.” She purrs.

and i peel off the underwear… stepping out of it and awkwardly standing up… my doll sized cock bouncing to full attention under Her frank Inspection.

The Blonde Giantess opens the vanity drawer and takes out a Magnifying Glass, then leans very close to me… holding the glass over my crotch… surrounding me with the scents of Her perfume and menthol smoke.

“What an adorable little penis.” The Giantess murmurs, and her other Glove moves in behind me. I feel Fingertips lightly touching my back, from my ass up to my shoulders… and the hard edge of the Cigarette Filter, which for some weird reason makes my cock stiffen even harder. Her Thumb in the front starts to gently rub the bottom of my tiny erect penis, making me shudder and gasp from the touch of smooth black leather against my miniature glans.

“Tiny and perfect.” The Giantess breaths quietly, gently rubbing my little erection with Her Thumb for a bit more, then withdrawing and putting the glass down to the side, leaving me gasping and shivering nude on the tabletop.

“Lay on your back with your arms and legs spread out,” She orders quietly.

i crouch down and lay back, spreading out and looking up at the vast Bedroom Ceiling above… my heart pounding so fast… and Her Gloved Hand looms over me and manipulates my arms and legs… making some small adjustments so my arms are spread in an upward V… my legs mirroring the same shape downward.

then i hear the alarming scratchish noise of scotch tape, and her smiling Face hovers over me as her Glove pins me down.

She quickly tapes my wrists and ankles to the tabletop, then tapes a longer strip across my midsection.

“whatareyoudoing?!” i gasp, straining against the unyeilding tape.

“Shhhh… I think you’ll enjoy this little man,” She whispers, “…at least I know I will.” She adds with a chuckle.

i hear the Vanity Drawer open and close, then the Blonde Giantess is hovering over me again. She’s holding a small red Feather, about three inches long, pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

“Such a pretty little butterfly,” The Giantess coos, “Tickle tickle little butterfly,” She teases in a mocking sing-song Voice as She wiggles the Feather Tip against the bottom of my tiny feet.

i laugh uncontrollably as she tortures my feet. She keeps at it until i’m begging her to stop, then she pauses and waits for me to catch my breath again.

Then when i’m settled a bit… She starts tickling the tip and bottom of my doll sized penis, making my little cock spring to attention.

i gasp and shudder as she gently strokes me with the Feather, relentlessly torturing my sex until it’s weeping.

“Mmm there… isn’t that’s nice?” She murmurs quietly as i shudder and flex against the Tape.

“ohgod… veronica… oh…” i gasp.

“Ah-ah-ahhh…  Mistress from now on,” She chides, still delicately torturing the glans and tip of my stiff little cock with the Red Feather…

“Now give Mistress your dollie love,” She whispers, twiddling the Feather a bit faster.

and my miniature orgasm blooms… my doll sized cock shooting tiny dewdrops of cum into the air onto the tip of the Feather and back on my belly and crotch.

“That’s my good little dollie.” Mrs. Chandler praises as i tremble… and she keeps tickling my little sex with the Feather… milking the last bits of cum from me until i’m twitching from overstimulation and begging her to stop.

“Oh my poor little butterfly forgot to say ‘Please Mistress'” The Giantess teases.

“*gasp* please mistress *uhf* stop”

“Very well… I allow you to stop cumming.”

The Blonde Giantess puts the Feather aside and carefully peels the Scotch Tape from my tiny body. She picks me up, cupped in her Glove, and lifts me close to Her Lips, then starts Kissing me all over, leaving bright red Lip-Prints all over my bare skin– my chest, ass, thighs, and crotch– all peppered with Her Marks.

The Giantess holds me out to inspect her handiwork.

“Oh look at you little man, all sticky and covered with my kisses. I think you need to rest in your little cage for a bit.” Giantess Veronica informs me, opening the birdcage and standing me up inside, then she locks the gate with a small silver padlock.

i scamper to the back of the Cage and kneel down… pulling her sheer black tinted Nylon around me to try and cover my nude and red lipstick speckled body.

Giantess Veronica laughs. “Aren’t you just adorable in your pretty little cage?”

She possessively strokes the cage bars with a slim gloved hand and gloats… “My very own sexy little stevie doll… isn’t that delicious?” She gushes.

The Blonde Giantess takes another jaunty drag on her cigarette, puckers her red lips, and blows the smoke into my cage.

“Try to catch your breath doll. I’m going to go pour a glass of wine and then we’ll have some more… playtime.” She purrs.

She stands up and leaves the bedroom, trailing smoke and humming some satisfied Giantess tune.

This is insane… Veronica Chandler has shrunk me to the size of a doll… and she’s keeping me as her own private little toy for Her Amusement.

my tiny cock stiffens.