M

muerte

She was exhausted, and glad to be back.

“M, I am home,” she said quietly, and slowed down her pace. She didn’t always see him right away, and he slept often. She dropped her heavy travel cloak on the floor, and began to undo the laces on her dress. They were long, and her hands were cold, but she was determined. Her dress fell to the floor in a heap. Her thin shift was all the remained besides the bandage on one of her hands, when she finally spotted him.

He lay asleep on her finest undergarment, which rested on her bed, and had been bundled in a heap to resemble bedding as closely as possible. She smiled when she remembered it had not been washed before she left. Her shift flew over her head, and she dropped next to him, as gently as she could. His tiny body bounced and shook from side to side, but he only blinked and lifted his head. When he saw her next to him, he sighed contentedly, and whispered, “you are back”.

“I am.”

“How fared the Peace Talks?”

“Very well. We signed the compact.”

That seemed to awaken him. He turned his body from a curling sleeping position, to face her. She rewarded his effort with a descending fingertip. She placed it gently on his head, and watched it dip before she moved down his tiny shoulder, arm, and manly thigh. She brought her finger back up his leg, and moved it between them. He gasped, but his eyes were on hers.

“We signed it in blood,” she continued. His body responded very quickly, and she could hear his breathing changing. He still watched her. He knew there was something she wasn’t saying. “And it is a fair agreement. We will have peace, and we will be able to leave the Precipice.”

“Oh- mmm- tell me the price.”

“Shh… do not ask me to tell you just yet.” She didn’t want to spoil the beautiful hardness of him. His hips had begun rocking against the tide of her fingertip, and his eyes shone with two kinds of intensity. He swallowed hard, and tried to push her fingertip away.

“Tell me now.”

She sighed, but kept her finger in place. His little hands felt like firebrands on the sides of her finger. Incredible, she thought, that such a being can be so cold, and burn so bright when we are alone. Her touch was distracted when she revealed the truth.

“She wants you.”

“She does? Cumandá the Breacher wants another small man for her collection. And you agreed to this?”

She sighed heavily, but never stopped caressing him. She knew she could conjure up renewed blood flow if she stayed the course. He didn’t fight her. Instead, his hands gripped the sides of her finger with renewed strength, and he began to match her rhythm.

“You do not have to do it. You have the Precipitant army at your command, and her troops are yours as well. You only have to say the word. You are their true Gad. She is only an interloper.”

“An interloper who calls herself a Gad, and pulverizes anyone who says differently. I saw corpses hanging on every road, and their only crime had been to call her The Breacher. Remember, sweet love: she killed all the Gads.”

M was close. His eyes were half closed, and his breathing was ragged. His hips moved faster, and she smiled, pressing her fingertip harder against his body. She turned it, and pinned him. He gasped, and looked at her, with feigned surprise. They had done this many times before.

“Sit on me, Rebel Gad. Sit on me, and make me yours again.”

“You are always mine. Now mark my fingertip, darling. Show me how much you love me, or I will never sit on you again.” Her fingertip began to knead him, and it wasn’t long before he cried out, his little face screwed in ecstasy, and then laughter. Somewhere else in the castle, puppies were born dead.

“I am glad you can laugh at a moment like this.” That sobered him up. He looked away for a moment, and returned his gaze to hers. “I am sorry about the pups.”

“What pups? Never mind pups. I told you that monster wants you, and you love and laugh as though nothing is happening.”

“She did not kill all the Gads. You are the last Gad, and you will rule again.”

“Please recall that she did kill me. I was dead.”

“Not dead enough. I would like to know one day… how you managed that.”

“I have told you before. I think you saved me.”

“Maybe. I do not understand how. I was there to collect your sisters, and you were the last one to fall. I stood over you, a young girl of twelve years, your body as long as a woman’s, but slight as a child’s. That stone blade, buried deep in your chest. I stood over you, and felt something I had never felt before when our eyes met. Something here.” He pointed at his chest.

“Maybe it was compassion.”

“I do not know compassion.”

“You do, when you take someone quickly. My sisters could have lingered in pain, but I saw their light dancing in your eyes. They were at peace. When I understood they were beyond danger, I wanted the man who had made them safe.”

“That is when I found myself a man, when I had not been one before. And that is when I found myself very small, a fraction of what I used to be, and by your side.”

“Where you have always been. Where you waited patiently, until I was of age.”

“It was not hard. You were nothing but bones.”

She arched an eyebrow, and laughed. “Bones, huh? I was bones?”

“And now you are full and round, and I adore you.”

She began to caress his full length again. She would sit on him soon, but not before she shared her plan.

“Her small men are older now. She wants young flesh to abuse. She claims she has the power of a Gad, but there are no new small men in all the land. There never will be.”

“Until I am delivered.”

“Until that day. She signed the Peace Compact with blood, so she cannot break her oath; but there are ways around the finer points. She will try to imprison me so as to force me to make more of you, for her.”

“There are no more of me.”

“She does not know that.”

“She knows very little, if she could not tell that your blood did not come from you, but from a Dibbit.”

“Success was worth one of my fingers. I am only glad the Dibbit was willing to replace it, and sacrifice itself. Sometimes they simply drop dead.”

“I wonder what else you are growing… making… in that horror farm of yours.”

She smiled magnificently, and said nothing. He wanted to smile with her, but contained himself. Who knew what else might drop dead, if he did.

“What is your command, my Gad?”

“I want you to travel to Gad castle. The Precipitant Guard will escort you to its doors. Then, once you are inside the walls, I want you to release Pestilence.”

He inhaled slowly, but sharply. “On all the land?”

“No, not all the land. Only the castle.  Men, women, children. And the Breacher. The Breacher, first. And when you whisper your True Name in her filthy ear, I want you to call her that.”

“It will be as you wish, my love. Now, sit on me, and ride me.”

And she did.

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4 thoughts on “M

  1. This is very complex. Is this part of a larger work? Does it refer to something else? I was able to piece much of it together, and I’ll reread it a few more times. It’s very fascinating and intriguing. Now the tiny man is simply a fact of life in a much larger world where the focus is elsewhere.

    I love their relationship, co-conspirators and lovers in their way. I’m interested in exploring how power dynamics shift in size-fantasy, how a man adjusts to losing so much power when shrunken, whether he can question the structure of power and find different worth and value for himself in the new context, and what power he can exert from his seeming disadvantage. At least as interesting is the woman who engages with him to coax and wheedle new aspects from him for her own satisfaction, without resorting to blunt force and obvious overtures of manipulation. I enjoy your characters very much, and the fabulist setting in this story is highly engaging.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I think it is… part of a larger work. When I thought of it, I wrote it down, which is entirely the opposite of what I’ve always done, which is, 1. Think about a story; 2. Never write it down; 3. Commend it to oblivion. Or I write something about it, and leave it alone for years. I have text documents on this Mac about stories that will never get written, because they are in AOL format, which refuses to adapt to anything I throw at them.

      It refers to nothing else that exists. It amuses me that you say you were able to “piece much of it together”. It’s a little convoluted, and it doesn’t carry all the ideas… it hardly expounds upon anything, so it might be a confusing read. But I thought it was perfect for Halloween.

      I hope you do explore power dynamics. I would love to read anything you produce on it, as it’s always been an idea that fascinates me. Example: why does a little man have to be powerless? What if he isn’t? What if he’s extremely powerful, in some way? And yes, I’m an absolute sucker for equal partnership in a F/m couple. They fight, they make up, they have children, they go through life together. It doesn’t always have to be about crushing, or chewing, or growing, or sitting on a building, etc.

      Not that those things are’t absolutely lovely. Ahem.

      Thank you for the comment! 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      • If translating AOL to anything else weren’t enough of a challenge, an enticing challenge, I feel a sense of desperation at the thought of lost giantess stories. (I’m sure you’ve already tried anything I could think of, like https://gallery.technet.microsoft.com/AOL-PFC-Converter-5c9a5091.) I used to RP sessions over Telnet with lovely young giantesses-in-training, and way, way too late in the game I discovered I could capture these text adventures into a document, to convert into stories later. I badly mourned all the sessions that were lost to time (since my baseline is the assumption I will suddenly stop producing new ideas when I need them, or that other people come up with things that don’t occur to me), and around the same time I started preserving these sessions they began to peter out and stop happening. All of these were precious to me and I convert them with each decade as the technology improves and I upgrade my computer. Maybe someday I’ll even do something with them.

        I think, especially in the case of Matheson’s The Shrinking Man, the powerlessness comes from what we now call toxic masculinity: fucked up standards for what makes a real man, or even prioritizing “a real man” over “a capable person with full agency”. So sure, a little guy who’s wanting in altitude could make up for it with imagination, vocabulary, lateral thinking, deep sociological understanding… any of the intellectual or emotional capital that make a powerful person. In a way, stripping away the brute physical aspect of a man gets down to the core of who he is and what he offers a large or small society. If all he has to offer is reaching objects on tall shelves, lifting heavy objects, or punching people in the jaw, then yes, being shrunken rapidly reduces his worth and limits his opportunities.

        On the other hand, if he’s willing to embrace it, a woman can instill him with new worth and render him exquisite. Another breakdown of corrupting traditional gender roles, with rich rewards for those who make the journey. I think so.

        Liked by 1 person

        • I haven’t tried everything there is, yet. Thank you for the link, though it won’t work for Mac users. I’m not out of options yet. In any case, I might fire up AOL again (I still have the application, and the actual disk) in some old, friendly environment, and see if I can rescue any “jewels”. I don’t know why I feel there’s a finite amount of ideas, and I should fetch old ones, if can can. Nonsense. There’s always a new idea, but I’m very attached to some of those old ones, even if by now some of them have turned, and become overused. Just some. There are ideas I had I suspect no one else has thought of (or so I flatter myself). I just have to be very careful when -if- I republish them, as the last thing I want is to violate anyone’s privacy, no matter how long ago it existed.

          See, that’s where my enjoyment for such a tiny man comes in. My witnessing his real manhood. It holds enormous currency with me. It might not with the rest of the world, which in turn produces that it’s-us-against-them rush, and makes what I imagine a relationship with such a tiny man ever the more captivating. Yes, the woman “owns” him, but he has her in the grip of his bitty palm, as well. I used to truly grieve that no one like him really exists. I used to yearn for him, ever so painfully. Having matured a little bit in the last few years, I’ve come to only bask in the enjoyment of thinking about the idea of him. It’s enough. Who knows… maybe if I write about him long enough, men all around the world will start to shrink, and become all they can become.

          Liked by 1 person

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