Shrinking Him Again

shrinking_him_2
“You are shrinking, my darling…”

“I’ve always loved the idea.”

“I don’t get it. What good am I that small?”

“As good as you are now. Better.”

“How could I possibly be better? My muscles would be smaller, my penis would look like a toy; I’d probably sound like a munchkin. I could’t even reach the kitchen counters… wait, you said two feet in height?”

“Two inches.”

“Oh, that’s nuts! That’s Lego size. I’d be as weak as a bug. No, I hate the idea. Hate it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, OK? It pisses me off.”

“That’s too bad.”

“We’ve had a great time so far. I like you. I really like you. I like, like you. Why ruin it with complete honesty? We’ve only known each other for two months.”

“You’ve known this about me for years. We’ve been chatting online for years. And you still wanted to meet me, and then date me. Despite my peculiarities.”

“Yeah. You’re hot, and smart, and sexy. A bit odd, but… god, you drive me crazy.”

He kissed her again. They had been kissing for hours, the dinner she cooked forgotten on the table after he powered up her iPod, and Ella and Satchmo started singing about nearness, and wild dreams coming true. He pulled her up and into his arms, and she had just finished swallowing that last bite, when he wrapped her lips in his. Now they were on her couch, their arms a tangle, their breath catching when they had stopped to talk for a moment. But now she talked into his mouth, as she kissed him.

“Shrink… for me.”

“Stop. No, don’t stop. Just… shh. Let me touch you. I want to touch you everywhere.”

“Shrink for me.”

And they kissed, her lips now wrapping his. He didn’t notice. His brain had no blood to make thoughts happen.

“Shrink, my beautiful man.”

“Fuck- say that again…”

“Shrink.”

Her lips caressed his entire face now.

“No, not that- wait. Stop! What’s happening?!”

“Shrink… shrink… shrink, sweet little toy of mine.”

“Let me go! No!”

But she kissed him again, and again, sucking in his entire head, and letting it go when the vacuum of her mouth changed its flow on the exhale. His hair was damp, and his face was wet. Her hands had moved to his armpits, holding him as though she was holding a small child. He fought, gasped for air, tried to scream, but she kissed him again, and stole his scream away.

“Shrink for me.”

He was smaller in her hands, and she sucked his body halfway into her mouth, feeling his silken body slip out of it when she released him like a baby being born. His body was limp, but his eyes were rolling in his head, his mouth the tiniest o, as he tried to scream again. He now fit in the palm of her hand.

“My love, you are so very tiny; so small, so perfect. Let me show you how perfect you are.”

After a while, he wasn’t so limp anymore.

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14 thoughts on “Shrinking Him Again

  1. Holy fuck… that was hot.

    That was methodical and relentless and hot. Never mind your aptitude for tight, rich dialogue, the little details that make character stand out. The resolution of her desire, her single-minded determination, taking him over and owning him… the only reality is that of possessing him. All the noise falls to the wayside, the demands, the pleas.

    And then she convinces him. *breathes deeply*

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, Aborigen. I’m glad you enjoyed it. It felt wonderful to write it; I mainlined it directly from the giantess trapped inside me. It certainly is fortunate she convinced him, but there wasn’t any other alternative left for him.

      Years later, he’ll think back on that moment, and laugh. He’ll think, how could I have ever thought that leaving my life, my profession, my possessions, my family, my friends, was the very detriment of being this small?

      Or she’ll tell him that’s what he’s thinking.

      Liked by 1 person

      • What I’m getting out of this is the intensity of her desire, the nearly sociopathic urge to possess… not even to control. It comes up in other stories, a woman who’s all “no, look, I have to have you. If you knew how much joy this gives me, if you knew you were capable of giving another person so much consummate satisfaction and pleasure, you’d comply in an instant. Who wouldn’t? You’d feel gifted to provide this for someone else! So… I’ll just take you now, and you’ll figure it out later. I’ll help you.” It’s so intense to sit nearby and watch this happening, feeling the entire room darken around the edges and slowly thrum with her need and her conviction, I can scarcely imagine having that focused upon myself. That must be frightening indeed.

        Liked by 1 person

        • Well, crap. I can’t remember ever feeling this prosaic before. But the truth is, I haven’t read enough stories to know what comes up in them. I’ve read some, but not enough. I suppose I should have known, but it didn’t cross my mind when I was writing this entry. I simply sat down, and wrote what I was thinking. Nothing more complicated than that.

          On one hand, it’s enjoyable to do just that, and I could continue to do just that. Remain in my little sphere, in the blogging world. Maybe eventually realizing there’s nothing new for me to say, and quit writing entirely. Go… I don’t know. Sell stuff on eBay. Grow a garden, and run a farmer’s market stall. (I’m not saying those are lesser things to do; just different.)

          On the other hand, I can continue to write, and maybe do what other people that love to write do, and work harder to get better. It’s not going to just happen to me because I write. Or only because I write.

          But back to the character… it’s entirely selfish, what she does. She doesn’t care what he feels. All that matters is that she wants him. Nothing else exists. It’s the most perfect form of possession, since it only exists as a point of origin for future reciprocation, as I (and however many others that write about it) imagine it. The same way we imagine fear, then no fear, then arousal at super tall woman, then happily ever after.

          Liked by 1 person

          • I miswrote. I meant this comes up in your other stories. That’s what impresses and thrills me, these women who absolutely must convert their beloved me into much smaller versions. I like it very much, it appeals to me, and I’m very sorry for the confusion. There’s nothing wrong with your writing; in fact, your stories and vignettes are superior and wonderful on their own or measured up against anyone’s. There’s nothing prosaic to them.

            Liked by 1 person

            • Well, that changes everything. Let me get back to resting on my laurels, then. 😀

              But truly getting back to those hands: on one hand… just the one hand, I haven’t really put any effort at improving my writing in the past few years, and this neglect has manifested itself mainly in not writing at all, which is a terrible choice for someone like me. Not intentionally, your comment was a wake-up call. So, thank you for that. I’m off to practice my prepositions. I really have trouble on those.

              Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, A. You always say the nicest things to me.

      But what do you mean by “lately”? I’m always wonderful. 😀

      Now, seriously: everything I love to share about myself is already here, or will be in the future. Information will flow organically; but at the same time, with great restraint. Otherwise I might start rambling on about my patronymic, favorite color, my enjoyment of long walks on the beach, and other forced nonsense.

      Alright, if you insist. I love soup.

      Like

  2. So damn hot, each line is better than the previous one. Love gradual shrinking, even more so if handled like you did here. This is one of those posts I’ll keep revisiting, I wager.

    Here’s hoping she’ll let him rest once she’s through. In her shoe, for instance. He’d fit just fine.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thank you, Balore. I know I say so myself, but I agree with you. Writing as I wrote put me in a state… or I was already in a state, and simply wrote what was in my head. I don’t know which chicken came first.

      This was nearly whiplash-fast shrinking, though. Slow shrinking takes… oh… hmm… weeks. A week. A day? And she’ll let him rest, of course. She’ll find various delightful places where he can lay his head, and be tucked in safely. Shoes are a must.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Woof…this was a fun read. I’ve always been a fan of size changing with kisses, and this little gem was crafted with oodles of passion. ^.^ …as for writing everything that pops into the mind (including matters of soup), I’m living that dream right now…and off to do more of it…

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I love when the woman looks at the man and says to herself “you’re great and all, but would be vastly improved by being reduced to two inches in height”.

    In my fantasies it always extends out to the whole female species taking a look at the male species and saying “wouldn’t everything just be better if you were tiny?”

    So very woof.

    Liked by 1 person

    • And I love it when the man looks at the woman, and says to himself, “you’re great and all, but I would be vastly improved by your growing a couple hundred feet in height”.

      It really is deplorable when the couple of times in real life I have hinted at the thought of a man being two inches tall, it’s had a cold reception. Don’t they know what’s good for them?

      Like

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