He sat on her chin, making a distinct effort not to laugh every time she tried to peer at him over the summit of her nose. Her eyes crossed before she closed one, then the other, trying to look around each of her nostrils to catch a blurry glimpse of his tiny shape. Why she chose to set him on her chin was beyond his ken, like so many things she did or said. He bit his lip and listened to saliva clicking in her mouth as the muscles that governed her lips began to shape words. She was about to say something. He dug into her soft flesh with his little hands. He knew his hold was meaningless if her words were strong enough to buck.

“I need a story.”

“A story?” he asked, feeling himself bob up and down helplessly as her jaw stretched. He could hear muscles longer than his body play with the opening of her mouth, even if he could not see them inside her head. He wondered why he had asked her that when he heard her so clearly, instead of making sure she said as little as possible. Instead of doing all he could to avoid being hurled into her heavily guarded mouth, even if by accident. She answered with a frustrated gust of warm wind hitting him square in the everywhere before she reiterated her demand.

“Yes. Tell me a story.”

“I-I don’t know any.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Can I move to your chest? Every time you say anything, I feel I’m going to fall off and tumble down either side of your head, and crack my skull so many feet down to the ground.


“Feet to me.”

“Yes, but inches. And you’re not going to fall. You’re going to sit there and tell me a story.”

He clutched handfuls of her skin as tightly as he could. His fingers, infinitesimal as they were, could not compete with whatever moisturizer from hell she applied to her face every morning. Even when he dug his heels into the border of her lower lip line and turned his feet into wedges between it and the protrusion of that massive swath of pink flesh, he felt as unsteady as a leaf in the wind- no, a leaf in the gutter, to be swallowed by darkness too profound to contemplate. Still, he thought, and thought, and came up with nothing. Rather than say as much, he recited his own life to her.

“Once upon a time there was a man. His name was-”


“What? I’m telling you my story.”

“I… I don’t know. I’m… I feel alarmed to know your name, after all this time.”

“How do you know it’s my name, and not just a made-up bunch of random words?”

“Because I know. I know things. Like how I knew I could shrink you even though such things are impossible.”

“I see. I guess you do know, because I was about to tell you what used to be my name. We both know that’s not my name now.”

She sighed so hard, she almost blew him off her. And she didn’t notice.

“Go on.”

“His name was Orton Ransom McGillis- Hey! Watch it!”

It was clear she was trying to contain her mirth, and badly. She was biting her lower lip, and the skin on her chin felt dimpled and taut under him. She was gasping and about to throw him off.

“Stop! You’re gonna make me fall.”

She kept at it for a few seconds longer before her amusement was brought to check, but not before she sighed a bit too happily.

“Aren’t you happy your name is Toy now?”

“Yeah, sure. Ecstatic. Look, do I tell you a story, or can I get off now?”

“Not yet. Go on, tell me your story. I’m sorry.”

“OK, that’s better. So, his name was Orton, and he worked in the porn industry-”


“Just- let me finish.”

Again, contained laughter about 5.4 on the Richter scale. He waited it out, wishing for a dark corner in which to hide. Once it was over, he cleared his throat and went on.

“Poor, misunderstood Orton worked in the porn industry composing summaries for porn films. His carefully worded descriptions and delicately crafted keywords filled the world of Internet porn and the still existing DVD market. The money was adequate, but the hours were hell. One particularly grueling day, Orton made his way to his car. He was exhausted, and not paying attention to his surroundings. When he was unlocking his car, he caught movement on the side window’s reflection, and turned his head long enough to see a woman reach his side.

He turned to defend himself, but instead stood there as she smiled at him, and brought her face up to his, and kissed him fully on the lips. He was so startled by her behavior that the prick in his neck went almost unnoticed. What he did notice was that everything turned into darkness then, and when he came to, nothing looked familiar. He would not realize for a full minute that he had been taken from his life, his work, and everything he once knew, and transformed into a two-inch tall man-”


“Man. I’m a man, no matter what you say or how you treat me.”

“Shush. Don’t tempt me to prove your wrong. Finish your story.”

“So, this little man finally made sense of the roaring sound that assaulted his senses, and understood it to be the engine of a car. He finally made sense of the heat surrounding him, and understood it to be mountains of smooth human flesh. He finally made sense of the coarse texture on which he stood, and understood it to be the seat of a car. The driver’s seat.”

The wall of her lower lip stretched into a smirk, and Orton, now Toy, read her thoughts in it. He knew she was thinking of what she made him do as soon as he recovered consciousness. No explanation, not a single demonstration of care, or an attempt to assuage his fears. His panic. His horror. He graduated from man to sex toy that very moment. Magna cum loudly.

“Go on….”

“After months of being treated like an object, Orton began to think of himself as one. He stopped begging to be regrown or returned to his life. He didn’t have to work anymore, except as a human dildo for the woman that shrank and took him. He had zero responsibilities, except to keep her satisfied. His family, his friends, everyone that had once known him were still grieving for him, looking for him, crying for him; but the woman, his owner, didn’t care. She wanted him so badly, none of that mattered.”

“Poor, unfortunate Orton.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that. You’ve always said I’m the luckiest toy in the world.”

“I’m talking about Orton, not you. You are the luckiest toy in the world.”

“Anyway. Orton made peace with his fate, and realized his place was with this giant woman that loved him as the most precious thing in the world.”

“The universe.”

“The universe.”

“The universes. Reality. Realities. All dimensions.”



“Is that what I am to you? The most precious thing in all universes dimensions everything?”

“Yes. Everything, everywhere, and beyond, where there is nothing and nowhere. You are the most important nothing there too.”

“Hmm. Thank you. I think.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you like my story?”

“Yes, I loved it.”

“Can I get off now?”

“No, Toy. Ladies first.”

9 thoughts on “Need

Add yours

  1. Many needs here. Possession, domination, gratification. She’ll know that he’s truly accepted his new role when he makes an effort to anticipate her needs before she expresses them.

    “Magna” makes for an excellent term of address for his owner. Puts him on the proper footing.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Very cute story. It’s cute how you can touch on the “tore me from my life, robbed me from everyone who cared about me” and wrap it up with a punch line. Does she enjoy that part too? Does she get an extra frisson from taking something that so many other people wanted, does she feel their grief and frustration reverberate ever-so-slightly across the land, like the moon’s pull on the ocean? Or does that not even factor, as her own world shrinks and boxes her in with her little man? This is something that occurs to me now, all of a sudden.

    This taps into my own fantasy of hanging out on a giantess’s head somewhere and telling her stories. I’m fully into that.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. When I look at the diagram of my thoughts, I can’t find a single ounce of concern for those that would grieve the loss of the relative I have taken from their side. My sense of ownership computes it as irrelevant; slightly like wondering if Target misses that quilt I got from there. The quilt is mine. The difference is that I only bought the quilt one day. The man I shrink in my stories has always been mine.

      However, the way you say it makes for a very interesting perspective. It begins to thicken the idea of a story in my mind.

      Exactly! I’ve always loved that sort of close interaction. It’s like bringing their heads together during a date, or while at the movies… except it’s his entire little body, and it’s gentle, purposeful interaction.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I don’t know about everyone else but I am mesmerized by Giantess Undersquid’s posts lately. Her writing has captivated me and lured me into a soft addiction. I’m in total submission to her creativity and simply want more and more!

    It is impossible for me not to become the tiny man as I read. I am transported into the story and find myself sitting on the giantess’ chin. I feel the power of her mighty jaws and gulp in awe and lust at her gigantic pursed lips. Oh man! But instead of whining about my plight I would be begging the mighty goddess to pay attention to me and let me roam her vast body at her leisure. I would even volunteer to be made smaller if that pleases her.

    Thank you once again my Giantess for letting me read your giant keystrokes and being reminded how small I really am to you and how much I love it!


    1. I’m glad you enjoy my stories!

      Alas, it’s not the first time it’s been said to me that the little guy I write about, Hopier, is complaining. He’s not. What can he possibly have to complain about? Nothing! However, my stories unfold in my mind as they do, and what is only a startling realization of mass and movement, a proclamation of his state as my tiny man, comes across as whining. Oh, well.

      It won’t be the last time I wax libelous about my tiny guy, but he knows better than to complain (see?) when we talk about my blog. Hopier sense of self-preservation is one of his most keenly developed attributes. :)

      Liked by 1 person

  4. I think Hopier is smart enough to remember where his place is lol…
    But if he ever forgets there are others I’m sure willing to be shrunk to take his place. Its always good for a giantess to have options.😇


    1. I know you say that with the best of intentions, but you are crossing the line. I’m not the kind that can pick one little guy and then another. I’m a one-shrunken-man giantess as much in real life as I am online, and Hopier is not the kind that can EVER be replaced. There is no fickleness in the intensity of my views. To say that anyone can take his place is to crudely dismiss everything I’ve ever blogged about. If ever he forgets his place, he’s fully aware of what that unleashes, but replacement is not an option.

      Liked by 1 person

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