If you are the same as many others that have these fantasies, then you probably don’t want your size-related thoughts to come true. Maybe you think they are too terrible, never mind embarrassing. As you age, you continue to keep your hard drive contents hidden from everyone but those closest to you, and sometimes those people don’t know a thing about what rocks your little paper boat.
Imagine how I feel every time I read that you are aware there’s a separation between your horrifying thoughts, and you… because I am exactly the person about whom I write. I created this series on ownership because the woman I am in my fantasies is the woman I am all the time. There is no separation.
I don’t get up in the morning and pretend there’s a part of me that wishes I could shrink one single tiny man and keep him forever. That is who I am, that is what I want. Never mind that no mirror image of that exists in real life. Let’s be grateful for that, because if it ever happens that shrinking becomes possible, I will commit a crime, and I’ll do it gleefully.
What happens then? How do I own that little sex toy? Completely, that’s how. There are no half measures. I’d control every aspect of my sex toy’s life. I’d decide what he eats, what he drinks, what he wears (or doesn’t), where he goes, and where he stays. He doesn’t make decisions unless allowed to make decisions. He is on a very strict schedule about everything. Yes. Even that.
I can imagine the delectable disapproval in some of you. Who in the world would submit to such a life? Well, no one, of course. No one really wants to be transformed into my clay, into my sex toy. Who would spend the rest of their natural life with me, in such a manner? Who would submit to having someone else have every say about when you sleep, when you’re awake, and when you are used?
The answer doesn’t matter, because that’s the lot I’ve chosen for that distant person, and I’m never going to change. I don’t want to, and I probably can’t. Anyone that shares his life with me will have to submit to being owned in that manner, even before they are shrunk.
So what happens when they disappoint me? They get punished, of course. There are ways to discipline a man when he misbehaves, or disobeys orders, or behaves in any way that angers me. There are serious consequences to every action, the same as there are rewards.
I like thinking about it. I love imagining that little man that will measure two inches in height; someone that doesn’t like to be told what to do. How is such a normal-sized person to be transformed into an object for my use? How is such a sex toy to be owned? Real ownership manifests thoroughly in me, in every bone of my body, so what happens when he loses it in translation? He gets punished.
How do I make a man understand he’s crossed a line? How do I show him his place? In real life the possibilities are endless. I make him wear a shirt that reads “owned”. I force him to wear his dog tags in prominent display. I compel him to reveal in public that he is nothing but a sex toy to my needs. I call him at work, and he has to drop everything and produce… an offering. And that’s only the beginning. There are other things I can do that are far too private to discuss here, and I’ve already cannonballed deeply into the TMI ocean.
How do I make my little guy understand he’s crossed a line? How do I show him his place? The possibilities are finite until I shrink him. They can be sifted into real life to a point. There are things I can do; there are tools at my disposal. I’d use them often, and there is nothing he’d be able to do about it. Owning someone doesn’t have limits. Not for me. It requires a degree of strength to show a man he belongs to me in a way he can’t escape, the same as if he were only a little bit of flesh. It requires a tremendous amount of willpower to get him to understand exactly how angry he’s made me. But I’d do it.
There’s only one thing that can save him from his fate, and that is to convince me it’s not his nature to be a sex toy. I suppose that’s my single saving grace from utter sociopathy, and that is the understanding that… if that soon-to-be little guy doesn’t lead me to believe I’ll have fun with his brain as well as with his body, I’ll let him be. I want the whole package; I want a little guy that can delight me with his mind as well as with his struggles, screams, cries, and strokes of purple skin.
In the end, the baseline of my thoughts is that… it’s a good thing my fantasies can’t come true because if I had the power to shrink someone, I would. And once I made my choice, there would be no turning back. And that’s a good thing. Remind me to tell you one of these days what I’d do if I grow a couple of hundred feet. Or I can tell you now: I’d do exactly what I want.