The ABCs Game – J is for Jeans

A_Cheeky_Little_Shrunken_Dude-by-docop
Click on the image to watch the 5-second clip created by docop

I’ve been playing this ABCs Game for approximately a decade, and it’s time to wrap it up. It’s time to wrap up all my blog series so I can move on to other things I need to finish and start. I’m halfway done with the letters, some of which have been accidental repeats. Who cares? No one is keeping track! Well, I am now. But now, onto our feature presentation.

A couple of weeks ago I saw the above clip on Twitter and didn’t really think about blogging anything connected with it—despite the fact that one of my favorite places to imagine keeping a tiny man is there, firmly tucked between my cheeks—until the next morning when story ideas started to flutter in my head. If you ask anyone, they’ll tell you that a derrière is a really odd place to keep anything one wishes to keep intact, no matter what you see in Doctor Who episodes and the movie Bridesmaids.

Then don’t ask anyone. Instead, ask one of your people, your size people, and no matter their opinion on the matter, they will nod knowingly because “assplay” is as familiar to any of us as morning coffee. I have no interest in the female backside unless it’s my own. My ass is the vehicle in which many stories I write about little men—and the butts that love them—ride. My own ass is the perpetrator, the savior, the refuge, the addict and the enabler. My ass is everything.

It took me a very long time to realize how fortunate I am to be shaped as I am, but far less time to begin to tell stories about that very tiny man I adore in his every incarnation, and his run-ins with my ample posterior. This blog entry is about that favorite garment I use to rein it in. As you see, J is for Jeans.

* * * 

When did you ever hesitate to be mine
It was hard to keep the pace when you were land sliding
I tried to be a faithful friend
Couldn’t always keep you safe when we were ending
But I always had the time for the medicine
—Interpol

He was half asleep in the pink dawn of her panties, soft fabric she wadded around him at night when he was finally allowed to get some sleep. That there was any light filtering through meant she’d gotten up and pulled open the heavy bedroom curtains. He felt a pull into deeper wakefulness, and not without regret. His lizard brain had set off an alarm he tried to ignore for the bliss of a few more minutes of slumber, but it was not to be. He was now awake enough to hear the violence of water running from the showerhead in the bathroom.

He opened his eyes so fast his eyelids slapped their base with a clap that probably dislodged every microscopic skin mite huddled around his eyelashes. Adrenaline flooded through him. That she didn’t reach for him to shower together typically meant she planned to do something intense to him, something that rendered showers null. He sat up too fast and bumped his head against the fabric of her panties, a pungent dome that blocked his view completely.

He began to work his way out of the enormous folds, able to do it in the dark as well as in the light now, having been her captive sex toy for months. One whiff told him there was a possible exit towards the left, and he took it, emerging from under a seam shortly after, just in time to hear her shower come to an end. Crusty-eyed and on all fours, he blinked to adjust his eyes to the harsher light and crawled onto the white ocean of her fitted bedsheet. To his left, an island of blue denim interrupted it. He recognized it for what it was, a hungry patch of threaded land, too tight on her, terra firma only until she put them on. He crawled out and thought of hiding.

He had tried to escape once, soon after his shrinking and capture, after she had finally allowed him some freedom from her panties. He took advantage of that freedom one day, and worked himself past the front door sill where he’d carved out a passage past the weatherproofing rubber seal with a glass shard. He got as far as her front porch before he realized he was food for the entire animal kingdom. When the front door finally opened he’d been in a panic for hours, tucked under the edge of the welcome mat, unwilling to move because maybe a bird had spotted him, and the neighbor’s cat was napping on the landing.

She had been looking down because she was searching for him, and when he jumped out of his hiding place and threw himself at her toes, she considered—and only for a moment—bringing her foot down on his ungrateful body, and putting him out of her misery. She punished him instead. She disciplined him at great length, and he never repeated the transgression, but now he wanted to. To exist only as a sex toy opened the doors to philosophical​ ramifications, and did being snatched from the ground by a bird and being picked to pieces to feed her hatchlings not serve a higher purpose than whatever strenuous​​s nightmare she intended to do to him? It might feel better too.

When the bathroom door opened, he felt the stillness of his body, frozen in place with thought as it had been, in deep contrast with the drama of her entrance. The exhaust fan she always turned on when they took her shower had stopped working a week before, and now the steam that accumulated in the small space had nowhere to go until she reopened the door. When she did, billows of it ushered her presence, swirling clouds that made him think of a dragon.

Everyone wants to fuck a dragon, he thought, remembering the porn he used to look at for fun, like a cigarette​ after an orgasm, though he didn’t know anyone who wanted a smoke after exploding with pleasure. If his friends were anything like him, they rolled over after sex so they could snore annoyingly as they slept. The smarter ones cuddled. His hand hadn’t needed such attention, so he had looked at dragon porn after victimizing tissue paper with irreparable stickiness. He thought about it now as he watched her, paralyzed everywhere but there. There he twitched helplessly, trained as he had been to do so by her methodology from day one, ground zero. Twitch or die. Harden. Perform.

Now the stuff of his fantasies was real, and she was part dragon as she emerged, naked but for endless water droplets dappling her skin, the morning sun flooding the room and turning those droplets into reflective scales, steam a facsimile of the smoke a dragon might have breathed through her nostrils had she existed. She’s part dragon, he thought, and she’s going to devour me, he added, the strength of that thought not enough to send him running. He watched her, curvier than those rolls of steam, thicker than thunderheads as she slapped each foot down on the wood floor, bringing herself closer to him.

“Good morning, my darling little love,” she said, her voice silk that matched the softness of her skin, and he stared at her wriggling skin, labia that scissored implacably towards him, breasts that bounced in his direction until she put on a bra.

“Is it? Is it really a good morning?”

She stared at him, surprised by his question. Every morning with him had been good by her strict standards, but they were unique to her, and one woman’s treasure is another man’s torture.

“Yes, love; it is. It’s a wonderful morning. Can’t you feel it?”

“I feel something, but it’s not good.”

She stood still, suddenly a statue carved by decades of living, eating, sometimes working out. He pushed away from her bed with his hands until he stood on his two feet, curved uncomfortably over the threads of her bedsheet, but used to the feeling. What he did required courage; to stand and face her, to other her with his confession of discomfort. Would it make a difference in the turn of events? Probably not, but sometimes she listened to him. When she didn’t, she sent her hand down to fetch him and she did what she wanted anyway. Now she stood over him, her eyes unblinking, considering, and he sensed the question raging in her. Would she hear out her little fuck toy, or would she move on with her day, undeterred as always? The former won out.

“Tell me what you’re thinking. I want to know what troubles you.”

His neck was already sore from staring at her face, so he lowered his gaze to her crotch, intantly scaring himself. Staring at her midsection always sent a code red to his every fiber, an explosion of fear that radiated from his balls, now the size of grains of sand, to his head and feet. His voice was unsteady, but he forced himself to continue.

“I’m afraid of what you’ll do to me. When you don’t wake me up to take a shower with you, it usually means you’ve lowered me in the echelon to a mere object.”

“Echelon?”

“Yes. Echelon. Spectrum. Range. I’m a human being, but for months you’ve treated me like a dildo, a thing for sex, an object. Some days you talk to me, and look at me and not through me, and I feel human again… but now… I don’t know what to think. You see me, you’re listening to me, but you didn’t clean me from last night, and I’m afraid you’re just gonna stick me somewhere hurtful again.”

She smiled. Her face broke in sections when the line of her lips broadened, and her eyes glittered intensely. The joy in her face was carnal, and insensitive. It made him feel… milked. His emotions, stressful as they were, caused her joy. What kind of monster was she, to derive happiness from his distress? She appeared to read his mind, as she often did, when she reacted. She moved slowly, like honey pouring from a broken panel, pivoting to sit next to him, her damp ass cheeks spreading on the yielding surface between her jeans and his slight form. He only had time to stagger back and fall on his bottom. He stared at her, struggling to keep every molecule of urine in his bladder from pouring out in panic.

“My poor little guy… I love you so. I really do adore you, do you know that? You are the source of so much peace and joy for me. That’s why I chose you to shrink. Yes, today will be intense for you. You’ll be a strong little toy for me, won’t you? I need you. I need you so much.”

“Please! I’m so tired!” To his shock, he felt the sting of tears hop in place in his eyes. There was no humiliating trail down his cheeks yet, until she continued.

“That doesn’t matter. You’re going to spend the day between my ass cheeks, sweetie. That’s where I need you. I want you there.”

He whimpered, and two infinitesimal tears rolled down his cheeks. He hoped she couldn’t see them, but her stare turned hungrier then, and he doubted she’d missed his vulnerable display. He soldiered on, and argued his point.

“Please, reconsider! I’m only two inches tall! When you shove me between your buttcheeks it hurts. Can you imagine what that’s like? You can’t. The mass of you there is too large. Every minute of it I think I’m going to die and when you reach for me to pull me out you’ll only retrieve guts and gore! Is that what you want?”

She shivered, and the aftershock hit him instantly, his hands digging into the cotton fiber under him, gaining little purchase against the thick threads. Her grin was now wider, and not for the first time he wondered if she’d ever get rid of him by swallowing him. The illusion was reinforced by the force of her words as she aimed each against him.

“You stupid little fuck… of course I don’t want you to die. How can you say something so dumb? You may spend the day thinking you’re going to die, but you won’t. What you feel is irrelevant. I need you between my cheeks.”

“That makes no sense! No one in the world puts little things in their ass to feel better! This is so fucked up!”

She straightened up her back then, seeming taller to him when she did, the gimmer of joy diminished somewhat, and transformed into something he knew and feared: anger.

“Do you want to know what’s fucked up? I was eleven years old when I first felt a man’s hand against my ass. I didn’t understand what was happening at first. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t move. I was terrified, and trying to descipher the event in my head. There I was, a child, in a public place, and some asshole was feeling me up!”

“I’m sorry that happened to you, but I—”

“That was not the last time that happened. My hips grew wider and I hated them because men whispered filth at me. My ass grew rounder and I hated it because men touched it ‘accidentally’ every chance they got. I felt ashamed. I felt hatred against my own body because it garnered such attention. I was just a girl. I shouldn’t have had to deal with those emotions. I shouldn’t have had to deal with the filth in those men’s minds.”

“But how is that my fault? I didn’t do any—”

“When I force you between my cheeks, I feel good. You’re my amulet against those bad feelings. You saved me… do you know that?”

“I don’t understand…”

“I know you don’t. You understand so little about the way I feel!”

“I can say the same about you! I’ve begged you to return me to my life, to what I was before you shrank me. You don’t understand how I feel.”

“That’s different, my darling.”

“But—”

“My ass is beautiful. I still don’t understand why it makes men jerk off as soon as they see it, but it’s wonderful. I know that now. There are days I look at it and wish it were smaller, flatter, narrower… and that’s where you come in. I pick up your tiny body, and I stick you down between my cheeks, where I can feel you bound to my skin. I know each mass pounds upon you, grinding against your shape with every step I take, and I feel better. You help me feel better. No one assaults me anymore, except for my own mind… and when it does, you’re there to protect me, to make me feel safe.”

“That makes no sense! I can’t keep your ass safe! Not when I’m this tiny.”

“I know. It’s not logical, but it’s true. You belong in my ass, maing me feel good about it.”

“Please… I beg you… don’t put me there. I’ll… drop me down your panties and I’ll rub and punch and kick all day long. I’ll be good, I promise. Just don’t put me in your ass! It’s too big!”

A click. A resounding click. It was only in his head that he heard it, but it was as loud as the world splitting in half. That click originated from her eyes, when she went from seeing and treating him like a little man, to repurposing him into an object. Her eyes glazed over as the click spread, and her wicked smile widened until her dimples erupted from her soft cheeks.

“Listen to me! I’m a man! I’m not an amulet, I offer no protection! If someone wants to feel you up, they will, and they’ll probably crush me while they’re at it!”

She winked then, her eyelid traveling over her right eye like a firing pin hitting the gunpowder that was his fear. She was beyond listening as she stood up and reached for her bra, a flimsy gathering of lacy fabric that was home of some of her tortuous days with him. She slipped it on in seconds and grabbed her jeans, stepped into them with delicate feet that tranformed into curvy calves and finally thick thighs, the kind that smothered men her size, and squeezed their skulls until they begged to be allowed to live. There were no such men in the room now; there was only one little sex toy, and his strong wish to survive. She hadn’t finished pulling up her jeans when he—forcing himself to his feet after she last shook the earth and sent him careening down again—turned around and took off at bug speed towards the mirage refuge of her pillows. Above him, laughter thundered .

“You can’t escape, my love,” she said, simple words that still echoed in his brain as she bent carelessly and wrapped her right hand around him. “You’re going to be my panties, and my refuge. I’m going to masticate your slight shape in my ass, and every time I feel you slide up or down I’ll feel peace. I’ll feel love. I’ll feel the safety of having made the right choice in you. You’ll never touch me when I don’t want to because I already put you there myself. You’ll never molest me or say lewd things to me, because you’ll be too busy trying to breathe. You won’t see my beautiful ass as a thing to be ravished, but feared, respected, avoided. Can’t you not see how that makes me feel?”

She dropped him then, his body reborn from dark to light and then darkness again as it dropped into the tight wedge of her crack, only a moment before she pulled her jeans all the way up, a tidal wave of fabric thay swept him under as he only began to comprehend what she was doing to him… again. Before him there was only flesh, fragrant and damp, and as wide as he could see from east to west, and from north to south. He screamed as he felt himself slide, and he screamed again when the denim she drove ran him over, parked itself over him, and pushed him deeper into her. Part of him tried to calm himself, but then she started walking.

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6 thoughts on “The ABCs Game – J is for Jeans

Add yours

  1. Freezes in place with thought at the cruel mother of all cliffhangers

    That opening sentence is just delightful. Tiny man paradise. Can’t think why he’d ever want to escape it. Except perhaps how painful that preview looks as he’s pushed and plunged into place by impliable, firm, form-fitting fabric, made pliable only by her plump posterior as it ponders precisely how much precious play to permit him in his puckered prison, before positing…pretty much none. So coarse, so rough and so confining to him, so satisfyingly snug to her. Definitely would’ve been better off with the panties for padding.

    Maybe he should head for the door afterall.

    I did really enjoy that dilemma too. The way his natural and passive state of entrapment was explored, only to be reinforced and his flightiness reined in by substantial punishment from that one and only escape endeavour. It just adds a really solid grounding for the situation, especially how that history extends right the way back to when she err…acquired him, to where he is now; all of his dilemmas, discontent and doubts, contrasted with his intimate certainty of how she operates and what he can discern from so many subtle clues that she may never even consider.

    He likely knows her better than she knows herself in many regards. Everything she does is of concern and consequence to him, even if it’s not to her. She may not even be conscious of why she didn’t think to take him to shower, or why she laid out her jeans just so. He very much is, of course.

    That moment of recognition, where he’s stranded there, contemplating how his day’s going to go, what scant choice he has to change his fate, and this detail in particular, “a hungry patch of threaded land” inanimate, innocent, terra firma…only until it’s not, until it’s terra firmer is just sweet, suspenseful torture.

    Much like the exhaust fan

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for this well-thought-out comment, Macro. I’m rather fond of alliteration, so I appreciate that attack of the Alliterative monster near the beginning.

      Despite the fact that I don’t ever imagine myself tiny, I very much enjoy writing from a tiny perspective. It’s the perfect window to how my character wishes to be seen, the impact she wants to cause, and there’s no better way to witness it than writing it myself.

      A big part of that is that inevitable apprenticeship the tiny character undergoes, during which he does study her (often in order to survive) and begins to know her better than she knows herself. That was excellently put.

      Like

  2. Ah. What is it about a shower that makes our significant others extra attractive to each other? I’m sure the unnamed little man will soon be enjoying her soft, clean skin and soapy scent. I’m a bit jealous. Looking forward to more.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you. I’ve been trying to get back to this and finish it, but after doing Inktober every day, I have no time left for creative stuff. And yes, shower time is an extra special aspect of size fantasies, always.

      Liked by 1 person

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