There's a Pandemic On by tallie

The shrinking virus has seized our entire world, destroying families, crashing markets, and throwing our entire way of life into chaos. Some people shrink, and some people don't. This is a short story of a handful of strangers whose lives have been defined by this novel disease.

Categories: Adult 30-39, Insertion, Lesbians, Entrapment, Slave, Gentle, New World Order, Growing/Shrinking Out of Clothes, Young Adult 20-29 Characters: None
Growth: None
Shrink: Doll (12 in. to 6 in.), Lilliputian (6 in. to 3 in.), Micro (1 in. to 1/2 in.), Minikin (3 in. to 1 in.), Nano (1/2 in. to 2.5 nanometers)
Size Roles: F/f, F/m
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 6 Completed: No Word count: 13149 Read: 27651 Published: October 13 2020 Updated: March 26 2021
Story Notes:

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

1. The Titular Chapter by tallie

2. It's the Weekend, Baby by tallie

3. Hungover by tallie

4. Party Spoiler by tallie

5. Close Contact by tallie

6. The Unnecessary Chapter by tallie

The Titular Chapter by tallie
Author's Notes:

An introduction to the characters. The slightest intimation of panty entrapment and little more.

Slowly, deliberately, Vivianne pulled off her goggles, pausing to check her face in the mirror for any sign of pressure ulcers. The edges of the goggles, and the straps that kept them fast to her head, had left seemingly permanent impressions in the skin of her face, but, despite their ugly red appearance, none of them seemed to be harmful.

She sighed, scanning the scars on her face, temporary though they were, from eleven uninterrupted hours of wearing her PPE. It was difficult for her to think that all this effort was worth it, after months of setbacks and failed efforts. It was her job, but she couldn't help but feel like they were chasing down nothing but dead ends. Hopefully, someone, somewhere would accomplish what they couldn't.

Her gown was next. She undid the straps behind her and rolled it up, careful only to touch the 'clean' inside surface, and tossed the bundle of thin cloth in the trash. Finally, her mask was all that was left. She couldn't help but watch herself in the mirror as she stripped the respirator off her face, exposing ugly red lines that were even worse than the ones her goggles had left behind.

Her contaminated mask hung loosely in her left hand as she stared at her own face in the mirror, bearing the tattoos of elastic straps and uncomfortable plastic.

You didn't sign up for this, she thought, tossing the mask into the trash. Free from the burden of her protective gear, she let loose a deep, exhausted sigh. It was supposed to be a recession-proof job, a stable career that paid well and let her retire in comfort after a lifetime of caring for people. She wasn't supposed to be fighting the front lines of a pandemic.

The train of self-pity was cut off by a text notification that rang out from her locker. She breathed another sigh and grabbed her phone. She had, on her shift, missed three calls, half a dozen text messages, and fully thirty emails, a burden of backlogged messages that was exhausting just to look at. But the last text was from her coworker, the only one who shared her schedule and would have the next two days off as well.

'Omalleys. U in?'

In spite of everything, Vivianne grinned. She could use a drink. 'Meet you there. 30 minutes,' she texted back.

Connor O'Malley's was halfway betwen the hospital and her apartment. On any other night, she'd drive right past it and pass out in her bed, but she had some time off tonight, and she intended to use every minute of it to squeeze as much fun out of her life as she could amidst this chaos.

She stripped her scrubs and tossed them into the laundry bin, but paused in front of the mirror before putting on her casuals.

Every part of her body bore the truth of her awful job. Her pale skin, her tired, sunken eyes, the marks on her face and on her wrists from her protective wear, even the tiny lump in the crotch of her panties.

Well, there was at least a silver lining to all this. It was thin and it was dim, but it was there.

She slid on her jeans and her T-shirt, and raced out of the hospital before she could get any surprise tasks from her supervisors. It was her weekend, such as it was, and she was going to take as much advantage of the time off as she could.

A little over thirty minutes later, she was on the patio outside O'Malley's with her coworker Alex. She had a drink called the "Irish Republican Army" in her hands, which was green in color but tasted like rubbing alcohol, and she was working through it like it was her job. It was seven in the morning on a Tuesday, golden sunlight streaming through the clouds, rush hour traffic jamming the highways, and Vivianne and Alex were well on their way to getting good and drunk.

That's what it meant to work the back shift. Thank God this town had a bar that was even open at this hour.

"So my old college boyfriend had a 'pandemic party' this Saturday," Alex told her.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Vivianne asked. "After all this time?"

"Not at all," Alex replied. "I saw it on Facebook. I just thought he was an idiot, but, turns out..."

"Anything I can help you ladies with?"

Both of them looked up at the waiter who had interrupted them. Behind his mask, behind his gloves, and behind his safety goggles, he was all smiles. Vivianne raised her half-full blackout potion, "I'm fine, thanks."

Alex had one of her own and was nearly finished. "I'll take another IRA, please."

"Sorry, ma'am, you've already had two, and I can only give two to any customer."

"Then give me a 401k," she said.

The waiter laughed, and scribbled something onto his order pad. "Alright, your second IRA, coming right up."

The waiter walked away. Vivianne was going to wait for him to leave before she continued the conversation, but Alex cut her off before she could even speak. "Turns out he's a fetishist."

"No shit!"

"He didn't admit it to anyone else, but he told me," Alex told her. Her expression was pure scandal. "And nobody at the party knew it either. They were all hoaxers."

Vivianne shook her head, taking a deep drink from her glass. Hoaxers, after all this time, after all the lives that had been broken... "So what happened to him?"

Alex shrugged. "Too early to tell. He hasn't shrunk yet, though."

There was a sudden, insistent stirring between her legs. Caught off guard, Vivianne straightened up, her knees clapped together, and she let loose a surprised yelp. "Oh!"

Alex, deep in the booze though she was, recognized it immediately. "Seriously?" she asked.

Vivianne felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She didn't expect to be found out so quickly. "He wants it," she responded.

"And he's diseased."

"He's not contagious. It's been weeks."

"You don't know that," Alex replied. "He could have lied to you. Shit, we don't even know for sure if they're not contagious after they've finished shrinking."

"Give me one..." Vivianne paused, screwing her eyes shut at the sudden, pleasurable squirming against her crotch. "Give me one example of someone getting infected by someone with a settled size."

Alex eyed her with transparent amusement. "Just tell me there's at least two layers of clothes between me and your little virus vector."

Vivianne sighed. "Fuck you."

Alex downed the rest of her drink and slammed the empty glass on the table. "Good enough."

"I noticed that you're still single."

Alex frowned. "There's a fucking pandemic on, Viv," she began, but was cut off by the arrival of the waiter.

"Your 401k, ma'am," he said, placing the green-colored drink down in front of Alex. "Anything for you?" he asked Vivianne.

"Maybe later," she replied.

"Enjoy," the waiter replied, smiling at both of them. He slid away silently.

"Holy fuck, he gave me his number," Alex said, pulling the napkin from underneath her new drink and showing it to her. Only seven digits, clearly a lifelong local.

"Have fun with your virus vector," Vivianne told her.

"Fuck you, alright?"

"Love you too, Alex."

Alex took another long swig of her drink. "Got any plans for the weekend?"


"You know what I mean."

"Pandemic life," Vivianne responded. "Curl up in a ball under the bed and pray for it to all end."

"And what role does this little virus vector in your pants play?" asked Alex, gesturing downwards with her drink.

"First of all..."

"Yeah, I know," Alex interrupted.

Vivianne groaned. "Well, he's gonna join me under the bed, and we're going to pass the time together," she said. "What are you gonna do with that waiter?"

"Well, first, we're gonna trade virus tests..."

"Don't be a bitch," Vivianne cut in.

"And then," Alex continued, ignoring her, "We're going to do what normal-sized people do." She put her drink down, clenched her fists, and made a thrusting motion. "So enjoy your virus vector."

"You could get a 'virus vector' of your own, you know," Vivianne told her. "They're loads of fun."

Alex shook her head. "So help me God. If you come in on Friday and I see that your fucking shoes don't fit, then I'm gonna get you locked in quarantine for the next two weeks."

Vivianne sighed, looking at her coworker levelly. After a few seconds, she tossed back the rest of her drink and set the cup down on the table. "I'll be fine, okay?"

Francis was living in a world that was both heaven and hell.

In his hell, there was an uncompromising heat that emanated from all sides of his body. He was soaked in sweat, but, no matter what he did, there was no relief forthcoming. His every motion was a struggle against an insistent pressure that enveloped his entire body, heat pushing him deeper into heat, with no escape to be found. Bodily fluids, thick, salty, and disgusting, filled his eyes, his nostrils, his mouth, his entire world. Nothing he could do could free himself from this slimy, viscous reality. It was torture.

In his heaven, he was nestled up against the most intimate part of a goddess, living every part of her life as a completely helpless passenger. All he could see was the pink flesh tucked away beneath her labia, all he could smell and all he could taste was the thick, heady world of feminine sensation that she normally kept trapped inside the cotton prison of her underwear.

And now he was trapped inside that world as well. It had been days now, carried along with the routines and exigencies of her life, smelling the salt of her sweat and enduring the heat of her arousal. He could feel her moving, he could tell when she was lying down or when she was sitting or when she was walking, but he couldn't make heads or tails of what she was actually doing. He could feel her speaking, but he couldn't hear a word she was saying.

In this reality, he could only make sense of two parts of the woman's life. He knew when she slept from the long, quiet hours spent stuck motionless against the her pussy; he slept in fits and starts throughout the day, and was rarely able to sleep through the night as she did; and he knew every intimate detail of the noisy, fluid-soaked chaos of her masturbation.

He was trapped in this world of heat and darkness and flesh and stench for so long that any reprieve seemed surreal. And reprieve came rarely, when she was in the shower or when she was using the bathroom. In either case, his breaks from the environment of her massive body were so brief that they might as well be meaningless. The cold air on his skin was punishing, the fresh air seemed almost toxic. Returning to Vivianne's body, being lifted up to her pussy in the crotch of her panties as she slid up her underwear, felt like coming home to him by now.

Six weeks ago, he had been doing IT work for a local law firm. He had spent the four months prior avoiding the virus, but secretly hoping that it would infect him. He wasn't sure how he had caught it, but, once he did, he shrank down to three inches faster than he could have believed.

After three weeks in the monotonous boredom of the hospital's shrunken shelter, one of the doctors who attended to him offered a relationship that was a little more... interesting. He jumped at the chance; it was what he had been waiting for since the first moment he had heard of the shrinking virus. For the two weeks that had followed, his life had been... different.

In some ways, it was just as boring as it had been before. There was literally nothing to do but lie there, listening to her heartbeat and her muffled speech, breathing the smell of her and wondering what the hell she was doing. Maybe it got exciting when she decided to masturbate, but, otherwise, it was mostly monotonous, especially when she was sleeping.

In other ways, though, it was perennially exciting. Only two people in the world knew where he was: anonymity mixed with exhibitionism in a thrilling and unexpected way. Also, because of where he was, he had the power to make himself known to her whenever he liked. If he felt like arousing her, he could do it. If he felt like making her orgasm, he could do it. If he felt like making her lose all control, it would be hard, but he could do it.

Despite his abject subservience to this goddess, it was a position of power that set his heart racing whenever he thought about it.

Out of respect for her and the job she was doing, he rarely did it whenever he wasn't completely certain that it wouldn't impede her work or interrupt her life. Out of respect, and out of the fear that she might get annoyed with it and put him somewhere safer, and far less exciting.

That wasn't to say he didn't mess up. Occasionally, he got a little uncomfortable and had to adjust himself; and, once or twice, he got so horny that he could not resist the urge to jerk off. But, where he was, even minor motions set her off. She didn't follow through every time, but he was definitely aware of her arousal. He could feel it in the heat that surrounded him, and in the fluid that started to fill his tiny, fleshy world.

But, by and large, he was still. He was careful. And Vivianne rewarded him by leaving him in her panties for the entire time. It wasn't the best thing in the world, but it was the closest thing to it.

Once or twice, he considered sealing the deal, or so to speak. He was awake for most of the time she was asleep, after all, and he was positioned perfectly to do it. All he had to do was shimmy his way down, slide his feet into her vagina, and it would be an easy task to push himself all the way inside her. Commit his body entirely to hers. He had already spent many of those boring nighttime hours wondering what would happen if he did, but he had so far restrained.

He would have done it ages ago if not for the concern that the giantess herself had communicated to him about it. There were a handful of anecdotes out there about how those who had been hit by the virus could survive seemingly impossible things given their size, but real scientific studies had been slow in coming so far. The ethical concerns about testing the survivability of the victims of an impossible pandemic loomed large over the medical community, she had told him, and she had no desire to learn the hard way that the rumors of his survivability were overblown.

Francis had to admit that he understood. He had survived without serious discomfort for weeks in her panties, but nothing had happened so far that would really challenge him. No matter how horny and wet the giantess got, he had no trouble breathing, even though the air was heavy with her stench. When she sat down or crossed her legs, the pressure was not inconsiderable, but it wasn't cause for panic. Even when she masturbated, she did it around him, giving him an incredible front-row view of her most intimate, frenetic moments, but she didn't do it with him.

And when her fingers withdrew from between her legs, he could lie there, having safely witnessed the chaos from inches away, soaking in her fluids and savoring his new life.

But being inside her would be a different matter. At his size, her vagina would wrap around him like a latex glove. And, though he thought that it would be the sexiest thing in the world, it would leave him with very little room to breathe. If she wasn't careful, he would suffocate under the sheer weight of her flesh, or, God forbid, drown amidst the steady flow of her fluids. His instinctive, oxygen-deprived thrashing might only make things worse, leaving her aroused while totally unaware of his desperate situation.

He told her, mostly joking, that that was the hottest way he could think of to die. But, joking or not, she wasn't willing to risk it. And, frankly, neither was he. He could take advantage of her weekend blackouts and experiment with it himself, but how would he escape if it went poorly? The flesh around him was soft and pliant, his every motion sinking into it like quicksand. Her pelvic muscles had the strength of a hydraulic vice, more than capable of keeping him trapped no matter how close he was to death.

There was no getting around it. Like it or not, this life, lying in the heat and stench of the crotch of her panties, only inches away from heaven, was the closest he could get to the giantess safely.

At least, so far as anyone knew.

It's the Weekend, Baby by tallie
Author's Notes:

Rated PG-13 for portrayals of excessive alcohol use. A bit more panty entrapment, masturbation, and vaginal insertion.

Holy shit, you got lucky.

Vivianne tripped over herself as she tried to kick off her shoes, and fell into her door, slamming it shut as she did so. She locked the deadbolt as an afterthought, and, back against the door, finished pulling off her shoes. Her left sock came off as well, and she was fine with that.

The squirming between her legs was impossible to ignore at this point. "Calm down," she muttered, "You'll get your turn."

That cop was right at the entrance to her neighborhood. When those lights went off, she thought that she was fucked for sure, but some poor sap had rolled through the stop sign behind her, and she was able to sail through without a problem. That third Irish Car Bomb... No... Irish Republican Army... That had been a mistake.

She'd never do that again. She had made it home safe this time, but she was a doctor. She should have known better.

If you're gonna get hammered, do it in the privacy of your own home like a proper alcoholic, and don't get behind the wheel.

Her little 'virus vector' was especially active right now, as if he somehow knew what was going to happen. Her left hand drifted up to her chest, and she massaged her nipple with a quiet moan. We got two days and a handle of rum, she thought. You ready, little guy?

She stripped her shirt and shimmied off her jeans as she made her way to the kitchen, leaving them both crumpled up in a pile in the hallway. Garbed in nothing but her bra, panties, and a single sock, she ripped open the door to her freezer and pulled out an almost-full bottle of Captain Morgan. She unscrewed the cap and was about to take a swig before she caught her reflection in the dark glass of her microwave.

The woman who looked back at her in that tiny window was someone she barely recognized. She grimaced. "You look like shit," she said at the other woman.

The stranger said it right back to her. Vivianne shook her head and tossed back the bottle, pouring far more of it down her throat than was healthy. She only stopped when the burn of the alcohol forced her to stop, and she doubled over, coughing violently, spraying a mouthful of rum all over her kitchen floor.

"Fuck," she sputtered, wiping her mouth. She looked at the bottle she had just quaffed. That was one shot? Two? Ten? Whatever. She screwed the cap on and tossed it back into the freezer.

"Alcohol poisoning. Whatever," she muttered. She knew exactly what she was doing but she was far too drunk to care. Her right hand drifted between her legs and started to gently massage the lump in the crotch of her panties. "You wanna have some fun, little guy?"

She liked to imagine that he said yes. He had volunteered for this, after all, and hadn't shown anything but satisfaction with their relationship over the last few weeks. Despite his insistence that he "liked it rough," she had been as careful with him as she could manage. She was a doctor, after all, and she had to trust the science. Through observational study, the science had shown that the most shrunken victims of the virus exhibited remarkable physical resiliency, which was why she was comfortable leaving him in her panties for so long in the first place. But the science said nothing about whether a victim of the virus could survive a night inside her vagina.

So she had been careful. And she would be careful tonight. She stumbled towards her room, then, leaning against the doorway, thought better of it, and stumbled back to the kitchen. After taking a second swig of rum, she bumper-bowled down the hallway back to her bedroom, and slid underneath the blankets. With the fan, the cool fall air, and the weighted blanket, she was as snug as she could be.

With a moan, her fingers slid beneath the waistband of her panties.

It wasn't the first time that Francis had felt the giantess' fingers slide into his cotton-bound prison of flesh. It wasn't the first time that he had watched those massive fingers, each one larger than his entire body, hone in on the sensitive button of sexuality that remained tucked invisibly under a layer of brown, wrinkled flesh. It wasn't the first time that he had been forced to suffer the uncomfortable treatment of her knuckles beating against his body as her fingers ran furious circles aroud her most sensitive organ.

The noise of it, the heat, the flecks of lubricant that splattered across his face as her fingers worked their furious task, none of it was new, but it was still absolutely incredible to see. The stunning flexibility of that soft flesh between her legs, the rich and diverse colors that were hidden between her legs, beneath the lithe figure of her body, it was what he lived for. It was why he had volunteered to serve the giantess like this.

What he didn't expect was her middle finger placed against his back. He didn't expect the insistent force of her hand pushing him deeper into her crotch. His heart stopped, his breath froze, and her probing middle finger slid his legs effortlessly into her vagina.

Francis' eyes bulged. He was inside her now, the place that he knew could very well kill him. He fought, he kicked and punched, but, to the giantess, he was barely even a toy. He screamed, begging for her to stop, but nobody could hear him.

He was buried up to his waist inside her. Her vagina wrapped tight around his lower body. In an ironic way, it was almost like a condom, but made of flesh. His arms and torso were free, and he could get a little bit of leverage to push himself out, but he was too small, and the burning hot, blood-flushed flesh was too soft. He tried to kick his way out, but it was like trying to kick his way out of quicksand.

Hot, wet, fleshy quicksand. Above him, the noisy, fluid-soaked chaos of her masturbation continued, seemingly unaware of his increasingly desperate situation. Around him, her hips rocked back and forth in pleasure, making it that much harder for him to pull himself to safety.

He heard the giantess' distant, breathy gasp as she reached some kind of plateau of pleasure. Her pelvic muscles clamped down hard around his legs and surged forwards, actually pushing him a little further out of her.

Oh, thank God. He kept pushing against her, and, when her muscles relaxed, he managed to avoid sinking any further in. With her panties still pressing against his back, there was only so much leverage he could get to pull himself completely free, but at least his situation wasn't getting any worse.

He heard her let out a moan, and then her middle two fingers pushed down on his shoulders. He yelped in protest but it was useless. In one, effortless motion, she pushed his entire body all the way inside her vagina.

No, no, no, no. It had happened so quick that he could barely believe it. His arms were hanging over his head, and, in a desperate last chance, he tried to grip onto her fingers, but his hands slipped, and her fingers pulled out in an instant. The fleshy pink walls, glistening with fluid and coated in milky white secretion, came crashing down on top of him as the bulk of her fingers left. The soft, pliant flesh slowly wrapped tighter and tighter around his body, closing in on every curve and pressing ruthlessly against his face.

If he looked up, or out, technically, it was the only way he could even have a pocket of space in front of him to breathe. But, as her vagina continued to relax, tightening around him, that tiny space got smaller and smaller, the fleshy walls squeezing together in the absense of the body of her fingers. His heart raced as he watched his tiny air pocket shrink, filling with the fluid that seeped out of every inch of the flesh around him.

He took in an unexpected mouthful of fluid, and coughed, twisting his head to get another unobstructed breath of steamy, sex-reeking air. He dragged his hands down and tried to push the walls aside in order to open up a pocket to breathe. But he was too small and too weak to get more than a few inches of space; what she had been able to do effortlessly with her two fingers, he couldn't do no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't even push far enough to lock his arms out, and his shaking muscles gave out after less than a minute.

She responded to his efforts with her pelvic muscles clenching hard again. The pressure was incredible; it enveloped his entire body, squeezing him tighter than anything he had experienced in weeks spent in her panties. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, competing in volume with Vivianne's, and it lasted for so long that he started to see stars in his vision before it finally let up.

When it finally did let up, he took a deep, desperate breath, but drew in more fluid than air, leaving him coughing violently. His limbs thrashed instinctively, seeking any reprieve from this claustrophobic, suffocating reality, but none came. With every breath, more and more fluid slid down his throat, hot, slimy, and salty.

At some point, Francis wasn't sure when, he came to the realization that he had been breathing more fluid than air this whole time. He could feel it sitting heavy and hot in his lungs, sliding in and out of his mouth. The unrelenting pressure of the flesh around him, the feeling of fluid coating his entire body, with no escape possible, still had his heart racing and his mind panicking, but he had some glimmer of realization that he was okay. Somehow, impossibly, he was okay.

Her vaginal walls squeezed hard around him another time, turning harder and squeezing tighter for a longer time than they had before. Air or bodily fluids, he didn't even have the room to draw breath. When it finally subsided, he gasped instinctively, and he realized belatedly that he drew in nothing but the giantess' vaginal lubricant, without a single problem.

God. He was alive! He had survived that thing that he was nearly certain would kill him. And, though his panic still nagged at him, still kept him involuntarily pushing back against the fleshy walls that surrounded him, he realized that he was, somehow, totally safe. He wasn't sure of the limitations of his survivability, and he wasn't really sure how to press the boundaries of it, but this was still a huge discovery. Suppressing his instinctive panic, he took a deep, uncertain breath. He felt the slimy, cloudy white discharge line his throat, and he felt its heat fill him, but he was totally fine.

Outside, Vivianne kept masturbating, seemingly unaware of the fact that she had just tried to kill him. He didn't care. This accidental discovery added a whole new realm of possibility to his relationship with the giantess.

Her pussy squeezed hard around him yet again, downright painful this time. But panic had been largly replaced with arousal, and he was fully erect by the time her pelvic muscles relaxed. This had gone from a terrifying death to the hottest thing he could imagine in seconds. The taste of her, the heat of her, the pressure of her flesh enveloping his entire body. She frantic beat of her heart, the sensation of being carried along with hips that rocked in wild pleasure.

He gyrated his own hips, grinding his dick against the soft walls that entombed his body. As Vivianne rode her path to pleasure, he could ride his own. What was one more tiny shot of bodily fluid amidst the endless flow that surrounded him?

The giantess' orgasm was abundantly clear. Through the infinite walls of flesh that surrounded him, he could practically hear her blissful gasps, and her pelvic muscles clenched down hard. Hard. Harder than anything he had ever felt. His joints cracked, his limbs couldn't budge an inch, his lungs were driven empty and he couldn't draw breath no matter how hard he tried. Fixated, immoblized, in a tomb of flesh that had turned to stone, he could do nothing but ride along as her hips twitched helplessly in the throes of impossible pleasure.

He had been just about to finish, but, even though he couldn't move, in this incredibly erotic, incredibly intimate moment, his cock flexed, trapped between his belly and her vagina, and his entire body shuddered as he came. The tiny dribble of semen was lost almost immediately to the slimy, milky white mix of vaginal discharge and lubricant.

Her descent from ecstasy was longer than his. Even after relaxing briefly, her vaginal walls clenched him over and over and over and over again, weaker and briefer each time. Finally, he heard a shuddering gasp, and it was over. His world was soaked in fluid and reverberated with her pounding heartbeat, the flesh around him was burning hot against his skin, but it was finally over.

Gravity shifted, and his soft surroundings ground against him as well. She was rolling over? Maybe she would get him out?

But then she was still. For one minute. Five. Ten. Her heartbeat began to slow, to grow quieter and quieter, and still she didn't move. He lay there, uncertain what was happening, what she had planned. But she wasn't moving. At all.

Ah, fuck. She had passed out, he realized. She was drunk, she didn't realize what she was doing to him, and she had passed out after masturbating in her own bed. Thank God he had survived it, but now he had to endure a night spent in her vagina.

He took a deep, experimental breath, verifying that he could in fact still survive filling his lungs with the goddess' bodily fluids. He had been breathing it this whole time, but it still seemed unbelievable. It didn't hurt him, it didn't kill him. In fact, after surviving the crucible of her masturbation, it didn't even seem that unusual.

He was buried head to toe inside her, completely and inseparably a part of her body, experiencing every texture and taste of her most intimate organ. In his own post-orgasm clarity, it wasn't really arousing anymore, but it was still incredible.

Although he would be lying if he didn't admit that it was a bit boring.

Hungover by tallie
Author's Notes:

The morning after. Moderate insertion and entrapment, all from GTS perspective.

Ugh. Fuck.


No. Bathroom.


It was well past sunset. When did she go to bed? Right after getting home from work, right? Her bra was still on, and falling asleep with that stifling corsette was definitely not something she did sober. Groggily, she reached behind her back and undid the clasp, letting the bra fall wherever the hell it did, and breathed a sigh of relief.

She smacked her lips. Her mouth felt like it was made of cotton. Her body felt like a shriveled raisin, despite the complaints of her bladder. Water first, then bathroom.

She slammed into her doorframe on the way out of her bedroom. Fuck. Why do you do this to yourself? You're not making your work week any better by wasting your weekends bouncing between hungover and hammered. How the hell did a person like you even get to be a doctor in the first place?

She grabbed the biggest glass she had and started to fill it at the tap on the fridge. With the lights from the kitchen overhead and the bumpy black surface of the fridge, she could see at least the vague shape of her reflection in its surface. Without thinking, she turned to the side, inspecting her profile. Haven't gone for a run in a few weeks. Probably start up again today once you're clear of this hangover.

The cool water was the best thing she had ever tasted. She downed the entire thing in seconds, then poured a little more and tossed that back as well. She glanced at the shadow of her profile in the reflection in the fridge one more time, then headed to the bathroom.

She felt better, at least a little, with some water in her. But everything still hurt. She paused at the door to the bathroom, dreading the surge of pain that would come with turning on the light, and decided against it. She could take a piss in the dark.

Slowly, she stumbled over to the toilet, wrapping her thumbs around the waistband of her underwear. She knew by now how to disrobe in such a way that didn't threaten the tiny man's home in the crotch of her panties, and she wasn't so stupid that she couldn't pull it off hungover.

Standing over her toilet, she pulled down the waistband of her underwear a bit, then ran her thumbs down the elastic around her crotch, pulling the rest of the garment down as well. But something was wrong... She didn't feel the weight in her panties that she was used to.

She frowned, legs slightly spread, panties halfway down around her thighs, and looked down. There was a slimy white stain of discharge there, but no shrunken man. Confused, she looked down at the floor, even raising her legs to check underneath the soles of her bare feet. Had he somehow fallen underneath the toilet seat? No...

Fuck, she needed the lights. She stumbled over to the light switch and flicked on the dimmest set. Even so, she felt the sudden illumination as a surge of pain in her head. She squinted, cursing the light bulbs, and started looking through blurry eyes for a shrunken man somewhere on the tile floor. Maybe she was blind, but he was nowhere to be found.

Her stomach dropped. Fuck, he was inside her! The realization hit her in a wave of panic. Shit shit shit shit. She had just killed one of her own patients, and she had been too drunk to even remember how.

She dropped into a crouch, her panties mid-thigh, and reached uncomfortably into her vagina. The flesh was painfully sore to the touch; what the hell had she done to him? And she had to dig deeper, with thumb and middle finger, than she would have thought possible before she finally reached him.

She wasn't sure what part of his body she got ahold of, but she pulled it out as quick as she dared, depositing his miniature figure into her palm and holding it up to inspect the damage.

He was soaked in fluid, thin smears of pale, cloudy white streaking his body from head to toe. His hair was matted down, and his limbs were limp. But she could see him stir.

Suddenly, he doubled over and started coughing violently. Every cough sent a tiny squirt of fluid onto the palm of her hand, and it seemed like it was impossible for him to really catch his breath. She hated to see him like this, but she was elated to know that, despite everything, he was alive.

Fuck, he was alive! She had really thought that she had killed him. "Francis!" she said. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

He glanced up at her briefly, and threw up his finger to say 'one moment' as he kept coughing. It was her own fluids he was coughing up; he was recovering from a situation she never should have put him through. She felt terrible about it, but she still couldn't help but be astounded at the whole thing. She had left him inside her vagina overnight, and he was still alive. As far as she knew, nobody had ever even tried a test of a shrunken victim's survival like that.

"It's fine," he said finally. His quiet voice had the same tinny sound as a cell phone on speaker. She had to hold him barely a foot from her face just to make out what he was saying. "I'm fine."

"I didn't know... I'm so sorry," she repeated. "I was drunk... What happened?"

"You were masturbating," he said, looking at least a little uncomfortable. He coughed, and continued. "You shoved me inside you. I couldn't escape, and..."

"Oh God," Vivianne whispered, covering her mouth with one hand.

Francis had another violent coughing fit, then struggled to his feet in the palm of her hand. "It looks worse than it is. I was fine. It wasn't fun, but it was hot as hell."

Vivianne frowned, "Don't be gross."

"I'm not. I thought I was gonna die," he told her. "It took a long time for me to realize that I wouldn't." He shrugged. "You're stuck in there, there's no air to breathe. Your body hates it and wants the fuck out, but eventually you get used to it."

Through the mind-fog of her hangover, Vivianne realized that this was the chance to further the scientific understanding of exactly how sturdy the victims of the virus were. But was she capable of admitting that she had accidentally tried to kill one while shitfaced? "It was still dumb of me to risk it," she said.

"Yeah, it was," he responded, jabbing an accusatory finger at her. "But you got lucky, and so did I. It worked out."

"Never again, I promise."

"Are you kidding? That was the sexiest thing I've ever experienced. You should keep me in there all day."

What...? "That's..." Fuck, she could barely stand to look at the discharge stains in her own panties. It took ages for her to overcome her incredulity at the idea that a shrunken man would want to live inside them, and even that was with her selfish desire for near-constant erotic stimulation. This... This was something else. "You don't think that's gross?"

"I can't think of anything sexier."

"What if I kill you on accident, though?"

"You had me inside you the whole night," Francis replied. "I literally drowned in your bodily fluids." He spread his arms, and his dick, which would have been an impressive sight had he been full size, flopped around amusingly when he did so. "And here I am."

"Nobody has ever experimented..."

"Trust me on this," said Francis. "You weren't there. It's not comfortable, but I can't die."

Vivianne dropped her head into her other palm. Fuck, she was too hungover for this shit. "Look," she said, rubbing her forehead, "I gotta take a piss. Can we talk about this later?"

He bowed deeply, maybe a little sarcastically. "As you wish, mistress."

She groaned, and lowered him to the floor. He jumped off her palm and onto the tile as she crashed down onto the toilet. He had the good coutesy to look away as she did her business, at least, though there was nothing else in the bathroom that could possibly capture his attention. She leaned down with a sigh, massaging her pounding head.

She sat there for quite a long time after having finished, her eyes screwed shut. The sick smell of post-bender urine drifted up from between her legs, just another thing for her to hate about herself. She could just fall asleep right there, but her racing heart and aching head made it impossible.

"Ugh. Fuck," she moaned. She looked at the shrunken man through one half-open eye; he was kicking around a dust bunny he had managed to find, made up of more than a few of her own hairs. Clearly, she needed to clean up around her apartment, too. "I can't. Not today."

He looked back at her and raised his arms in a shrug. Even if he spoke, she wouldn't be able to hear him, but he was decent enough at the non-verbal communication.

She wiped herself, flushed the toilet with her elbow, and stood up. "What do you want?"

He raised his arms again. He knew she couldn't hear him. She leaned down and scooped him up in the palm of her right hand, bringing him close enough to her ear that she could hear what he had to say. "Just put me inside you," he said.

She shook her head. "It's too risky to try. It worked once, but I can't be sure it'll work again."

"You're the boss," he said with a shrug. "But I think you want it. Just think about how fun it would be for you."

Vivianne pinched her nose and shook her head. "Look, I'm going to put some clean underwear on, and try to keep sleeping this off. You can ride along in my panties again." She paused, bit her lip, and added, "If you decide you want to go inside me, I won't stop you."

His face brightened, and she raised a finger to caution him, "If it goes badly, I won't be able to save you, okay? And I can't let anyone know what happened. If you die, you disappear forever."

That seemed to give him pause, at least for a moment, but he nodded. "I get it."

She sighed, and flushed the toilet with her elbow. As she washed her hands, she gave him the chance to shower underneath the tap as well, with reduced flow and a glob of handsoap on the side for him to use. No point in changing into clean underwear if she was going to put a tiny man covered in yesterday's discharge into them.

She didn't give her groin any more cleaning attention than a wet wipe; the little man didn't deserve any more, and, frankly, didn't seem to want any more; then she changed into a pair of boyshorts. Underwear that would keep her shrunken toy permanently secured, but that she could wear comfortably for the entirety of a no-pants weekend day.

When he was done 'showering,' Vivianne plucked him up by his ankles, pulled open the waistband of her underwear, and dropped him in headfirst. The shrunken man bounced off the springy cloth like a trampoline and hit her body before crumpling into a pile in that spot where the cotton of her panties met her body. Even amidst the pounding pain of her hangover, his total submission to her in that position did give her a little smile. He could sort himself out from there.

She let the waistband of her panties snap shut and stumbled groggily back to bed. The shrunken man was already squirming by the time she threw the blankets over herself. Fuck. Between her pounding heart, her aching head, and the insistent struggling between her legs, how the hell was she supposed to sleep this off?

Party Spoiler by tallie
Author's Notes:

Further hours of the miserable morning of reckoning. More entrapment, more insertion, and far more vivid.

Even though she had practically invited him to find his way into the warm, wet embrace between her legs, Vivianne did not make it easy for him. He hit the surface of her panties not really sure which way was up, and slammed hard against the bulk of her body when she let her waistband snap shut. It made it that much more disorienting, and he had no idea what was going on until at least a minute had passed, the steady, rhythmic rocking of her hips finally giving him some sense of direction.

He really thought that, this close to her body, it would be easy for him to find his way down into the crotch of her panties. But her flesh was firm and unrelenting, and the pressure of her panties at his back was brutal. If he really, really fought, he could pull his head far enough off her body to see one or two feet in any direction, or whatever that was at this size, and then his arms would give out in seconds, leaving his face crashing into the rough stubble of her freshly-shaved pubic hair.

In a sudden, deafening, chaotic motion, his entire world turned sideways, and then all motion abruptly ceased. It took a moment, but there was eventually a total stillness. The heat of the giantess' flesh still surrounded him, the stench still filled his lungs, her heartbeat still pulsed delicately against him through her skin, but it was finally still.
In the stillness, he finally figured out that he was facing down; so she was on her back. Without the vibration of her walking around, he could also figure out what part of his body was closest to her vulva. It was hard to describe exactly what keyed him into it, but he figured that he was more or less facing directly away from the hot junction between her legs; he just had to crawl backwards, and he would find himself sliding between her labia in short order.

His own heart raced in excitement. Straining with effort, he pushed himself downwards against the scratchy stubble of her pubic hair. It was like crawling along a sheet of sandpaper, and it was no more comfortable for his erect dick, either. But, after some effort, and aided by the pressure at his back of her skintight underwear, his body started to curve against hers. He felt a sudden spike of victory whne he could feel the warm, wet flesh of her pussy on his legs.

He kicked and squirmed, threading his tiny body betwen her labia as he continued to work his way downwards. The rough stubble of her crotch was not a comfortable bed, but it was a convenient source of leverage as he worked his way further and further down. After many, many long minutes of backbreaking effort, his entire lower body was enveloped with the slimy heat that she kept hidden from the world, and, soon, he found himself face-to-face with the giantess' clitoris.

The pink nub of hyper-sensitive flesh was fully exposed, a sign of the giantess' arousal. For all her protests while she had been using the bathroom, she seemed to be enjoying this. He licked the tight bulb uncertainly; he couldn't help it, but he wasn't sure how much he really wanted to stimulate her.

Fuck it. He was too powerful here. What could she really do to him?

He pulled his hands down and dug them into the dark-brown, wrinkled hood of flesh from which her clitoris had emerged. Then he started to rub, squeeze, and massage the delicate organ as violently as he could manage.

He heard the giantess' distant moan immediately, dripping with pleasure. He may have been so small that even his most fervent efforts were barely a tickle to her, but he could also reach places that nobody else could. With a woman like Vivianne, a tickle in the right spot was worth ten times as much as a sweaty pounding by some random fuckboy. And he was plying a skill that he had learned over a month of the most profoundly intimate existence any man could hope for.

The heat grew hotter, the stench grew stronger, the fluid seemed like it was spreading everywhere, the giantess' heartbeat pounded furiously through the flesh that was pressed against him. Still, breathing heavy from the effort, Francis kept at it, even daring to bite, if gently, at the sensitive button.

His teeth were apparently the last straw for the giantess. There was a sudden rush of fresh air, a glance of daylight, and he felt her fingers on his shoulders. Exactly like the night before, Vivianne pushed him bodily into her vagina with a single, effortless motion. It was a rapid, brutal transition, a blur of pink and brown that was impossible for him to track until it was finally over. The tight, pink walls had parted willingly for the bulk of her fingers, but closed hard around his body the moment they departed, leaving him enveloped in a cocoon of hot, wet flesh.

Panic and excitement. Eroticism and fear. He hadn't expected her to oblige so easily, and now he was terrified at what could happen.

He'd be fine, wouldn't he?

The shrunken's man writhing was getting harder and harder to ignore. Vivianne lay on her back, praying that he would stop, praying that her head would stop hurting and her body would stop aching so she could just go back to sleep. But none of that happened.

In fact, the little man seemed extra willful. She could feel acutely all of his struggles, and it was clear that they were not random. He had a focus, and she knew, based on her experience with the unusual little guy, exactly what his focus was.

She prayed that he would not, but, as time went on, and his struggles continued, she started to kind of hope that he would, despite her pounding headache. Maybe a little orgasm might help her go to sleep a little faster.

Or so she thought. She felt his insistent little hands close in on the most sensitive part of her body, and her every muscle tightened up at the sudden spike of pleasure as he went to work. In the wake of that moment, she was left clutching her head at the sudden surge of pain. She could practically feel her heart beating in her temples, and every pulse was pure agony.

Just stop, little guy. Let it lie. Let me sleep.

But, of course, he didn't. Her pelvic muscles squeezed at another sudden wave of pleasure, and her headache doubled in intensity. She grit her teeth and groaned.

Fine, you want to go inside me? You got it, little guy. With a grunt, she shoved her right hand into her panties, and guided him feetfirst into her vagina, leaving him buried as deep as she dared. It wasn't terribly comfortable, but it was better than enduring what he had been up to before that.

He was tucked away safely now, nothing that he could do to bother her, at least not seriously. She sniffed her fingers and rolled over onto her side. We're gonna waste a weekend together, little man.

Close Contact by tallie
Author's Notes:

Becoming a statistic. Almost no real sexual content at all.

Vivianne emerged slowly from something like sleep. She had memories of vivid, bizarre dreams, and memories of lying in bed wondering when sleep would take her, and she couldn't really figure out where one ended and the other began. The confusing jumble of memories all evaporated like morning fog as she stretched and checked her watch. Eight P.M.? Holy shit. Even for working third shift, she had defenitely overslept.

Whatever. Weekend. She stretched until her arms and legs started to shake uncontrollably, and finally relaxed, letting out a deep and satisfied sigh. Her bed was a cocoon of heavenly luxury, with only a subtle but insistent pressure between her legs to provide the slightest discomfort, a subtle reminder that her freeloader roomate was stil living with her rent-free.

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand, and it slipped out of her hand, falling to the floor with a dull thud. She couldn't grab it without exposing too much of her bare skin to the chilly air than she wanted, so she let it lie and curled back up into bed. No alarms, no obligations, no worries, and a tiny man under her total control. This was paradise.

A grin started to creep across her face, and her hand reached between her legs, slowly stroking the sensitive flesh through the thin layer of fabric her underwear provided. Her hangover was completely gone now, and she could do herself the service she deserved with a whole human being buried inside her vagina.

Her phone dinged with a new notification once, then twice. She froze, her dreams of pleasuring herself vanishing instantly, and cursed quietly. Are you fucking kidding me? Braving her naked arms against the cold air of her apartment, she scooped the phone off the ground and unlocked it to see who the fuck was messaging her this late in the evening.

Her fingerprint didn't unlock it, odd, so she had to fat-finger a code she had nearly forgotten, and all that for two emails from a hotel chain she had stayed at years ago, and another from a dating app she barely bothered using anymore. Ah, Christ.

Well, she was up. She was up, her sexual appetite had been frustrated, and she was starving. The chilly air bit at her bare skin when she tossed the blankets aside, and she rolled out of bed, immediately looking to grab a sweatshirt off the floor. The baggy blanket of warmth slid easily over her naked torso, and, with the hoodie draped over her body like a poncho, she slowly staggered into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Everything seemed just a little bit wrong. Her phone still refused to unlock to her fingerprint, and the muscle memory of her morning routine somehow kept missing. She nearly dropped her plate and silverware. It took more than a few tries for her to open drawers and cabinets. She had completely missed the power button on her coffeemaker, and didn't even realize until she had grabbed a mug out of the cupboard that the smell of fresh coffee was conspicuously absent.

Oh, fuck. It couldn't be...

She scurried over to her front door and slid her foot into one of her shoes. It slipped in easily, and it was clearly a poor, oversized fit. The same shoe she had worn the day before.


She ripped the shoe off and held it up against her forearm; a rough rule of thumb, but your feet were about as long as your forearm, so your shoes should be about the same, right? But the toe of her shoe well exceeded her wrist, encroaching on the first knuckle of her fingers, large enough that it seemed like it belonged to someone else.

Oh no.

She was shrinking.

She had to do something. No, she had to tell someone. Fuck, she had to get out of the house. Wait, what would that do? No, she had to confirm. She needed to get tested. Shoes are just leather and rubber, right? They're not science, she needed to get a test.

Oh, who the fuck was she kidding? A test would take two days to send off and another two days to get the result back. The whole time, she'd be slowly shrinking to whatever the hell her final size would be, be it an inch shorter or an inch tall. She'd know the answer before she got the test back, and she all but knew it now; she had been infected with the shrinking virus.

Her breath was coming fast, and her head was racing. How had she gotten it? Was it at work? Had it been in her brief outings to the grocery store? She had dared to go to a restaurant last week to eat something good after months of distancing, but it had been mostly outside, and she had worn her mask. Still, had it been then? Could it have been then?

She worked in a hospital, for Christ's sake. She encountered infected people on a daily basis. In the early days, there had been stories of entire hospitals being shuttered as the virus ripped through their staff, back before they had a handle on how the virus was transmitted. They were better about keeping it from spreading now, and people doubled up on PPE and sterilization these days, but there were still some holes.

Fuck, could it have been from the little man she had picked up from the ward? God, she couldn't imagine explaining that to anyone, and it would be a first, as far as she knew. He had been shrunken for months, or so his records said. He surely couldn't still be contagious... But, at the same time, he had lived basically on her body for weeks now. That much exposure, even if there was basically no live virus left in his tiny body, would surely infect her, wouldn't it?

God, she could see that study in the Lancet now. 'Infectivity of extended exposure to post-symptomatic SOVOS victims: an observational study.' Her name would never appear in the article, but every detail of her embarassingly intimate relationship with this stranger, whose only value to her life had been his convenient size and seemingly limitless sexual eagerness, would be dissected by generations of doctors and scientists. She'd be a pariah, a shrunken, helpless outcast, until the day she died.

No, no, no. Take a deep breath. You don't know what happened, you don't know how it happened. But you have a duty to get tested. Take some time off, isolate yourself; you're a danger to your coworkers and to society until you know for sure that you're not.

Her hands were shaking. Could she do that? Could she watch herself shrink until some laboratory somewhere confirmed that, yes, she was shrinking? Nobody ever knew how much they shrank until it was done, and, if that test result came back positive, she'd be out of the hospital for two weeks. But she might need emergency assistance long before that, as her own apartment became too large for her to live in.

Get yourself together. You have a job to do. Her hands still shaking, but less now, she grabbed her phone and dialed the number to her hospital's virus hotline. It could be the real thing, it could be nothing, or it could be anything in between, but people still needed to know. Best case scenario, she got two weeks off work for no reason, plus a day to grab a new pair of shoes.

Worst case scenario... Well, she didn't want to think about that. But, once she finished reporting this unfortunate development to all her bosses and coworkers, she had one last person to tell. The tiny, struggling servant who had volunteered to be a giantess' sex toy. He had to know that his godess was shrinking.

She went through the normal rigamarole with the hotline; have you been in close contact with someone who has been infected, are you exhibiting any symptoms, self-isolate and monitor your height and call back if you lose more than however many inches, blah, blah, blah. Because she worked at the hospital, she had her own test kit at home, so she could draw her own blood, seal the sample, and put it in the mail herself. But it was late at night on a Tuesday, so it wouldn't be picked up until tomorrow, and the lab wouldn't receive it for two days after that... She'd know the truth long before she got the results back.

She called her boss... voicemail... Hi, I think I caught the virus, so I'm going to get tested, I'll be out for two weeks, good luck filling the backshift, bye.

She thought about posting about it on Facebook so she could wallow in a pity party, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to make it public yet. So there was only one last person to tell, and it felt like he was starting to wake up as well.

Where would she be comfortable putting the three inch-tall Francis when she pulled him out of her vagina? She'd have to clean up after him no matter where she put his fluid-covered body, and she didn't want to bother, not now. She headed back into the kitchen and set a paper towel down on the countertop, then shimmied down her panties and, with a grunt of discomfort, slid him slowly out into the open air.

She lifted him up to inspect his tiny body. He didn't seem to be in great shape, hair matted down, limbs moving weakly, an expression of weariness and confusion on his face. Shit. Had she done that to him, or was this just the disorienting effect of waking up at his size, and in his incredibly unique environment?

She set him down carefully on the paper towel, and he rolled over onto his knees, coughing weakly for a few seconds. God, she felt awful watching him like this. Maybe she shouldn't have put him inside her vagina; he had never suffered like this when he had just been riding along in her panties.

When he finally stood up, he seemed a bit more chipper. Time to put a dent in that, though. "So, I've got bad news," she said.

He cocked his head, curious. She was still standing a little too far away for her to hear him if he were to speak, and they had been together for long enough that he had started to use body language by default. Still, this wasn't something that was appropriate for theatrical emoting. She took slow, trepidatious steps to the counter where he stood, until she was sure that she would be able to hear him speak. It was ridiculous, but she couldn't bear to meet his eyes when she told him, "I think I caught the shrinking virus."

"From me?" he asked.

Was that concern in his face? That was unexpected; for someone who had only ever provided and asked for sex in their relationship, he seemed genuinely worried by the possibility. "I don't know," Vivianne confessed. "Probably not, but it doesn't matter. I'll have to quarantine for two weeks."

"What about me?"

"You're already shrunk," she said with a halfhearted grin. "You're stuck here."

"Oh..." He looked down at the paper towel beneath his feet. He was silent for a while, and Vivianne expected some kind of profound response, or at least some expression of empathy. She didn't get that, though. Instead, he pointed down and asked, "Just here?" Slowly, he started walking sideways, "Not over there?"

That took her off guard. "Don't..." Vivianne warned, her grin growing wider, and more honest, despite herself.

"Are you sure?" he asked, inching closer to the edge of the towel. "But it looks so inviting, so clean."

"I'm warning you..."

Slowly, he stepped forward, and put a single bare foot onto the clean countertop. "Oh, that's cold. Feels good. I bet you wish you were my size right now."

"Not funny."

In a burst of forced drama, the shrunken man drew his arm to his forehead and collapsed pitifully onto the counter, smearing the fluid that coated his body all over the granite. "Oh, I'm sorry, mistress! Oh, how I have sinned! How will I be punished?"

"With Windex?" Vivianne offered helpfully.

He flopped onto his belly and spread his limbs in mocking supplication. "I prostrate myself before you, godess. I am unworthy! Use me for your pleasure, please, so I may be forgiven."

He was so tiny, the amount of discharge that clung to his skin was so small, that he really couldn't make a mess. Even so, he was putting in a valiant effort anyway, smearing his arms and legs all over the granite counter. Still, Vivianne couldn't suppress a giggle. "Fine," she said. She scooped him up off the countertop, pinching his waist between her thumb and middle finger, and dangled him in front of her face. "You want to have some fun? Let's have fun while I'm still this size."

She didn't bother waiting for his response. She walked rapidly over to her bedroom, and tossed his tiny body carelessly into the sloppy swirl of sheets on top of her bed. He landed... somewhere, and she dove onto the mattress after him.

Let's have some fun, little man. Now where the hell did you go?

The Unnecessary Chapter by tallie
Author's Notes:

I meant to have a short story. This chapter could disappear and change nothing. Insertion, mouth play, and giantess masturbation.

Francis hid underneath a tiny fold in the sheets, hoping, praying that the prowling monster overhead wouldn't find him. He could hear, he could feel its searching, every single one of its steps shaking his entire world; it was right overhead, and any attempt to escape would only give himself away. His only chance was to hide.

"Where are you?" it sang. "Come out, come out!"

Francis huddled deeper into his tiny hole. Then, without warning, the giantess' hand slammed into the bed barely feet away from him; nearly casting him out from his cover. The dent of her weight in the mattress seemed, for the moments that it lasted, to be a cavernous hole, one that he had to fight for all he was worth to keep from tumbling into.

Then her hand lifted, and his entire world bounced back into position. He almost lost his cover in the chaos of the motion, and he huddled deeper into it, trying to avoid discovery. Her body loomed large over his entire world; there was no escape, and only the smallest of hiding spaces; and if she found him...

Well, truth be told, if she found him, they would have some real fun. He actually wanted to be discovered. But it was also fun to pretend for now.

"Oh, there you are!" the goddess exclaimed. Francis looked up to see the massive woman on all fours over him, her body stretching out over the bed like the sky itself, her head drooped down and looking at his diminutive form upside-down.

Her hand reached for him with terrifying speed. Before he could even react, fingers the size of tree trunks pinched him by the waist and carried him into the sky. In barely a second, he was staring at a face ten times his size, bearing an expression that oozed lust. "I think you're just the right size," it said.

Another, dizzying motion, and he found himself barely inches away from the giantess' dark, wrinkled vulva. "What do you think?" she purred, her voice projecting from far above him. "I think you'll fit just fine..." She drew out the last word into a husky growl, and her other hand came out of nowhere, to caress between her legs, massive fingers stroking along pliant flesh.

He watched, captivated, at how effortlessly her fingers pushed and squeezed and tugged at what, to him, seemed like an immovable monument. He could feel the heat, he was swamped with the fishy smell; even her single middle finger, sliding carelessly along and revealing the bright pink hidden beneath the folds, could do more than he could ever hope to do. He wanted to be in there, desperately. And watching her fingers slowly, carefully, effortlessly do what he could never do in a million years made him feel like he deserved it.

I am your prey, goddess. Consume me.

But she didn't, she just held him there, forcing him to watch while her fingers began to move with greater fervor, and her breath drew quicker with every passing second. Watching her work herself up from this position was an experience like no other, and he was left with a throbbing erection. But, trapped between her pinching fingers, he couldn't do a single thing about it.

Without warning, there was a chaotic, world-spinning movement. His stomach dropped, then jumped straight into his stomach, the world blurred, and then he found himself suddenly hanging over the giantess face, his limbs dangling uselessly. She was sprawled out on her back on the bed, her hair a careless mess spread around and underneath her head, a few strands even hanging over her face.

She blew a strand of hair out of her mouth, and he cought the blast of wind straight in the face, a half-second hurricane that forced him to shield his eyes, limbs thrashing. She giggled, and he couldn't be sure if it was his reaction to her carelessness, or his erection that he stood no chance of hiding that she found funny.

Or maybe it was both.

"I think it's hungry," she said, her voice dripping with lust. Her eyes flitted back and forth across his diminutive body like those of a cat about to pounce, and her mouth moved with captivating grace with every word she spoke. He barely knew which one to watch. "But so am I..." she whispered.

Her face was flushed, her hair was a mess, and her breath came quick. She had worked herself up into a pure sexual fever. He realized with a spike of fear that this was just like she had been when she had accidentally tried to suffocate him inside her vagina; she was capable of nearly anything in this moment, and he was powerless to stop it.

Her mouth opened wide, and he had barely a moment to process that before her fingers parted. He slid abruptly downwards, his stomach dropping, until her thumb and forefinger caught him by the wrists. The sudden stop was jarring, and his legs kicked uselessly, barely inches above her gaping mouth. For a moment, he felt a real sense of panic, staring down at her wide-open jaw, her tongue writhing, searching, her throat eager to swallow something just about his size.

She wouldn't, would she? He had survived more than he expected, but if she swallowed him?

She lowered him down just slightly, and her tongue probed upwards, crawling between his legs and tickling his crotch. The feeling of it on the sensitive flesh was too much, and he convulsed involuntarily, kicking wildly.

In response, her lips clamped down around his shins, and, in a single instant, she sucked him down into her mouth, until only his head was left out in the open air.

From this perspective, all he could see was the two gaping holes of her nostrils, greasy caverns ringed with hairs, disappearing rapidly into inscrutable darkness. He screamed, horrified that she would swallow him whole, but she seemed not to hear.

Instead, she let out a pleasured moan, exhaling through her nose. He could hear the wind of her exhalation howling over his head, but, somehow, he was spared the blast of air. Was she... masturbating? With him in her mouth?

As if answering his question, her tongue surged up from beneath his back and flipped him over, a move so abrupt and so violent that his heart started to race again; he really was prey here. If she wanted him dead, he would be dead before he knew it. Hell, all she had to do was bite down, and she'd cleave his head clean off.

It was terrifying, but he trusted her, so it was also hot as hell. He was hers, wholly hers. His body, his very life, was her plaything. And if she had to swallow him whole to get off... Well, it was terrifying, and his primal instincts would not be denied, but he still trusted her.

But, here, he was treated to an incredible view. With nothing more than his head poking from between her lips, and his back pressed against the roof of her mouth, he could see the whole, vast landscape of her body. The soft curves of her breasts, the tight plain of her stomach leading down to the pale, stubble-covered mound of her vulva, and the smooth pillars of her legs that continued on towards the end of the bed, seemingly an eternity away.

Her left hand was massaging her breasts, and her right was between her legs, fingers carefully rubbing at the tender flesh. She let out another moan, and her tongue squirmed against his body, pushing him a bit harder into the roof of her mouth. His dick was rock-hard by now, and the infinitely-pliant muscle of her tongue felt really, really good writhing along it.

Oh, Vivianne, my goddess...

He had watched the giantess work herself to orgasm a dozen times already, but he had never seen it like this. Her right hand did its work as the desperation and the pitch of her moans slowly grew. Her hips began to rock, and her left hand squeezed at her own breasts, moving from one to the other schizophrenically, pinching the nipples hard enough to make him wince.

Her lips clamped hard around his neck, choking him, and her tongue kept squirming relentlessly against his body as she breathed out moan after desperate moan through her nose. Whether she meant to or not, she was edging him, and he wanted nothing more than to be underneath the fingers of her hand, between her legs, where he belonged.

Her legs moved restlessly, her hips writhed in pure ecstasy, and her hand moved faster and faster, careful rubbing turning into desperate slapping as she drove her middle two fingers into her vagina. Her left hand left her breasts, and she propped herself up, as if she wasn't able to get the leverage she needed lying down. His perspective shifted somewhat when she did so, giving him a view of the incredible speed and strength of her hand at work.

Her moans came with every breath, and he was pressed up against the roof of her mouth with incredible, painful pressure, like he was the only thing keeping her anchored to earth. She was completely lost to pleasure. Her hand whipped back and forth with furious speed, sending jiggles across her entire body. Her palm slapped noisily against her crotch, over and over, faster... faster... faster...

Finally, she came. He watched her entire body convulse, breasts bouncing, stomach seizing up, hips bucking. Her mouth fell open, and a ragged gasp escaped her lips as she collapsed backwards onto the bed. Francis slipped out of her mouth and tumbled downwards, bouncing once off her breasts and landing facefirst on her stomach.

Her arms and legs were limp, her breaths deep, the flesh beneath him slick with sweat and burning with the heat of her effort. Francis reveled in the warmth and smell of her, rising up and down with her belly as she slowly caught her breath. He hadn't been at ground zero, or so to speak, but, God, it was still amazing to be a part of something so intimate, to be both  her prisoner and her audience, and he could ride the steady descent from heaven with her.

The massive woman let out a quiet giggle, and her stomach muscles spasmed unpredictably when she did so. Francis looked up, but wasn't able to see her face beyond the mounts of her breasts. Her right hand came out of nowhere, and brushed him slowly, tenderly, along the surface of her stomach and down, down, towards the heat and wet that he had missed, her fingertips carrying him along like a snowplow.

Reistance was useless, so he let himself get carried along until he was tossed over the edge, falling the short distance to the mattress. The bedsheets were a little damp, but it was nothing compared to the glistening wall of flesh that towered over him.

She said that she had started to shrink, but he couldn't tell from here. Her legs, lying flat on either side of him, were slender, pale mountains that he could never hope to scale. Between them, her crotch, red and swollen, was as tall as he was, and the tight muscles of her ass kept it just barely out of his reach.

The imprint of her weight in the mattress wasn't steep, but it would be easy for him to lose his footing and slip down into the crack between her ass if he tried to reach it, so he was content to sit back and take in the sight. At least until she decided she wanted something... more interesting.

And it really was a sight to behold. Still engorged from her aggressive masturbation, the soft pink flesh of her vagina was visible between the parted lips of her vulva, all of it glistening with a messy, streaky layer of slimy fluid. A single trickle of it even ran down into her ass. The heat was incredible, and the stench was even more so. Francis could even see the slight twitching of her pelvic muscles, working involuntarily beneath the surface.

He was familiar with every fold and wrinkle of it from his days spent nestled in her panties. The smell of it was overwhelming, but it was also warm and comforting. The sight of it was intimidating, but it was also welcoming. The hand that had shoveled him off her body sat delicately just above, her fingertips only an inch away from getting right back to work.

He heard her subvocal moan, and that hand slowly slid downwards over either side of her vulva, spreading it apart and revealing every detail that was hidden beneath it. At the bottom, Francis could see clearly the tight walls of her vagina, and they squeezed slightly, pushing out a thin issue of even more lubricant.

"It's still hungry," Vivianne said. Her voice was quiet and distant, but the sexual energy of it electrified the air.

Her fingers let go, and her vulva closed up again, but Fracis could still see the fleshy maw of her vagina through the thin gap. Her hand reached forwards, over his head, and cupped his body from behind with her middle two fingers, each just barely shorter than he was. He was lifted off the mattress and carried slowly forwards, right up against her crotch.

She moaned again, a little more eagerly, and her fingers slid into her vagina, carrying his legs along with it, all the way up to his waist. Her fingers slid out effortlessly, leaving his body behind. He flopped backwards, arms hanging over his head. Even after her sexual workout, the walls of her vagina held onto his legs tightly enough, and he wasn't heavy enough, that he stood no chance of slipping out, even if he tried. He was completely at her mercy now.

And she didn't disappoint. He knew she couldn't see him, but her fingers moved expertly, grabbing his arms, pinning them at his sides, and then sliding the rest of his body all the way into her vagina, seemingly in a single, effortless motion. The tight walls wrapped up his body and folded over his face, and yet he was still driven deeper, deeper, until his feet hit something hard, and her fingers pulled away.

As the walls slowly tightened around him, sealing around every curve of his body, he could hear, or rather feel, a more full-throated moan from far above him, followed by some words that he couldn't really understand, but he could still tell that they were absolutely dripping with lust. Was she really about to start again? And so soon?

She had come too fast for him to get release while trapped in her mouth. His erection was painfully hard by now. He barely had any purchase to move, he could only grind his hips against the walls that pressed in around him, but, as he heard her heartbeat start to speed up again, as he felt her start to move, it was enough.

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