CHAPTER 8: HOTSHOT’S DEMISE

            I was now sitting stop the short dresser nearest the door.  I had climbed a long coiled telephone wire, which was a long trip, but not as difficult as I had imagined.  When she came in earlier, she put Hotshot into a small empty drinking glass on her bed.  He was there now, his hands pressed against the glass, anticipating his fate.  I could feel the excitement in her movements as she made preparation around the room.  She lit several candles, blew out the match, and discarded it into the glass with Hotshot.  She giggled as he tried to avoid it, and laughed even harder as he coughed in a cloud of smoke.  I huddled against the phone, wondering what I was about to witness.

            She locked her bedroom door with a large key, and she placed it in the top drawer of the dresser (on which I still sat).  Off went the lights.  She walked very seductively towards Hotshot’s glass prison, placing on foot barely in front of the other, and swaying her hips slowly from side to side.  Still in sweatpants and a tank top, her lazy ponytail still dangled from her shoulder.  She gently reached into the glass, picking up Hotshot by his sweatshirt once again.  He kicked and flailed his arms, and I wondered why he would waste his energy so uselessly.  She tossed him like a doll onto his back on the bed.  He was still cursing her, the nitwit.  Without warning, she flicked him in the chest with her forefinger.  I winced at the sound.  I found myself inching towards the dresser’s edge to get a better look.  I was morbidly curious to see if Jayne’s bite was as bad as her bark.

            She immediately began to undress.  I was feeling a little embarrassed to be watching her, but I did have to keep track of the amulet, after all.  Soon she was only in her little black tank top with matching black hotpants.  I had to hand it to Jayne, she kept in really good shape, specifically her legs and derriere.  Hotshot was still curled up in fetal position on the bed, still recovering from the finger turned wrecking ball.  He was barely visible on the massive comforter.  Jayne casually walked to her desk, swaying seductively and looking over her shoulder to see if Hotshot was watching.  He was, I think.  She pressed a button on her stereo, and some trance beat started playing.  It was pretty loud, but she turned it down a little.

            “Just enough so they don’t hear us playing,” Jayne said, more to herself.

            Hotshot slowly got to his feet and appeared to be yelling again.  Jayne regarded him with amusement for a moment.  Then, suddenly, she pounced onto the bed on all fours, a predator rearing for the kill.  The impact of her landing knocked Hotshot onto his back.  She leaned forward, stretching her back, her perfect derriere pointing up and out.  Wow, I thought.  Her face came close to Hotshot’s cowering body.  She darted her tongue at him, lapping him roughly in the face.  But my attention had turned to the amulet, which was now exposed again, dangling from her neck.

            “I can’t hear what you’re saying,” Jayne said, mock apologetically.  “Maybe this will help.”

            Her fingers went around the amulet, and she murmured something.  Instinctively, I shut my eyes, remembering what she said about looking at the light.  I sensed the flash through my eyelids.  I swallowed hard, not knowing if I was microscopic now.  Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked at myself.  I was okay.  I mean… still the same size as a few moments ago.  I looked up, and my jaw dropped in amazement.

            Hotshot’s size had been restored.  Not completely.  But she had reversed the process somewhat.  My guess was a little more than halfway back to normal.  Three feet tall, plus or minus.  Hope leapt in my chest once again.  It could be done.  Of that, I was absolutely certain now.  She murmured something when she held the amulet.  Had I kept my eyes open, I might be at least partially restored.  But, I realized, I wouldn’t be able to defend myself, and I would have lost my one advantage: stealth.  Much to my dismay, I could now hear Hotshot speak.

            Predictably, the first thing he did was curse at her.

            “Ooh, I thought we talked about that in the car,” she said disapprovingly.

            She was on her knees now, sitting back onto her own feet in the soft mattress.  She playfully poked Hotshot in the chest with her finger.  He lunged at her, swinging a haymaker right into her jaw with everything he had.  Not a bad punch, really.  But woefully ineffective.  Her head absorbed it, turning slightly with the force.  She smiled at him.

            “Is that all you’ve got?” She raised an eyebrow.

            Hotshot swung again, connecting again.  Same effect.  It seemed to… turn her on.

            “That one stung a little bit,” she nodded.  “But I’ve taken worse.”

            He cursed and spat and wound up another strike.  This time, with blinding speed, she caught his little arm and gave it a light twist, all in one motion.  I heard him cry out and collapse back onto the bed.  Jayne released his arm and backed away onto her feet again.  She paced slowly around the bed.

            “Stand up,” she ordered.

            He did, holding his shoulder, and still muttering obscenities.  Even standing on her bed, he wasn’t quite up to her chin level.  She continued to pace, walking in a figure “U” around the front of the bed over and over again as she spoke to him.

            “Was there another man at the bar tonight?” She asked.

            Oh, damnit.

            “What?” He asked.

            “Another man?” She repeated.  “Was there someone else there besides your stupid friends and the barkeep?”

            “Y-y-yes.  Another guy.  He was sitting at the bar, right ‘fore you all showed up,” Hotshot nodded emphatically.

            “Where was he when we came in?” Jayne continued pacing.

            “Um… he was in the closet!” Hotshot shouted.  “Barkeep asked him to get a towel.  So he went.  Was in there for awhile, now I think ‘bout it.”

            Jayne paused to consider this.  I studied her carefully, not feeling so safe all of a sudden.  I needed to get out of this place.  The client would probably be here soon, and it wouldn’t be long before they figured out that I hitched a ride to their little goddess sorority house.  Jayne seemed to come to a decision, and she started pacing again.

            “I have to tell you something.  There’s a reason I gave you some of your size back.  And it’s not because you’re a terrific conversationalist.  I do it to all of my boys.  I like a little fight,” she teased.  “Some of the girls think I’m a little… off.  Do you think that?”

            “I think you’re a nut,” Hotshot fired back.  “I don’t know who you think you are, but you best make me normal again, or I swear I’m gonna kill you, you f-“

            “You really don’t know when you to shut up, do you?” Jayne seemed a little less playful now.

            Couldn’t have said it better myself, I thought.

“Just… please… make me normal,” Hotshot stammered.

She stopped pacing.  She stood directly in front of the bed now.

“Come towards me,” she commanded.  I couldn’t see her face, but her new tone did not suggest a smile anymore.

He hesitated, but eventually stepped forward.  She grabbed the front of his sweatshirt, which appeared to shrink and grow with him as it did with me.  Not so gently, she tore it completely off of him, along with his t-shirt underneath.  He yelped as her nails grazed him.  Next, she grabbed his belt buckle and began unfastening it.  He tried to back away, even attempting to grab her hands.  But she was far too strong.  To make her point, her other arm flew around his lower back to hold him steady.  He stared down shamefully as she pulled his jeans down.  She grabbed and lifted his left leg, removing the pant leg and shoe in one motion.  She did the same with his right.  Soon, he was only in boxer shorts.  I found it mildly surprising that he was showing signs of arousal in front of his tormentor.  Even more surprising, I found myself more than a little attracted to this display of utter domination.

“See?  You do like me,” she teased, motioning towards his manhood.  With one hand, she slowly and very gently removed his last article of clothing.  She giggled at his reduced body, which apparently was very optimistic despite its current situation.  She responded by leaning in and taking his manhood full into her mouth.  He relaxed somewhat, shuddering with the sudden pleasure of an otherworldly sensation.  Somewhere in a valley between the peaks of arousal and fear, he moaned softly.  She swirled her enormous tongue around, and continued for several minutes.  He even dared to reach out and touch her hair.  She giggled and released him, drawing herself back to her full height.

“That… was… wow,” Hotshot said, forgetting his entire predicament.  “Why’d you stop?”

“I just wanted you to have a nice thought to hang on to,” she said casually.

“Are… are you going to let me go?” He asked.  

She smiled.  But it was an evil smile, I could tell, even without being able to see her face fully.  The predatory satisfaction knowing that her prey had given up.  She stepped back slipped her hotpants to the floor.  She peeled her tank top over her head.  Hotshot stared at her goddess body.  I had a pretty good view myself, from behind.  He even smiled a little, probably thinking he had her all wrong, that he was about to experience the ride of a lifetime.  But I saw the tension in the back of her legs, the arch in her back.  Like a cat moments away from pouncing onto a mouse.  And her next words chilled me to the bone:

“The truth is… you can’t fight me.  I want you to think you can.  I even want you to try.  I want to see your hope swell up.  It makes it more satisfying for me to see it disintegrate.  Because there is no more hope,” she leaned in close, and darted her large tongue across his lips so fast that he flinched.  “The truth is… I restored you halfway… because I don’t want to squish you, like the other girls often do.  I don’t want to eat you.  Or play with you.  I want to break you.  I want you hear your ribs crack.  And I want to hear you…” She prepared to pounce.  “…scream.”

I watched in horror as Jayne, nearly twice the size of Hotshot, tackled her prey and straddled him.  Reaching down she plunged his reduced manhood into her.  At first his terrified face turned into a few moments of pleasure, as she ground her pelvis into his.  But it soon turned back to terror for him as her weight pressed down on him hard.  He gripped his tiny arms and held him against the bed above his head.  She continued to plow away at his little body.  Even at his reduced size, she seemed to be enjoying him immensely, although I imagine it had more to do with psychological rather than physical pleasure.

She bucked harder.  Every cry of pain from Hotshot resulted in a groan of pleasure from Jayne.  I could hear the air being smashed out of Hotshot’s tired lungs, which were laboring vigorously under her immense weight, with each of her thrusts.  His hands clawed uselessly at the air, as his forearms were still pinned in her giantess hands.  I watched his legs straighten suddenly, toes curling inward.  He might have actually climaxed under her.  She purred approvingly.  Still gripping his arms, in his absolute moment of pleasure, she twisted her hands violently, shattering the bones in both of his forearms.  What was almost an orgasmic moan became a blood curdling scream, which only seemed to arouse her further.  She rolled suddenly onto her back, cradling his body with her massive thighs, and she released his broken arms to either side of her, like a mock hug.  He lay, sobbing with his face in her chest, not even being able to use his mangled arms to push himself up for a breath.  He attempted bite her, but she giggled with delight.  She grabbed his head with her hands and pushed him back so he could look into her evil green eyes one last time.

“Time for the grand finale,” she hissed.  “Die, you little fuck.”

Her gymnast legs coiled even tighter around his small ribcage.  Her feet locked behind him and she squeezed.  I doubted that a normal-sized man could pull oxygen into his lungs in that ferocious scissor grip.  She still held his head in her hands, watching his face with feral joy and anticipation.  She squeezed more; I could see her putting everything she had into this last squeeze.  Ribs popped like bubble wrap.  Her hips writhed beneath him, and she appeared to be climaxing, judging by her breathing.  She squeezed more, rubbing her legs back and forth against his crushed ribcage.

She released him, suddenly.  He drew in a labored breath, and then wailed in pain.  She smiled at him, her face still in her hand, and then she shoved his body downward so his face landed directly into her womanhood.  Her thighs clamped again, even more ferociously than before.  I heard a muffled scream.  Hotshot’s feet kicked randomly.  I assumed his struggles including some biting because she screamed in both pain and pleasure.  She let him struggle for awhile, and I could see him slowly suffocated, face first in her sex.  Suddenly she arched her back, and her legs flexed into steel pistons.  His neck snapped like a dry branch.  And Hotshot was gone.