There was a fear within Devon, more than just unspoken but almost to the point of being unthought of. Something he didn’t want to admit was a worry he had, but a concern that was perhaps the most important aspect of his tenure spent with his sister’s coach. Suzanne’s treatment of him, and really how any regular person treated a tiny human, was subject to one crucial element: how long will this last? It’s not a common speculation that normal people have regarding other normal people in everyday life; most people are civil enough and relatively polite, and if they aren’t, the interaction is often easy to ignore or move past.
But when you’re a tiny person, not even a quarter meter in total height, you become hyperaware of the duration for almost every relationship and interaction you have. Because unlike when you were normal, escape becomes a part of the equation, and the answer to “Can you?” is almost always no. With everyone you meet, time becomes tethered to your ankle like a weight, and even the most warmhearted people become inevitably linked to you wondering when they won’t be a part of your routine anymore. Devon had been aware of this before he had even finished shrinking; his parents treated him the same as ever, but how long would he have the important luxury of living under their care? His friends had been awkward yet understanding, but the boy had always wondered if one of them might turn on him like he had so often seen in the news. And then someone did turn on him, his sister, and when he was taken along with Bethany to her new life at college, he then had to wonder how long he would be her glorified pet, how long until he moved back with his parents, or got kidnapped, or fell in love, or was accidentally (or purposefully) killed? The answer had been roughly 9 weeks.
And now he was in the possession of Bethany’s coach, a woman who treated him with far less emotional love than she did physical, so the new question he’d asked himself was How long will my sister let her coach keep me as her sex slave? He still didn’t know the answer. The last time he’d seen his sister had been a few weeks ago, when Suzanne had discreetly taken him to a game inside of her bra and given Bethany a peek after everyone else had left (“Looks like he’s having fun,” she’d giggled at the time; Suzanne had laughed too, and then pushed him deeper into her sweaty cleavage before zipping up her hoodie). So how long his torment with the gigantic woman would last was still up in the air. The season wasn’t even ongoing anymore, yet Bethany hadn’t so much as stopped by to see how her tiny big brother was doing. As of yesterday, his tally with Suzanne had reached four months. It seemed impossible, even for his sister, but by this point, he wondered if Bethany would ever come back. He hadn’t thought she was cruel enough to let it go on this long, but the truth was really that she didn’t care enough to make it a priority; she didn’t want Devon to suffer, it’s just that checking up on him was a chore that she kept putting off. Emotionally, apathy isn’t a whole lot of work, and as the days wore on, Bethany didn’t realize how less and less she found herself thinking of Devon.
On the other hand, Suzanne showed him a nauseating amount of attention. She was like the middle-aged iteration of a clingy partner, with the smarts to recognize how lucky she was and the energy to make the most of her luck every day. Whereas Bethany let Devon “live his life” (albeit from the confines of her dorm room most of the time), Suzanne was constantly using her human toy in one way or another. Before, he’d been a pet, but now he was a prisoner, always trapped inside the humongous woman’s bra or panties. Going to the bathroom was the only time he ever got to himself, a collective 5 to 10 minutes a day when he wasn’t somewhere on the woman’s body. It was ironic how much muscle mass he’d lost, since Suzanne was a coach, and yet she never gave him time to so much as exercise. Even sex wasn’t much of a workout for someone who was considered more akin to a dildo than a person.
Which was the situation Devon found himself in now. Once again, his feet were adhered to a suction cup, but this time, there was a plastic bar at his back, used to keep his body upright as it stuck out at a 90 degree angle. Suzanne had started using it shortly after her first session with Devon, since it negated the effects of having him faint and fall over. But she soon realized that it allowed her to stick the suction cup against the headboard of her bed, opening up their nightly rituals to a new wave of ideas and possibilities. One of which was basically akin to doggy style.
Suzanne was on her mattress before him, crouched on all fours and with her ass facing his 8-inch figure. She’d donned a black bra and pair of heels that were meant to make her look like a dominatrix, and in turn, he wore a miniature ball gag (the woman was unfortunately sane enough that his constant pleading and begging for mercy annoyed her, so nowadays she always had to shut him up before using him). The aesthetic effect of her attire was lost on Devon, since her sheer size and pitiful treatment of him was part of her constant domination over the poor boy. But she wore it mostly for herself. The leathers and glossy black made her feel young and sexy again. Devon made her feel young and sexy again.
Although he would’ve thought it better not to look, Devon’s head craned upwards to watch as Suzanne crawled backwards on her hands and knees, the cellulite sprawled all over her ass and thighs jiggling as her massive rear end quaked with every movement she made. He whimpered, knowing by now that no sequence of movements or words on his end could put a stop to what was about to occur, but unable to keep himself from tearing up in fear nonetheless.
“God, I have been waiting for this all day,” Suzanne said, ignoring his minor squeaks and squeals as her feet touched her headboard, knowing the tip of Devon’s body was just inches away. “I can’t believe your sister gave you to me, and all she wanted was the captain position for the team?” The woman laughed, and then slowly scooted her thighs further back, plunging the boy’s body into her sex and silencing his cries. “I hope your sister never comes back for you.” And then it begun.
Suzanne wasn’t much for foreplay at her age, and coupled with her lack of patience, it resulted in fuck sessions that were somewhat quick, but still satisfying. Never wanting to tease herself with anticipation, her bed creaked and groaned as she worked her speed up, slamming herself back onto the shrunken boy’s body with such an intense passion that it blurred the lines between love and hate. “Oh honey, you are unreal,” she muttered, clenching her bedsheets with her fists as she assaulted his body without a hint of hesitation. In times like this, Devon’s humanity was at such a low point that it might as well have not existed. He was only an object, a thing, an item to be used. His sole purpose was in pleasuring the lonely, middle-aged woman that he now belonged to. She woke up excited every morning because of him. She hadn’t just taken his reason to live, she’d stole it—he had nothing anymore, and with him to please her every night, she felt like she had everything.
One of the benefits of fucking Devon like this was that she was able to give him fresh air easier, to keep him conscious while she went to town. The last time he’d passed out was months ago, which was obviously a positive development (for her) in their ever evolving slave-and-owner relationship. It meant that he would be awake, able to experience every single second that the 350-pound giant raped him senseless. Not literally senseless, of course, although Devon had long since wished he could be. Blind, deaf, unable to smell or feel. Any of them would be a desirable tradeoff if it meant experiencing less of Suzanne. It wasn’t like he used his other senses for much else anyways.
Finally, the titanic woman had worked herself up to an orgasm that was, like all of her climaxes from the past few months, bigger than any she’d had in decades. Devon was completely saturated with Suzanne’s fluids by the time she finally pulled herself off his shivering form—at least the ball gag kept any of it from getting in his mouth though (although there was always a little bit that got in his throat, since he still needed to breathe through his nose). But Suzanne wasn’t done with him yet.
“Time for the butt stuff,” she coarsely joked, readying him for a round of anal play. But this time, Devon’s whimpers sounded more like a scream.