I remember when I used to be able to feel something when I did this.

There is a screaming man with me, one whose life is literally in my hands. He lays on my palm, staring up at me in fear. Absolute, pants-pissing, end-of-the-world, dear God I’ve never felt anything like this before terror. 

It’s gotten old, really. 

His screams have become old hat. All of theirs did, eventually. Now, they all blend together in my memory in one cacophony of shrill screams and pleading and begging, and it’s just gotten to the point where I’m not even sure that I can differentiate between them. In the end, they’re all the same.

It’s weird, really. I still remember the first time I did this. High school, senior year. Bobby Mannen. Cute boy, a few months older than me. Quiet. I didn’t even mean to shrink him then. Didn’t know I could. I passed him by in the hall, and we both exchanged those odd little smirks that us quiet outcasts tended to give. I felt a sort of tingling in my gut, then. Stirrings of a crush, maybe. Desires for something more. Lust. It spread through my body, fueling my limbs with something that went beyond simple adrenaline. I had no idea what it was. I just knew that it was different. It felt like it was just for me. And suddenly, I felt like I could do anything I wanted. I had fire in my veins, and there was this whispering voice in my mind, this urging command, telling me to go, go, go, take it all, take everything you want, do whatever you want, you have the power.

Bobby was the only thing in sight. And so, I decided to take him. He would be mine.

The fire in my veins spread, and in a second, I felt raw pleasure. It coursed through me. Defined me. I actually let out an involuntary moan of pleasure, just a tiny little thing, but it was enough to make Bobby turn around. He had an eyebrow raised as he stared at me. He had pretty eyes.

We stared at each other for some time, him looking at me like I was some kind of freak, me looking at him with my lips slightly spread, my eyes half-shut…I must have looked like some kind of sex zombie. All the lust that raged throughout my body with a ferocity I had never known, it had to be etched clearly on my face. At any other time, I would’ve been embarrassed. A shadow, deep deep within me, still felt tinglings of embarrassment. But the fire, whatever that raw sexual lust and desire was, practically seemed to silence it. It was like an adult telling a child to go sit in the corner. It surrounded my anxiety, my fear, my worries, and told it to back down. It was like a protective older brother. And all of a sudden, I wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of crowds, not of myself, and certainly not of whatever Bobby Mannen thought of me. 

An odd kind of superiority filled my mind, then. Now that I no longer feared what Bobby thought of me, with my silly O-face and disheveled hair and mousy appearance, my thoughts evolved. How dare he think of me at all? What gives him the right? The authority? I am a higher being than him. Something he cannot comprehend. He is my property. I have not told him that he could think down on me. He deserves to be punished. 

Without even really knowing what I was doing, I raised a hand, my outstretched fingers pointing at him. There was a glow in my hand. I was confident that only I could see it, but it was definitely there, spreading from my shoulder, coursing down in spirals around my arm, surging through my wrist into my hand, building up and up…and then bursting out through my fingertips and my nails that had been painted in my favorite blue polish earlier that morning.

Bobby had continued to stare, and it looked like he was about to ask what I was doing or if there was something wrong with me, but he never did get to finish his sentence. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care what he had to say. His voice was not worthy of my ears. And he needed to be punished for daring to think down of me. I was certain that he had. Certain.

His face suddenly changed. He looked like he was in pain. Good. I took comfort in it. I started to smile, a deep sultry smile, and I walked closer to him, feeling more and more powerful with each passing step. All of a sudden, he just started to…diminish. This boy, who I used to have to look up to in order to meet his face, was now at eye level. Then lower. He grew smaller and smaller with each passing second. He opened his mouth, as if to scream, but I just reached out and pressed my hand over it, muffling his cries. It felt good, his shrinking. I could almost feel him slip away through my hand. If I squinted my eyes, it didn’t look like he was shrinking, it looked like I was growing. My hand was consuming his face, his head. I kept a tight grip on his skull, and eventually, he lifted off the ground. I remember thinking just how light he was, how odd it all was. He had been bigger than me, and now, I carried him with such little ease, as if he was a doll. And still he shrank.

He had gotten so small that I no longer concerned myself with his screams. By this point, I had been able to completely cover his mouth with just my thumb, so I moved my hand and held him by his shirt, letting him dangle from my fingertips. God, he was so cute. Not that he hadn’t been cuter when he had been normal, but now he was just positively adorable. He looked almost helpless, and I knew then that his entire existence depended solely on me, and my God wasn’t it fantastic?

I blinked. Things were different. The feelings of lust and power, the icy flame in my veins, the Older Brother, had gotten distracted for a second. And now the anxiety was gone, slowly creeping out of its hidey-hole. I looked around. What if someone saw me? This was so stupid, I could be seen! I thought about maybe ducking into a nearby classroom, or maybe just running. This was a busy hallway, I was sure to be seen. I began wishing for the confident feeling to return. In fact, I commanded it to. I was just so fucking tired of feeling helpless. I wanted the old feeling back, the feeling that Bobby was the helpless one, not me. I wouldn’t take this shit any more. I began muttering to myself, fairly certain that Bobby couldn’t hear me, but not caring if he could.

“Come back…now,” I whispered. “This is not a request, it’s an order. I will not feel this way again.” Then, to the feelings of anxiety: “Go away. Never come back. I have no more use for you. I have no desire to feel this way. Go away. Go away. Go away.” I repeated it to myself over and over again. The feeling stopped growing in me. And then, it started shrinking, just like little Bobby. And then, it vanished (the feeling vanished, that is; Bobby remained visible in my hand, although he was very tiny at this point). The icy flame returned, only it was different this time. It was as if I no longer needed the Older Brother, and it, whatever it was, had seen that. It was only in me for moments, really, but that was all I had needed to see my own potential. It gave me the tools I needed, and then left. I was in charge of my own destiny now. And I had nothing to fear. I no longer cared if anyone walked down the hall. If they did, I’d shrink them too. I could start up a collection. Rapid-fire images shot through my mind. Maybe I could build a tiny city and populate it with tiny shrunken people. I could be their goddess. I could bottle people up into jars and sell them. Or I could be cruel, and crush them and consume them and demonstrate my power.

I decided that I didn’t need that right now. I knew there would be more shrinking to come, but right now, for that first one, I just wanted it to be between me and him. I didn’t want anyone to come down the hallway, and so nobody did.

I’m not entirely sure how small Bobby was when he finally stopped growing. An inch, maybe? He was like an insect. I shifted my hand so that he was no longer dangling from his shirt, and he was instead cupped, almost gently, in my palm. My fingers lifted up, cradling around him, protecting him from any possible fall. Right now, he was safe. I couldn’t say anything for later, but at that moment, he had nothing to fear.

I still had that sultry little grin on my face, that kind of lust-fueled smile that I’m sure let Bobby know exactly what I thought of him. He was little more than a toy for my own amusement. A part of me started to wish that I looked the part of the dominating sex goddess. I could have been wearing high heels, maybe. A sexy businesswoman’s outfit, blouse and skirt and everything. Maybe I could have gone a more traditional goddess route, and worn a toga. It was irrelevant. I would have to make do with my baggy white T-shirt,my jean shorts, and flip-flops. Hardly ideal wear for a new goddess, but I had a feeling Bobby wouldn’t be telling anyone.

In case you’re interested, I have since shrunk victims while wearing a businesswoman’s outfit and a toga. I like to have fun sometimes.

With my free hand, I began to gently stroke Bobby. With my free fingertip, really. It was really sinking in, for the both of us, just how pathetically small he was. My finger, just my mere index finger, was bigger than him. It must have looked like a tree trunk. He backed away from it, looking like a frightened little mouse. I ‘awwed’, my heart melting at his cuteness, making sure to block him with my fingers so that he didn’t fall. Or rather, escape.

“Hi, little guy,” I whispered.

It’s weird, looking back at this. At how happy I felt, holding this boy in my hand. I kind of wish I could get that feeling back. That sense of elation, of new worlds and paths being opened to me. All the avenues of excitement and pleasure, ready for my perusal. It’s different now. Now, I’ve gotten so used to it. It’s just…standard. A part of me doesn’t even really want to do it anymore, and another part of me can’t live without it. I need it. My current record is managing to go a month and a half without shrinking anyone. By the time I finally did, I was shaking uncontrollably. That time, there was no businesswoman’s outfit, no toga. I had taken the tiny man back to my apartment, stripped off my clothes, and presented myself in all my naked glory, subjecting him to my every whim, pushing him inside me, bathing him in a beautiful and mind-numbing orgasm which, I daresay, he didn’t appreciate quite as much as me. 

Dear me, I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?

Bobby.

Bobby Bobby Bobby. 

It was a while before I could do much with him. I had classes to go to, as silly as it sounds. I actually considered sitting down right then and there and playing with my new toy right in the middle of Alverston High’s halls. But no, I could wait. I wanted this to be right. Somehow, right there, I knew I’d be different. Not in the bad outcast way I had gotten used to. I would take pride in my uniqueness. But I knew that I would never care about traditional sex, would never desire it. I would lose my virginity that night, and not with a normal-sized man, but with little Bobby Mannen. And I decided then that I would much prefer losing my virginity in my bedroom than I would in the hallway of my high school. 

I unzipped a pocket on my bag and very delicately and gently placed him inside. It was a tight pocket. An outside observer might have actually seen his outline, if the pocket wasn’t covered by a flap. But I figured it would be better to give him his own pocket, rather than to stuff him in the main bag and find out later that he had been crushed in between my textbooks. Which turned out to be a smart idea, I would later discover. Some months later, I had been in a hurry, and needed to shrink someone quickly before I had to leave. I had just thrown the boy into my bag without even really looking, and opened it up later to discover that he had been crushed in between History of the Modern World and Psychology: Unraveling the Mind. That had been…disappointing, to say the least.

I’m sorry, I tend to have trouble focusing on one subject.

It was later that night before I had finally been able to take Bobby out of my bag. We were in my bedroom, alone. There was this odd kind of feeling in my midriff, this marvelous lust. I could read Bobby’s tiny little facial expression as he looked at my enormous room around him. Somehow, the fact that we were alone in my room made it all the better. It was like his fate was sealed. Nobody could help him now. He was mine.

I raised him to my lips, and pressed them against his tiny body, kissing him passionately, my lips completely covering his minuscule form. I loved him then. I figured that I would love him more than anything else. I would later be proven wrong. My love for Bobby, or rather, the memory of him, quickly vanished. The idea that nobody would ever be able to take the place of the first is now laughable to me. He is just one among many in my mind. But at that exact moment, everything was special and new.

I sat on my bed, still holding Bobby in my hand. He was screaming something, I’m not sure what, I didn’t really care. I used my free hand and started pulling at his clothes. He was fighting me. Protesting. I smacked him (very gently) on the back of the head, and tried again. This process repeated itself several times, and each time I had to smack him a little bit harder. The last time, it might have been a bit too hard. He sprawled out and collapsed on my palm. I could hear him sobbing. My tongue was sticking out in concentration while I pulled his clothes off with the precision of a surgeon. 

I moved my hand to place the clothes on my nightstand. I’m not sure why, actually. Kind of funny, really. It’s like a tiny part of me was thinking I had to save them for when I grew him back. Which is ridiculous. I wouldn’t grow him back. He’d spend the rest of his life at this size, the size of a bug, and there would be nothing that he could do about it. He must have thought it weird when I suddenly started to laugh over this. I made sure that he could see as I let the clothes fall into my wastebasket, and repeated my thoughts to him.

“You aren’t going to need those clothes again, little one,” I whispered, my breath washing over him. He looked up at me, his jaw quivering. He must have been on the verge of tears. He had always looked so old when he was normal-sized, so in control of his life, despite his evident social awkwardness. Looking back on it now, he really was quite young. In fact, I think even then I started to think a little about how young he was. Which made it all the better, really. I would go on. He wouldn’t. “You’re going to spend the rest of your life at this size. Maybe as my pet. My slave.” I then smirked. “Or maybe you’re going to die tonight. But you will never, ever be equal to me again. I am your goddess. Say it.” 

He didn’t, of course. He was silent. Probably in shock, the poor dear. I tsked in disapproval. I delicately grabbed his left hand with my fingertips, and pressed. It was amazing. With only the slightest amount of pressure, I ground his hand into dust. He was screaming in agony. Fortunately, his screams would never be able to carry beyond the shut door to my bedroom, not that it mattered, as I was home alone. Nobody would save him. I made sure to tell him that.

“Scream all you want,” I said. “Nobody will ever hear you. Now, what am I?”

“Help!” he screamed out, clutching the useless stump where his hand had been. He had completely ignored me, the insolent bug. He was putting the full force of his lungs behind his screams, screaming as loud as he possibly could which, sadly enough, was just not good enough. “Help!” he screamed again. I sighed. I reached for his other hand. He recoiled from me. I was growing irritated.

“Give me your arm,” I said. I reached for it again. The slippery little rat managed to crawl beneath my reaching hand, dragging himself to the other side of my palm. I grabbed his legs, and had to keep myself from crushing them. He would need legs to kneel, after all. I crept my fingertips along his prone form like a monolithic spider, pushing them up to his arm. He was screaming again. Trying to pull away. I pushed down on his back, preventing him from running. “I’m going to take your arm, whether you like it or not,” I growled. “Stop fighting. There’s nothing you can do.” Finally, I had it. I grabbed hold of his arm between my fingers. He was pulling, trying to slip away. He might have been able to. My fingertips were slightly sweaty with anticipation. But no, he would not be able to escape me. I pulled. It was like pulling a thumbtack from a wall. His entire arm lifted free from his body. Tiny red droplets of blood were pouring from it, and from the new wound in his side. He looked like he was going into shock. I poked him on the side of his head with his arm, over and over, wanting to keep him awake. Whatever. I would just be quick. 

I should probably point out here that I did actually think about making an arm-related pun to him. Something like “men are so handy” or “you’ll never escape the long arm of justice”. God, I’m so glad I didn’t. No, I was a good little girl, and remained silent in my domination of Bobby.

He was finally on his knees, though 1) I’m not sure that it was entirely voluntary, and 2) I no longer cared. He had his chance. If he worshipped me, would I have kept him around a bit longer? I don’t know. Maybe. It’s irrelevant. 

I slipped him down, down, down, to my shorts. I was still sitting upright on the bed. I was about to place him in between my thighs (they looked so massive compared to him) before I suddenly realized that he’d be dripping blood on the sheets. In fact, a little blood was already on my hand. Whatever. I didn’t care. He was mine. I was living in the moment, I would worry about it later. I pressed him against my crotch, pushing him against the fabric of the jean shorts, feeling him through it. Somehow, I think it made it a little better, oddly enough. I was grinding him against the roughness of it. Back and forth, back and forth. I think he was still screaming then. I’m not sure. Didn’t care. Still don’t. Back and forth. 

Pleasure muffled. Could barely feel it. Made me want it more. Wanted it so bad. Wanted him. In me. Oh God. No, no, not yet, not yet, I would wait more. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. Harder. Faster. 

I was probably rubbing him against the jean shorts so hard that it was shredding his skin off. Wouldn’t that have been funny? Pathetic little bug, skinned alive by jeans. I chanced a brief look down at his tiny body. He was still thrashing about, just a bit, but I marveled at how my hand enveloped his whole body. He didn’t even look human from my angle. He was just a thing. I moaned a bit at the thought of it. My power over him. God, he was so fucking small, and I was so big, I could do anything I wanted to him and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do about it and oh my God I was getting wet, I could feel it through the shorts, he could probably feel it as I continued to rub him, back forth back forth my God I could barely stand it back I wanted him forth oh God slower slower just a bit now harder faster over and over again no wait he was screaming I could hear it it was glorious that’s right you fucking bug scream for me, scream for me, let me hear you say it!

“Call…me…goddess…” I whispered down to him. He didn’t, I don’t think. Probably didn’t hear me. Probably unconscious. Didn’t matter. His presence in this world was inconsequential now. In my mind, he called me his goddess. He was kneeling before me, limbs fully intact. Prostrate before me. Kissing my toes. Beneath me. I moaned again at this thought. No more. I wanted him. Needed him. Not beneath me…in me. I fell backward on the bed, scootching myself backward across the bed, pressing him against me hard with each movement.

Fully on the bed now. No more of this, this weird personal version of foreplay. I wrapped my hand fully around Bobby now, closing him within my fist, trapping him. I kissed my fist, imagined the expression going through my flesh and into him. With my free hand, I undid my shorts and slowly pushed them down to my knees, exposing my panties. I briefly pressed Bobby against that too, marveling at how much better it felt now, and how much better it was going to feel. The panties were gone now too. I had my shirt pulled up a bit and was gently sliding Bobby across my tummy, feeling cold little shivers run up my body, and then I was tired of it, tired of this fucking around if you’d please pardon the expression. With a special kind of ferocity, I plunged Bobby deep within me, my fingers pressing against him, pushing him deep, deep within me and holy shit was I glad that I was home alone. I was a little worried at first that maybe I had made a mistake with the whole idea. All the tinglings and hints of pleasure that I had been feeling throughout the day were now exploding within me, like it was the fourth of fucking July right in my midriff. I actually grabbed a pillow with my free hand and pressed it on my face, biting into it, not wanting it to stop. 

Oh my God. He was in me. A person was actually inside my body. I didn’t just moan into the pillow, I absolutely screamed in an absolutely perfect display of raw pleasure. I could feel pressure and power. I had lost grip of Bobby. No matter. He was gone now. Forever gone, beyond my grasp. He was in me, oh my God oh my God, I had my fingers deep within me, probing around, back and forth…for a second, I thought maybe I could feel him, but then I didn’t, and I didn’t care, I just continued to push my fingers inside and I could feel both them and him inside me and I started to buck my hips up and down and up and down and then I started to scream and moan, louder, faster, muffling it all with the sound of the pillow and then 

oh my god

here it comes

oh

oh god

screaming pleasure raw feelings bobby shrinking nothing can help him giant hands giant thighs giant everything power power domination nothing oh my god oh my god i want it all want power pleasure everything i want to shrink every last fucking person on this planet and have them all in me oh my god oh my goddess bobby is inside me bobby is being crushed and drowned by my orgasm im raping him to death oh my god im actually having an orgasm scream

“--FOR ME YOU LITTLE FUCKING SHIT!” I shouted into my pillow, bucking my hips, pushing down on my pelvis with my hand.

And then…it was done.

I knew that Bobby was dead within me. Crushed, maybe? Drowned? Whatever. I didn’t care. I really didn’t. I was abso-fucking-lutely exhausted. 

I was sprawled out on my bed, panting. Then, suddenly, the thought that there was a corpse inside of me entered my mind, and I got these horrible shivers and shakes. I started to feel sick. I put my fingers back inside me, though this time I didn’t feel any pleasure, it was just my body again. I was able to feel him. I grabbed hold of something, maybe a leg, and pulled out. He was a sticky crushed glob, absolutely covered in my juices. You could barely tell he was a human anymore. I just held him in my hand, staring at him for a long, long time. I knew I had to dispose of the body, but it could wait. I was so tired. But I was satisfied. I knew it would only be a temporary fix. But I was satisfied.

It’s been a while since I’ve thought of Bobby. Like I said, for a while I thought that he’d hold a special place in my mind just because he was my first, but I don’t really care about him now. I remember the police looking for him. Then, eventually, for other students. It got to the point where many of my friends ended up being taken to other schools (in their final year!), and security cameras were installed in the school. It got too risky to try it out on my classmates. So I moved on to older men, shrinking people I would find about town.

College is easier. People care less about missing college students. I’m free to unleash my ravenous desires on the college populace, and I’ve shrunk a lot of men (and more than a few women – college is all about experimentation). 

In fact…

Wait, I had one in my hand, didn’t I?

I look at my hand. It’s empty. I blink, confused. I had been so completely absorbed in my recollections that I completely forgot about him (what was his name?).

I then feel something under my foot. I lean over, looking down at the ground from my vantage point on the computer chair, and I see the tiny little nameless bug, trapped under my bare foot. He must have climbed down my arm and leg and gotten trapped by a simple shifting of the leg. I laugh at him. How pathetic. I hadn’t even been paying attention, and it was still effortless for me to stop him.

I think I had been originally planning to eat this one, I’m not sure. I’ve done more things than I can remember to my victims. I have a very special kind of sex, you see. I don’t need to have something inside me for my pleasure, whether that’s a penis (yes, I’ve tried traditional sex, yes, it was boring, and yes, the person I slept with was shrunken down and inside me before the night was through) or a shrunken person. For me, my kind of sex is all about power. Control. I shrink these people down, and I destroy them in whatever way I see fit. Sometimes I masturbate to it, though it’s not necessary. The pleasure is in the action. 

“I’m going to step on you now,” I tell him. There is no emotion in my voice. There rarely is. Emotion in these proceedings didn’t extend much further after I raped Bobby. Some would call me soulless. Maybe sociopathic. I’ve seen Dexter. I’ve seen the similarities between my desire and his, only I don’t have the qualms of a conscience. There is only my lust. That is all that matters. 

I slowly press down with my foot, my movements careful with the benefit of experience. He is not the first person I’ve stepped on. Won’t be the last either, I bet. I’ve gotten it down to an art. I know exactly the way to press my foot down to completely crush his body while also keeping him alive for as long as possible. In case you’re interested, it involves pressing down with the heel first and crushing the legs, then pressing down in circular motions to take out the arms, and then very (almost painfully) slowly, pushing down with the ball of your foot to crush the torso. Then, and this is just a personal touch, I like to crush the head under my big toe afterward. Drag it out for as long as possible. It usually takes me about a minute and a half, two minutes before the person is crushed. I would highly recommend it, but I somewhat doubt that you possess my ability. No matter. Maybe we’ll meet someday and you’ll get to experience it firsthand.

The man screams, but they mean nothing to me. After approximately two minutes and ten seconds (not quite a record), he’s been crushed to a bloody flattened pulp beneath my bare foot. I lift up my foot and wipe off the stains with a tissue. I’ve gotten pretty good at cleaning up the stains, too. I made sure my apartment had a hard wood floor – carpets are a nightmare. 

I lean back in my chair and let out a long contented sigh. To all the world, I must look like such a regular young woman. I’ve tried to tell people about my hobby before. Well, a person. My friend Diana. Not sure why. Maybe I was getting lonely. I had even given her a shrunken pet, as, like, a bribe or something. She thought it was scary. Freakish. I had to shrink her, too, before she told anyone else. I didn’t take any pleasure in that kill. 
Make no mistake, I am grateful for this gift, whatever it is. It’s given me so much. I can walk down the streets without fear. I don’t need to have the worries that other people do. Why worry about things like student loans or grades when I know that, with a flick of my wrist, the officials and teachers responsible for those things can be reduced to insects? THAT is power. True power.

But, of course, my gift has taken a lot from me, too. There’s so much I’ll never have. I’ll probably never have a husband or kids. A house with a white picket fence. I’ve been reduced to an emotionless husk, living from kill to glorious kill. I have no illusions about ever having a normal life.

But then, who the fuck wants a normal life?