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(The Set Up)

You were having the worst nightmare of your life. In it a smiling Clara looked down at you, impossibly tall and radiating malice. You realized that you were taped to the floor, your arms and legs bound to your sides. Clara casually lifted her slipper above you, the shadow it cast engulfing your terrified form. The last thing you remembered was her foot descending downward to crush you before you suddenly jerked awake. Thank God it was only a dream! You found yourself laying face down on your hardwood floor… Hey wait! You didn’t have a hard wood floor!


With a sudden sense of panic, you jumped to your feet; immediately regretting it as the world spun around you. A blazing pain shot through your head, sending you reeling and fighting nausea. Everything was so damned bright that you could hardly open your eyes, yet somehow you managed to take a peek at your surroundings. What you saw made you miss unconsciousness.


Eclipsing your vision was Clara’s face; her forehead towering above you and casting you in shadow. Her pointed chin rested on the floor and her plump lips caught your attention as they pressed outward in a pout a mere stone’s throw from where you stood. Blue eyes still blazed with that wild hunger from before, but a childlike glee accompanied it; not so different from what one might expect to see in a child’s eyes as they admired a new toy. Looking beyond her, you noticed an equally large couch matching the one from the living room and a kitchen in the background… That’s when it hit you, Clara wasn’t a giant.


Having reconciled your perspective, everything soon became apparent. You were currently standing atop the coffee table seated in the living room. The kitchen in the background was the very room in which you had delivered the package. You could still see the box where it lay on the counter top. Clara’s warm breath suddenly washed over you, and you were startled to find yourself stark naked.


“What have you done to me?” Caught in these strange circumstances without and stripped bare, your voice couldn’t help but squeak. In the open as you were and positioned atop the wooden coffee table, you couldn’t help but feel like a trophy on display. Your captor’s response escaped her lips in a low, slow, sensual rasp.


“Why nothing, yet.”


“Why are you doing this to me?” You were nearly hysterical. A thousand questions bubbled to the forefront of your mind, but they all began with “why.”


“You know, I found you cute when I first saw you. I still do. You were handsome, dutiful, polite, and those khaki shorts didn’t hurt either. So, using my feminine charms and the assets granted to all us pure princesses, I attempted to catch your attention.


At first, it was merely a game. I am a princess after all. I wouldn’t be caught dead fraternizing with a peasant like you. However, I get bored easily. When I saw you delivering your package, I knew I’d found my fun.


It was rather easy to get your attention too. I merely ordered a few packages with daddy’s money to get you to come by more often. You had told me yourself that I was the last stop on your route, so I knew you were free to stay as long as you wished. So, I played my little game, meeting you by the driveway and having a little chat. That little chat turned into a longer one. Soon enough, you were staying for longer and longer. I had you eating out of the palm of my hand up until the day your replacement showed up. I ordered a few more packages just to be sure, but when you didn’t show up I took a bit of a snoop into your personal life.


It’s amazing what money can find out about a person. A devout Christian man, young and single, you even carry dog cookies in your mail bag for that old lady’s poodle every time you drop off packages at her house. What was her name again… Oh it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you had intrigued me.


 You see, I had come to actually enjoy our conversations. Sure, you were a peasant, but compared to the lack wits I live with you were Albert Einstein. However, it wasn’t just that. You had a certain sincerity to you that spoke to me, a diligence to your work that made you attractive, and you weren’t hard on the eyes. Why, I had even considered giving you a job as a butler or personal servant just so I could keep you around, heard what your boss had to tell me.


You see, I could have accepted you having a wife or a girlfriend. Hell, I would have tolerated you having a boyfriend though it would have killed the whole butler thing. But oh no, you wouldn’t deliver packages to me anymore because you thought I was too interested in you. You feared I might take things too far. The way I always waited in the front lawn was creepy. Me, a princess, CALLED CREEPY BY SOME COMMONER.” Her voice rose to a shout at that last part, her head rising off of the table. She suddenly seemed like an angry titan, drawing herself up to strike you down. You were bowled over by the sheer volume of her voice, your ears ringing.


Quickly, Clara regained her composure; setting her head once more upon the table before she resuming in a cold whisper. “As you’ve probably guessed, I don’t take well to insults. So, I talked to the producer. He, in turn, talked to your boss; and now you’re here.” A wicked smile split her face, flashing her pearly whites and filling you with dread.


“You threw away your chance at mercy the second you dared spit on all I offered. You’re my bitch now, and I’m going to show you exactly what happens to those who cross me.” Her nose was basically stabbing your chest as she leaned closer to deliver those last, horrible, words.


“Hey, don’t forget about us,” croaked a raspy, rough voice from behind. It was barely identifiable as female.


Turning, the mound of flesh which greeted your eyes could hardly be classified as human. Roll upon roll of thigh protruded from tightly fitting stockings; grizzled, black hair covering the flesh which spilled out. A sweat stained black dress with a small grey bow strained against a gut far beyond grotesque. Looking up, the white collar and straps of the dress framed large, sagging breasts; the bra stretched beyond its intended payload. Bits of coarse armpit hair protruded from her folded arms, her triceps flabby and sagging freely. Jet Black hair framed chubby cheeks, surprisingly child like yet somehow seeming more appalling for the contrast. Your recognized this person. It was Toot Braunstein, another member of the Drawn Together house. She sat upright on the pale couch, staring daggers at Clara. However, her eyes quickly flicked back to you; primal lust, long un-sated, shone brightly in her otherwise dull eyes, matching the intensity of Clara’s predatory gaze.


The woman sitting to Toot’s right, though far less grotesque, offered another cause for concern. Orange high heel boots snaked their way along slender calves, stopping just shy of the knee. Smooth, mocha skin stretched unhindered from knee to thigh, glistening with fresh oil. The shortest pair of shorts you had ever seen tightly clung to her pelvis, a black thong straps racing out of the orange to arch over both hips. A camel toe stood out clearly, a slightly damp bulge that her delicate fingers absentmindedly played with.  Draped around a surprisingly tight core was a fox tail, the base of which obscured from view. Large, firm breasts pressed against a paper thin rag, it could hardly be called a top, which clung to one shoulder and did little to obscure her hardened nipples. Her braids were bound in a golden loop, leaving her pink lips and gentle featured face exposed. Her signature fox eared hat marked her as Foxy love.


Foxy waved her hand dismissively, not even glancing in your direction. “Relax, we don’t even know what the challenge is. There ain’t no reason to get yo panties in a bunch.” Her voice buzzed in your ear, sassy and smooth.


“Oh, but there might.” Cried the producer’s from the speakers dotting the household, his voice booming. You were forced to cover your ears as he continued.


“Tonight, in the Drawn Together House. As the boys compete in their gender exclusive challenge, the women have a challenge of their own. Before them stands a shrunken, willing participant who has been given the sole power to decide the winner of this challenge.” You tried to protest, to shout that you were being held against you will, but the Jew Producer ignored you.


“Here are the rules. Through any means necessary, you must convince this young man to declare you the winner. You have one week. At the end of said week, the challenge will end and you’re all losers. However, should a winner be declared, she will be given a fantastic secret prize while the male participant will be forced to participate in a special punishment.” He said the last bit with a dramatic flair.


 “Oh yeah, I almost forgot. As a side effect of the shrinking process, our little guest can’t be injured or die. So girls, no need to be gentle.” And with that the lights clicked off and the room went pitch black.


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