The restaurant had completely rearranged its seating for Valentine's Day. Every tabletop was set for a pair—there were no solo operators or parties of more than two, that night.

The clientele was young and fashionable. The restaurant attracted a very specific crowd, as if it were all part of some precise plan. Its chef's cuisine was too modern and experimental to please an aged tongue; portions too paltry for anyone actually hungry for a meal—sips 'n' nibbles. The price of even a single dish positioned the space as demarcated territory for the well-to-do. So the room ended up filled by younger, successful, hip patrons.

In that place, that night, a fashion photographer could aim her camera in any direction and snap happily and sure.

Uneven punky cuts and form-hugging vêtements bought yesterday; nobody was without twinkling piercings or vibrant tats; makeup on men, men's attire on women—ask or you would never know who was what—not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle, not a crease or tear that was not in fact a concession made to fashion, no bags under these eyes, teeth straight white sparkling. . .

"Everyone is queer nowadays. Ever notice that?"

"Adrian, please. Not so loud."

"It's the big hot fad, now. Oh, I'm not gay, I'm bi. Wait, you're bi? No, I'm not bi, I'm pan. Pan and poly." Put-on pitch: "I love everyone!" Chortle. "Think I'm a man? No, sorry: I'm trans. Fuck you!"

"Language; please."

"It's all bullshit. Just a bit of fun. Idiot kids staging their play rebellion. This room reeks of Oedipal bewilderment. Whores for daddy's checkbook. Charlatans wearing mommy-says-I'm- special pins. The meek have surely inherited the earth, and they all have fat trust funds and no clue, and too much time on their hands to pursue any dumb whim."

"You're so bitter tonight, Adrian."

"Am I, Kelly? Bitter? Are you sure that's not just the candied chard and vaporized grapefruit disagreeing with you? Please, sweetheart, keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut. You don't know what you're talking about. Fucking kid.

"This room is a testament; you can't read the writing on these walls. This crowd wouldn't have existed twenty years ago—ten years ago. Hell, five years ago! How old are these babies?

"We're in a fold of space-time; a ripple in the fabric of existence. I had to fight to get to where I'm at, Kelly. I had to survive."

Adrian's thumb had jabbed and was now jabbing at his broad chest as he continued.

"If I wanted space to breathe, I had to work to create it. I ran away when I was fifteen. My parents disowned me at the drop of a hat. No million-dollar atta-boy for this man right here."

He was flanked by a quartet of frowns; an ogdoad of eyes that flickered. The tables were tightly packed, yet Adrian roared as if he gripped a podium, rather than a svetle table barely wider than his plate.

"I am what I am. I am what I made me. I am captain of my ship; master of my destiny."

Kelly sighed, languid.

"I mean, have you taken a good look at our waiter? Did you not see that gauche symbol on his neck? Do you know what that is?"

"No."

"Right there. A circle with an arrow and cross combined."

Adrian waited; Kelly blinked.

"Please don't stare," was all Kelly said.

"He's trans."

Kelly's head turned to glance at their waiter. "She, I imagine."

"No, he and his penis are male, no matter what cattle-brand he stamps on his flesh; no matter how confused that dumb fuck is. Wake up to reality, kid."

Kelly slowly broke apart his last nibble of candied chard and vaporized grapefruit with his tongue; he glanced between his empty plate and Adrian, and held onto the thin neck of his drink to save it from tumbling over the cliff's edge of their disturbed table.

The waiter happened to come by, then. Thin and quiet, he placed a fresh course down in front of them and took away their empty plates.

Kelly happened to catch the waiter's eye.

Yes, the waiter probably heard Adrian.

Everyone always heard Adrian.

"You're right, Adrian. Of course. I don't understand."

"Gender experiments; explorations in sexuality. These kids don't get it. They don't understand what a queer is. What being gay is. They got it all confused—like it's some grand identity. Like everyone else in the world has gotta know."

"Then what is it?"

"An appetite," Adrian grumbled.

With his fork, Adrian scooped up the entirety of what was on his plate, demolishing the delicate arrangement. He pushed the mass into his mouth and chewed with his lips open.

The man laughed. Bits of food speckled his chin, his suit.

Kelly ate in silence, small bite after small bite.

He only half listened to Adrian as he prattled on.

The waiter came by again—Kelly's eyes stayed fixed on the table.

Kelly gazed down at the dessert that was placed before him, then. A small chocolate dome. A face was there at its top; it grinned up at Kelly, Cheshire-like.

Well. I'm glad you're having such a good time.

He rose out of his seat.

Adrian stared at him like an angry King might stare at a peasant who interrupted his banquet.

"Adrian? Don't come straight home." Kelly leaned down and they locked eyes; he spoke louder than was polite, but he did not care, not at that moment. "Talk a walk first. A nice long walk. You're drunk. You stink."

Kelly was treated to a round of applause and he walked out the door. He waved and blew a kiss outside as he carried on into the night. Neither gesture was aimed at Adrian.

"Oh, fuck off. All of you."

"You're rude," one of the wo/men who sat just beside Adrian said.

Adrian glared at them until they sighed and averted their eyes.

In front of him was another pathetically small portion. A single bite, for the size of Adrian's mouth. It had been Kelly's idea to go there. It was his kind of place.

A chocolate face grinned at Adrian.

Adrian grinned back.

He plucked the morsel up with his fingers and popped it in his mouth.

He chewed absent-mindedly, swallowed.

All around the room, people pecked at their desserts. Took it in small bites. Like it was some special experience, to be savored.

You dumb fucks—you're just eating money.

Adrian glanced from face to face. What jokers. Fools!

What a bunch of bullshit that whole night was.

Loudly Adrian's chair scraped the floor. Rudely he rose, and knocked the table beside his with his bulk as he shifted through the narrow aisle.

A piss, and then he was out there.

Adrian glared around the room as he marched through the center of the space, daring any eyes to meet his.

His head swam.

His stomach gurgled.

All around the room, then, Adrian found that he was not alone: the other diners appeared equally perturbed.

Adrian opened his mouth in askance, but he failed to utter a single word. He did not have any time to.

The man had skydived, once, when he was younger and in better shape.

He went skydiving again, right then: he plummeted, impossibly, into a billowing, dark cavern. That cavern was formed by his clothes, and they settled on top of him in a pile when he hit the ground. At the very least, his clothes saved him from a hard—from a fatal—impact.

Adrian scurried in the dark in a panic. He tried desperately to find a way out. His clothes were a stifling prison. His own smells were magnified to a disturbing degree. The fabric was heavy and suffocating, and it was impossible to tell if he made any headway.

Even as the rest of him tried to deny it, part of him knew what had happened.

He had shrunk.

Like a criminal. Like the demented. Like the unwanted.

He was tiny.

No—no!

Whoever did this would pay. Adrian would make sure of that. The reversal procedure was expensive enough that Adrian could create a fat lawsuit around it.

Adrian emerged into a lit space again, fresh air. . .

The dining room was colossal. It took his breath away. The chairs, the tables—everything loomed, so large that it all appeared alien to him, despite the familiar shapes. The ceiling was miles away.

No one else shared that room with him, or so he thought, at first. Just other piles of clothes.

Everyone else had shrunk, too.

Oh, this was too good.

Now it was a class-action suit, and he had allies.

This pretentious restaurant, that flummoxed waiter, his hell-mouthed bitch of a chef—they were all fucked.

From the piles around him, shapes emerged. Other people, naked and scared.

Adrian would gather them.

He could use them, now.

He would lead this charge.

The people closest to him motioned to him. They appeared absolutely terrified.

Adrian grinned at them.

Yes, you ninnies—worry not, I'll handle everything.

The ground shook something awful.

A shadow crept across the land around Adrian, and the air cooled.

He gazed up, and there was the waiter. Not tiny and nude, like him, but a giant who towered, hundreds of feet tall. The sylphlike, long-haired young man was absorbed by his thoughts, and totally oblivious to Adrian in his path.

"Look down, you fucking muppet!"

What were the chances his foot would land on Adrian, though? But with every step, a dark dread seized the tiny man. For the first time in a long time, Adrian experienced an acute sense of powerlessness; a total helplessness.

"Down, down, down," Adrian shrieked like a broken record.

The waiter took a step forward, and Adrian screamed wordlessly, hysterical, as the crisscrossing tread of the giant man's huge sneaker fell through the air, right at him—

—Molly took a step backward. Something had just crunched messily beneath her sneaker, and she hoped to hell that it was nothing important. Nor was in a foul state; Chef would have her head.

No, literally: she was pretty sure Nor would chase her around with a cleaver and cut off her head, if Molly just fucked something up.

That woman was a little scary, at times.

Though Molly admired that aspect of her character.

Nor was fierce, passionate.

On the ground was a smashed something. It did not look like any kind of bug Molly had seen before. Really, it appeared to be a tiny human being, though squashed into red ruin.

The blond glanced around the room. She fully expected every patron to leer back, as if she had dropped a tray full of plates.

No one stared at her.

The room was totally empty.

"What the fuck?"

Instead of customers sitting in seats, there were only messy piles of clothing, jewelry, phones. As if their patrons that evening decided to dine and ditch and go streaking all at the same time.

This better not be some flash mob shit, Molly thought.

On the floor, she spied movement. Small somethings scurried around. A waiter in the city, Molly's mind could not help but jump to rodents first, but there was that curious human-looking thing she had stepped on—these small somethings appeared to be little people, as well.

"What the hell is going on?"

Molly froze where she was. She did not want to take another step, lest she crush someone else. Oh god. So it was a person she had stepped on. She was a murderer now. A killer! Is that something you could get arrested for? Or put in jail for? It was not her fault, not really—she was going to get put away for stepping on a damn bug.

Molly glared at the splotch at her feet. Then she noticed that other little people had come close to her. Some of them gave her a wide berth as they stared with horror at the smashed body in front of her, but the braver of the miniaturized lot stood in front of Molly's sneakers and waved their arms. When she paid attention to them, she noticed that they actually called out to her, too, but the noise was so faint, she really had to listen for it.

"Um. Hi. Listen, I didn't mean to step on that, uh, person. That was totally an accident. I didn't see 'em. But I see you! I won't hurt you, okay?"

This seemed to reassure the people directly in front of her shoes, and even some of the others who hovered nearby. Lord, the room was full of tiny people. It appeared as if everyone in the room had been reduced down to an inch tall or less. Now the space was littered with naked little bodies, all shades and shapes and minuscule sizes. Some people even looked like ants, to Molly's high vantage.

The waiter sighed—the restaurant was probably going to get sued into oblivion now.

Fuck; she really liked this job, and working for—

"MOLLY!"

Oh shit.

Nor burst through the door that led to the kitchen. Her dark eyes were two hot coals. Nor was tall and slim, with a flat chest. With her pixie cut and her predilection for wearing pants and dress shirts and shoes, she was often mistaken for a man. She had a brassy voice as rough as gravel.

The woman's mouth was open, ready to roar. But nothing came out. She took one look at her empty dining room, and then at Molly; then she noticed the piles of clothes, and glared at Molly.

"What is the meaning of this?"

As if Molly knew!

"Shit, Chef, everyone shrunk!"

"What," Nor growled.

Nor took a step forward and Molly cast out an arm, hand held up. "No, Chef, wait!"

"What," Nor asked, startled by Molly's evident worry.

"Look down, Chef." Molly pointed to the people gathered before her. "Look right here!"

Nor peered down at where Molly pointed. Her eyes scanned the room. As usual, Nor's expression was inscrutable. She had exactly two expressions: a stoic stare, or a peeved glare. Even as the woman surveyed what was quite possibly the most gonzo situation that Molly had ever been witness to, Nor showed no surprise, or worry, or anything else.

The chef simply turned around and marched back into her kitchen.

Nor returned to the dining room with a large, clean mixing bowl. The woman cared little about where she stepped, and Molly spied several tiny shapes that scurried out of the way of Nor's approaching feet.

Nor handed the bowl to Molly.

"Gather them up. Flip the sign and lock the door. We're closed."

"Chef?"

Nor already marched toward the kitchen. "Now, Molly! Hurry up, and bring them to me."

Molly watched her boss leave the room. She glanced down at those micro-sized persons gathered in front of her. She swallowed. Then she did as Nor had commanded.

Many of the tiny people came willingly. For most of them, all Molly had to do was squat down and hold out her hand and they climbed onto her offered palm. "Don't worry," she would tell them. "Let's get you off the ground, and put you somewhere safe." She filled the bowl with dozens of living naked dolls this way.

Some of the tiny people made Molly hunt them down; she would lecture them as she plucked them up. The tiniest people—those who had dwindled down to maybe a centimeter tall or even less—Molly had to be particularly careful with; though, these teeniest folk tended to give up the moment that she came near. They were so small that she felt awful really. How could they not be scared of her? So to them, she apologized as she placed them in the bowl with the rest.

In truth, Molly cared less about what anyone in that bowl might think, or worried more about catching any more of Nor's substantial temper.

Molly turned the sign on the door. She locked it.

She turned out the lights as she left the dining room, and then entered the kitchen.

Molly was happy to leave the dining room. Every step she had taken, she had worried that there would be another crunch beneath her sneaker.

The kitchen was a large, beautiful space. Clean, brightly lit, all white tile and gleaming steel. Even after the service that night, the room was mostly spotless and orderly: Nor was an exacting chef who studied a precise cuisine.

Molly set the bowl full of people down on the large island in the center of the kitchen. Nor stood on the other side of the room with her back turned. When she heard the bowl clink down, she spun toward Molly.

Nor eyed her charge; then she eyed the bowl.

She strode toward it and put her hands down on the island on either side of the bowl, gazed into its contents, intently, as if she searched for something. At that moment, she wore her stoic mask.

As stern as Nor could be, and as harsh a mistress as she proved as Chef, Molly could not deny how alluring the woman was. She had a palpable magnetism. She was less like a cook in a kitchen, and more like a captain of a ship. And above all, to Molly's mind, Nor was an artist.

Molly was happy to be part of her very small crew. Other than Molly, there were only a few people who helped around that kitchen, though they were preppers and purchasers—when it was time to cook, it was just the two of them. Really, it was an honor. Molly liked to think that Nor trusted her more than most, and she considered herself lucky to work under such a remarkable person.

Nor pursed her lips. Her lean, hard face was as unreadable as ever as her dark eyes searched the bowl. Then Molly spied something truly rare: the ghost of a smile found Nor's mouth.

Nor plucked a naked little person between her fingers. A man, Molly guessed.

Nor confirmed her waiter's suspicion: "There you are, Mr. Peterson."

By the way Mr. Peterson squirmed about between Nor's fingers, it did not appear that he was as happy to see the comparatively giant woman.

Nor had donned her peeved mask.

"Do you know who Arlie Peterson is, Molly?"

The waiter shook her head.

"Well he knows who you are, dear. He called my server as confused as my cuisine."

Molly's eyebrows knit together, her lip twitched. Who was this little man, and why did he feel the need to be such an asshole?

"He's a food critic. I would say a big one... But." Arlie Peterson squirmed mightily; Nor put an end to his revolt with a curt shake. "I remember that review very well, Mr. Peterson. It's hard enough to open a restaurant. Your shot across the bow—days after I opened, no less—turned my uphill battle into a mountainous war. 'I've now taken a bite of Nor Rachman,' you cheekily declared, 'and I didn't like it—not one bit.' Well, Mr. Peterson. . ."

Nor raised the tiny man above her face. She grinned at him. Molly's mouth dropped open a little bit as horror dawned on her, even before comprehension.

Nor licked her lips.

"I'll happily review you back."

"Chef—"

Nor's small, stern mouth opened, she stuck out her long pink tongue. There she placed a tiny, naked Mr. Peterson, and he was helpless to how Nor pulled him into her maw.

"Chef!"

A chorus of screams sounded from the bowl. Molly realized, suddenly sick: that bowl was too tall and too smooth for any of those people to escape.

It was Molly who had trapped them in there. Doomed them, maybe.

Nor stared at Molly and smiled. Slowly, she chewed. Every time her jaws came together there was an awful, grinding crunch of bone. Molly could hear Mr. Peterson snap and squelch. The sound lessened the more Nor chewed.

Then, she swallowed.

"Salty." Nor remarked. She smacked her lips; blood trickled from her mouth and she giggled and wiped at it with her finger, licked her chin, sucked her red finger clean.

Molly had never heard Nor giggle before.

"And a little bitter," Nor pursed her lips and admitted.

Molly swallowed the dry terror that had lumped in her throat.

With swift, wooden movements she walked over to the kitchen's landline phone.

"Molly. Stop," Nor said.

Molly dialed nine, one, one.

She held the receiver up to her ear.

THWACK!

The line went dead; Nor had chopped the phone cord with a cleaver.

She pulled it from the wooden counter and brandished it at Molly—her stoic mask was back.

"No, Molly."

"Chef, you killed him."

"Yes."

"That's insane!"

"I saw the blood on the floor out there, Molly."

"What?"

"You already had your fun."

"Chef, that was an accident!"

"But how did it feel?"

"What?"

"What if it was that fat old troll who ran his mouth all night?"

"What? I know what I said back here, but—"

"You'd be glad to step on him."

Molly backed away from Nor, palms raised. "I'm just going to leave. Okay? I won't call the cops. I won't even take these people. Hell, I won't even ask for my next check."

Nor swiped at the air with the cleaver; Molly yelped and hopped backward.

"No."

"Stop!"

"You stop."

Molly started to cry.

Nor's mask cracked, she grinned.

She swung again, but this time sunk the cleaver deep into a nearby cutting board.

When Nor marched up to her, Moll flinched, expected the worst. But when Nor's hand wrapped around her neck, it held her gently.

"Do you trust me, doll?"

Molly flushed. "Yes, Chef, but—"

Nor was just a little taller than Molly, and her dark eyes did not blink. Molly wanted to look away, but something had changed about the way Nor gazed at her.

"Do you love me, Molly?"

"Chef," Molly stammered.

"I know you revere me. I see the way you glance at me. Do you know why I trust you so much? You do everything I ask without question. You trust me."

"I do," Molly admitted; she exhaled desperately.

Nor's face was so close to Molly's that the woman's breath warmed her flesh; a coppery tang teased her nostrils.

"Trust me now, Molly."

"I will, Chef."

"Nor."

"Yes, Nor."

It was the first time Molly had ever uttered the woman's name to her. Yet it still felt like a title—not in a stuffy or entitled fashion, but because it was majestic. It carried a silent "Queen" before it; a silent "Mistress."

Nor's fingers tightened around Molly's throat and the chef closed her eyes.

Molly's eyes widened.

Nor's face filled her vision, and Nor's warm lips pressed against hers.

Molly moaned—in protest, with pleasure.

Nor moaned hungrily, triumphantly.

In some corner, a clock counted all the seconds of that kiss.

In the bowl, the tiny people who filled it still screamed at what they had seen, or moaned liked victims of a plague who lied around waiting to die—who knew that they would surely die.

Nor's lips retreated, but only so she could lick them, and then she kissed Molly again; wet, soft flesh.

This time Nor's tongue knocked on the gates of Molly's lips, which parted to let her in.

Nor's big tongue filled Molly's small mouth, and Molly moaned, helpless.

When Nor was finished kissing Molly, she did not wear one of her masks, but instead her countenance revealed a naked happiness. The woman appeared radiant then. Her dark magnetism was gone, and a sun's gravity had taken its place.

Nor did not wear makeup. She did not color her nails, or have pierced ears—Molly had beaten her to that, even. She was a natural, unpainted woman.

A pure, raw beauty.

An untarnished image of a woman.

"I love you," Molly whispered.

Nor's dark brown eyes flashed. She took Molly by the hand and led her back to the bowl.

"Don't be afraid. Do you know what Formula S is?"

"Yes."

"Some chefs think of it as something different: as the ultimate spice." Nor glanced down at the dozens of people trapped in the mixing bowl. "The cosmos has gifted us one of the rarest ingredients on Earth. It's morbid, yes. Sinister. To eat another person, I mean." Nor's hand drifted over the bowl; her fingers raked softly over it writing contents—wails followed her passing fingertips in a wave of sound.

"Close your eyes," Nor ordered.

Molly closed her eyes.

"Open your mouth."

And Molly opened her mouth.

She knew what was about to happen, but did not know how she would react when it did. Her whole self was frozen. Her breathing had stopped.

Sure enough, a squirming body was placed on her waiting tongue. A small one—maybe half an inch tall.

"Molly: Close your mouth."

With her eyes still shut, Molly brought her lips together, and then her teeth, sealing the tiny person inside of the cavern of her mouth. She could not tell whether it was a woman or a man that she trapped. The contours of the tiny body were so slight. But she could discern how the person fought and struggled against her. A few moments ago, Molly would have felt awful; with her more relaxed state of mind, Molly felt something else. She felt powerful.

What if the person on her tongue was that loud-mouthed asshole from the dinner service?

Nor was right; Molly did enjoy the idea that she had stepped on him.

She had passed by his table several times while he made choice remarks about her in particular.

This tiny person, however—well, Molly knew nothing about whoever it was.

Frankly, she did not care.

All she knew was that she would do whatever Nor told her to.

"Chew."

The tiny person was surprisingly pleasing to Molly's palette: their flesh was mostly neutral—a little salty. Molly loosened her jaw. Obediently she rolled her tongue, slotted the squirming body between her teeth.

She bit down.

The crunch of bone was irksome, but it was accompanied by an explosion of rich flavors. A sharp bloom of salt. Metallic sweetness. A tinge that was sour and savory.

For such a tiny body, blood filled her mouth. She was careful to keep her lips closed.

As Molly chewed, the bones were quickly ground, and the experience grew less objectionable. Only the blood and meat remained—Molly masticated until those remains were paste.

She swallowed. Other than the flavor that lingered on her buds, any trace of that person was gone. Whatever was left of them would be absorbed or processed by her body. Converted into energy, Molly thought, and waste. This idea only pleased her more. The sense of power that she experienced left her head-drunk.

I just devoured a person, body, mind, and soul, Molly mused with relish—the thought did not bother her in the least.

She opened her eyes, only to watch Nor's palm as it approached just before the chef blocked her sight.

Molly opened her mouth, only for Nor to place another little person in there.

This person was larger than the last, and screamed like a woman.

Then Nor's lips pressed against Molly's, and sealed the woman in the tomb formed by their maws.

Nor's large tongue filled Molly's mouth again, and the tiny woman thrashed helplessly between their slick muscles, awash in their wet heat, lost in the dark, deafened by their moans.

Suction—

Nor pulled her lips away, pulled her hand from over Molly's eyes. Molly watched as Nor grinned and sucked a pair of kicking legs between her lips like errant strands of spaghetti. Chef chewed with her mouth open. The woman inside was torn apart by Nor's gleaming teeth. Blood dribbled out of Nor's mouth. She smiled like a vampire.

"Let's eat."

Nor fed more pleading, screaming little people to Molly; Molly fed her in return.

They swallowed them raw, and shivered as the itty-bitty bodies squirmed down their throats and wriggled in their stomachs.

Nor deep-fried a pair of people and drizzled honey on their crusted-over corpses. They were absolutely delectable.

A few of the tinies fled across Nor's cutting board, before her knife thwack-thwack-thwacked them into pieces, and she used them as fillings for mini bao buns. Delicious.

The chef carefully plucked out some of the smallest of their captives, and froze them with liquid nitrogen—she then topped blocks of fruits and chocolates with them. Molly savored each and every bite.

They drank and ate, talked and laughed, gazed into one another's eyes and stood close, kissed.

Less than half the contents of the bowl remained by the time they had their fill.

Nor took Molly's hand again, and led her as if her arm was a leash. She scooped the bowl up as they passed it.

The chef lived right above the restaurant in a small studio, just as tidy as her kitchen—her kitchen was probably larger, even, though that did not surprise Molly. The woman was always down in her space, toiling, creating.

To enter her apartment... Molly tingled as she stepped into that sanctuary.

Nor let go of Molly's hand as they entered. She put the bowl down on a table, which was accompanied by only one chair.

Nor entered the bathroom, closed the door.

Molly heard the shower turn on.

She weaved her fingers together, a nervous tick, and glanced around the room.

It was a spartan space. There was very little in the way of personal effects.

The apartment did not have a kitchen, only a sink and a counter, and a bare assortment of cooking instruments.

Curiously, there was a red heart-shaped box on the counter, though Nor obviously had not spent her Valentine's Day with anyone else.

On the wall was a single photograph, a large one, which depicted a jungle scene: soaked rice paddies, elephants, buffalo with long, curved horns—a large family full of the young and old and everyone inbetween sat on the porch of a long wooden house raised on stilts; a gold plate at the bottom of the frame read, "Rachman Kampung."

From the shower, a whistle.

Sheepishly Molly opened the door to the bathroom.

"Hurry up. Water isn't included in my rent."

Molly laughed and bit her lip.

Nor had snuck in a few of the tiny people with her. Half a dozen littles huddled on the wall ledge that was meant for the soap. The absent bar Nor held in her hand—she was already covered in suds. When Molly entered, Nor pulled her into the water, held her close, started to work the soap over her body.

Nor's nudity was glorious. The white suds washed over her dark flesh. She had lovely skin. A thin, straight body. Small round breasts. Molly was a bit awed to be there, naked, with Nor. The woman was the most beautiful lover in Molly's experience. But if Nor was repulsed by Molly form, she did not show it; her deft hands lathered Molly up all over. She kissed Molly's body as she worked, and then worked Molly's cock with soapy hands.

Nor plucked a little man from the ledge. She dropped him on top of Molly's budding erection, and trapped him inside of her fist when she grabbed Molly by the shaft. Nor worked her hand along the length of Molly's sex until she was fully aroused; she squeezed. Molly gasped as the tiny body burst against her flesh. She looked down: blood poured from off her cock and swirled into the water at their feet.

Nor gripped Molly's cock tight, then released it.

"Not yet," she said. "I just wanted to make sure. But no cumming—not 'til I say so."

"Yes, Nor."

Nor reached for another tiny person from the edge; they all jostled and fought as her hand came down, and one woman shoved another right into Nor's clutches—the unfortunate sacrifice screamed as she was hoisted skyward.

This time Nor placed the tiny woman in Molly's hand. She wrapped her arms around Molly and kissed her in the torrent of the shower.

Molly lowered her hand between Nor's legs and pressed the squirming captive to her lips; Nor's body wriggled against Molly's in response. The woman buried her face in the crook of Molly's neck, and breathed against her, and kissed her sensitive flesh. It was exciting to be the source of Nor's pleasure—to turn the table slowly around.

Molly rubbed the trapped woman against Nor's folds. With her thumb, she teased Nor's clit; her fingers curled and pushed the tiny woman into the cavern of Nor's sex. Nor gasped. She bit lightly at Molly's neck.

Nor moaned. She pressed Molly against the glass wall of the shower stall, pressed on Molly's shoulders. Molly lowered herself down, kissed along the length of Nor's body as she did so. Her lips and her tongue reached the hard button and plush folds of Nor's womanhood, and she slowly and carefully stoked the fires of her boss's arousal.

Nor's fingers pushed into Molly's hair, made a fist.

She smashed Molly's features into her womanhood as she moaned and grunted.

An awful crack from within Nor—

With a guttural growl, she crushed the tiny woman inside of her.

Molly pulled her head back and watched as blood seeped from between Nor's lips. The woman gazed darkly down at her.

"Pull her out," Nor commanded.

Molly slid her fingers into Nor's cavern and pinched—the tiny body was still in one piece, but crumpled awfully, as surely as it would be if she had been squished inside of a fist or under a foot. The body fell to the shower floor, to be washed away by the water. It drifted over toward the drain, unnoticed by the two comparatively giant women, and rested there on the grill.

The women embraced. Nor's hand drifted down to Molly's cock, she stroked it inside of her loose fist. "Good, girl," Nor murmured.

A tiny scream—a wet plop. The pair glanced over to find one of the tiny people had plummeted from the soap ledge. Now the little man twitched on the ground; a thin line of blood ran from his head.

"Idiot," Nor grumbled, and lowered her bare sole down onto the man.

Crrrunch.

Nor's eyes flashed at Molly. She grinned, and with a finger tipped another tiny person off from the ledge. The woman shrieked on her way down, and hit the shower floor with a terrible splat.

Molly smiled back; she placed her naked foot on top of the fallen woman.

Molly considered the first person she had stepped on: it had to have been that boisterous asshole. They had not found him inside of the bowl, and they did look, during their gruesome dinner. The guilt and dread that had welled up in her then, with that first crackle. How far she was from that now.

Nor watched Molly intently; Molly stared back at her. She snared her lip between her teeth, and pressed her foot down.

Snap-pop-crack.

Delicious fractures. Molly crushed the woman slowly, with great deliberation. Then Nor placed her foot on top of Molly's and sped up the process: she added pressure as she leaned in close. Molly gasped happily as the body beneath her foot flattened all at once, just as Nor kissed her.

And kissed her and kissed her.

A pair of screams—the last two little bodies writhed on the floor of the shower. Even with the water running, blood was everywhere. Bodies lied crumpled or crushed. Shredded remains piled up at the drain.

Nor placed her foot on the woman who squirmed beneath her; Molly's foot lowered onto the man.

Nor held onto Molly's cock, squeezed affectionately; Molly cupped the woman's labia, and teased her lips and clit.

They locked lips, added weight to their feet at the same time. Like they both stepped on bubble wrap. Just as pleasurable and satisfying. Molly hardened in Nor's grip; Nor's grip tightened.
No cumming until I say so
, the woman's voice repeated in her mind. Nor's sex was hot like a furnace in the cradle of Molly's fingers.

Nor pushed Molly down the length of her body once more, and grabbed the woman's hair in her fist. With one leg raised, foot pressed against the wall, Nor held Molly's face against her womanhood, and Molly obediently lapped.

"Tongue out," Nor growled, and pumped Molly's jaw against her, bucked her hips against Molly's face—she fucked Molly's tongue; her muscles squeezed all around Molly's organ. Nor groaned happily.

The hot water from the shower—it was like being out in the rain with Nor.

Molly lost herself in the minutes that followed. She went mostly limp. She was a tool for Nor's pleasure. She was Nor's new favorite sex toy, and the woman used her, deftly and thoroughly, to completion, to completion, to completion.

Molly did not consider herself expressly into BDSM as a kink, or that she was a sub. But she had watched some Dominant/submissive porn, read a few hot stories along those lines, knew some friends into the same.

She really enjoyed serving Nor. It felt right and natural.

She had already served Nor for years as her waiter.

Now, it was as if she was a servant to her beloved Queen.

"Dry me," Nor ordered, as she stood outside the shower stall, hands on her hips.

The woman glowed from the orgasmic waves that she had teased out of herself, having rubbed against Molly's face, and how she had thrust her servant's tongue inside of her.

On her knees, Molly carefully and gently worked a plush towel over every inch of Nor's flesh. Her arms and legs, front and back, top and bottom. The woman put a hand on her shoulder and raised one leg after the other so that Molly could dry the soles of her feet.

Molly blushed; her face ached. It was a wonderful soreness.

It truly was as if she served a goddess.

Yes; she served her goddess.

Goddess Nor—she loved the way that sounded in her head.

"Come," Nor said, and took Molly by the hand.

Out in the room of her studio, Nor slapped Molly lightly on the ass. "On the bed," she ordered.

Molly did as Nor commanded. She splayed out across one side of Nor's low bed. Like everything about the chef, it was simply done: solid colors gray and orange—just a sheet and a duvet, a pair of plump pillows. There was a single arched bar at both the head and the foot of the bed.

Nor went to a closet, then approached the bed with something behind her back.

"Do you trust me, Molly?"

"Yes, Nor."

"Good."

Nor climbed on top of her servant. She sat down on Molly, her warm thighs atop Molly's hips, her soft hot womanhood on the woman's cock.

"Arms up and out. Grab the post."

Molly swallowed. She raised her arms and with her hands found the arched bar above her head.

Nor showed what it was that she hid behind her back: a pair of black handcuffs with a long chain between them.

The chef paused, as if she wanted Molly to really consider what it was she looked at—what it was Nor meant to do.

When Molly kept her arms and hands where they were, Nor leaned over her—the woman's chest and shoulders and the underside of her chin filled Molly's view. Nor was slight of build, but in that moment, she loomed large. Nor looped the chain around the post of her bed a few times, and then cuffed one of Molly's wrists, and then cuffed its twin.

Molly was attached to the bed.

She could barely move her arms.

A slight shock of panic seized her, and her heart started to beat, beat, beat.

She had never been restrained before, and a sense of her true helplessness quickly sank in.

Do you trust me, Molly?

Nor placed a hand on Molly's flat chest. Her hand slithered upward, fingers curled around Molly's throat. Nor leaned down and kissed Molly softly.

"Shh." Kiss, kiss. "Relax. Focus on me. What I do to you. How everything feels. Let go of your body. Give me your body."

"Yes, Nor," Molly whispered; "My goddess, Nor," Molly breathed.

Nor chuckled.

Her sex was hot and wet. It kept Molly's cock pinned. Nor shook her hips ever so slightly, but the small movement rippled powerfully throughout Molly; the blond grew hard, got breathy.

Nor scooted from off of Molly's restrained body and left the bed. She sauntered over to retrieve the bowl. When she returned, she stood next to the mattress wearing a mischievous smirk.

Nor waved the bowl over Molly's body, and tipped it as she did: a dozen or so little bodies, all shapes and sizes, sprinkled across Molly's flesh. They tickled, and struggled; Molly tingled, and squirmed.

Nor tossed the bowl to the ground with a clatter. She settled on her knees beside Molly, atop the bed, and eyed the little people who squirmed all over her with a hungry glint.

Molly yelped as Nor's hand swatted her tummy. The bound woman did not even have to see it—a crunch and a spray of warmth told her that someone was splattered beneath Nor's falling hand.

Molly was more interested in watching Nor's handsome face, anyway, and the delight she took in her play.

Those tiny people did not stand a chance.

Ecstasy seized Nor's eyes, and parted Molly's lips.

Nor appeared like a youth playing with dolls or action figures, lost in her imagination at that moment—and the complete control she had over the scene.

A cruel smile shaped Nor's small mouth.

Molly glanced down the length of herself.

Someone the size of an ant traversed her chest. There were inch-tall people who ran from the gore strewn across her stomach. Nor curled a finger and tracked one of the runners, then attacked a screaming man who failed to get away from her; his head popped off from the blow, flying by Molly's face in a blur and drawing a line of red across her—his body tumbled over the curve of her ribs and disappeared at her side.

On her legs, little shapes tried to stay atop Molly's limbs as the comparatively giant form moved with every tickle and tingle—some fell between her legs, or off of their flanks. These cast-offs Nor retrieved none-too-gently, and dropped them, dazed, back onto Molly's form.

The people who Nor "rescued," Molly noticed, were mostly placed at around hips, and her cock. Molly's excitement grew from the attention of the tiny bodies, and from Nor's attention to her form.

Nor caressed Molly's sex with her fingers, and teased out Molly's length. When Molly was fully erect, Nor seized her cock in her fist; she dropped a few tiny people into the pocket formed by Molly's flesh and her hand. Nor lied down next to Molly as she stroked her; her warm lips found Molly's.

Molly closed her eyes. She lost herself; surrendered to Nor's ministrations, her soft kisses.

Little bodies crumpled and crunched as Nor stroked her shaft. Quiet voices screamed and were silenced; the tiniest hands and feet scurried all over Molly's body.

Nor shifted beside her—

The woman swung a leg over Molly, sat on top of her.

Molly gasped as Nor mounted her.

Inch by inch Nor's womanhood consumed Molly's sex. Bodies squirmed in Nor's depths, pressed to her walls by Molly's cock. Crashing waves of pleasure spread through Molly with all of their struggles: there was some poor soul trapped right at Molly's tip; half a dozen or more writhed along the length of her shaft; a few hapless wretches found themselves between the titans, atop Molly's hips and underneath of Nor's spread lips and ass and thighs.

Nor fucked Molly. She rocked her hips up and down on top of her waiter-turned-toy, slid Molly's length up and down inside of her, but never let her out.

On its own, the sensation would have been enough. Molly fit inside of Nor as if she was made specially for her. And for Molly, it was perfect sex. Nor fucked her, not the other way around. Nor was the initiator. Nor used Molly's hard cock as if it were her own.

But there was more. . .

Carnage:

As Nor slid and squeezed, she crushed and popped the bodies along the inches of Molly's shaft. The luckless sod trapped at Molly's tip was pulverized into nothing once Nor really started to get going, and even inside of Nor's hot cavern, there was a shock of warmth. The minuscule bodies stuck between their relatively giant bodies struggled as flesh clapped together, and clapped them all into paste and nothingness with pleasing crunches and crackles.

Bursting flesh. Hot blood. Bones that popped.

Molly moaned, she gasped—

Nor's heat suddenly left her, and Nor's fingers squeezed Molly's throat, hard.

Molly whined, choked—

Nor smashed her sex down onto Molly's cock, and pressed it against Molly's stomach—Molly came across the flesh of her own body, her cum splashed over the blood that had dried on her stomach.

Molly whimpered as she came down from her orgasm.

The pair lied together. The bed was still—not a soul remained, save for those two.

Cum dried on Molly's body, blood dried on her.

Molly did not care.

Nor ran a hand up and down along Molly's flesh, idly petting her.

The bound woman's arms were sore. Yet she was happy to be restrained. Even still, she had to ask, for the pain mounted: "Do you think... Do you think you could take these off?"

"No. Soon."

Molly swallowed; she closed her eyes and nodded.

Outside, she heard passersby who talked to one another, cars that drove along. No one out there knew the slaughter that had just taken place in that room.

Molly's eyes opened.

"What would you have done. . ."

"When," Nor asked.

"What if I had just freaked out, and didn't come along with you on this journey."

Nor laughed softly. "You would have ended up like the rest of them."

Molly gasped; she gazed up at Nor, who lied against her. The woman's dark eyes stared back.

"You would have shrunk me?"

"Yes."

"You did this to them? You knew this would happen?"

Nor grinned. "No. It was not intentional. It was the chocolate we used in the desert. Apparently a very small number of boxes contained chocolates laced with Formula S—purely an accident. It was just dumb luck that one of the boxes was ours."

"Oh. Wow."

Nor glanced away, but Molly stared at her goddess.

She was so beautiful that it was painful. And here she was, Nor's lover. It was a dream.

Molly's head was full of imaginings of where this relationship might take her next as it flourished.

From below, it was easy to imagine her looming, a giant. Nor would make a ravishing, handsome giant, Molly concluded. She would be quite a sight hundreds of feet tall. If the night had gone differently, Molly might have been treated to such a sight. Would she have suffered the same fate as everyone else that day?

At some point, Molly fell asleep, held in the crook of Nor's arms, her face pressed into Nor's warm breasts.

When she awoke, Nor was still nestled against her. The chef lied there smoking a cigarette.

Molly's arms ached fiercely—she was still handcuffed to the bar of the bed.

When Molly stirred, Nor teased her hair with her fingertips.

"Welcome back, pet."

Molly did not know what to say—whether she should say anything at all. The silence then was comfortable, consummate. But she was overwhelmed. . .

"That was perfect." Molly whispered. "You're perfect."

Nor chuckled.

Molly kissed at the flesh of Nor's breasts.

"We'll have to do it again sometime," Nor said.

Molly pulled herself up a little bit so that she could look at Nor's face—her cuffed hands did not allow her to move much at all. She grinned, and Nor smiled.

But there was something about that smile.

A certain quality.

There was a bit of Nor's stoic mask worn on that face.

Molly swallowed, suddenly nervous.

"What's wrong, toy?"

"I just... I don't know."

Nor chuckled again. Now she did smile warmly. She hooked errant strands of Molly's long hair behind her ears. But Molly could not ignore the caution of a smile like that.

"Is this," Molly asked slowly, and stopped.

"Oh, Molly. Don't overthink this."

"I'm not. I don't think I am." Molly was suddenly crushed, seized by a weary spirit. "This was just a one-time thing. Wasn't it? I mean, that's okay."

"No. It doesn't have to be."

Molly licked her lips. A small hope bloomed within her. "I like you, Nor. A lot."

"You love me," Nor stated.

"Yes."

Nor shrugged.

"Then don't worry so much. See what happens. Explore with me."

Molly shook her head a little. "I don't know if that's enough for me. I mean—"

Nor cleared her throat. "Breathe, Molly. And think carefully."

Hope left her.

But Nor's arm pulled her in and pressed Molly against her. "Why do you need to label this?"

"I guess I'm just that kind of girl."

"That's not a real answer. Speak from your heart."

Molly murmured against Nor's flesh. "I don't want to sound pathetic. I just haven't had a good run, I guess. It's hard for me to trust. To feel safe. And I love you. I really do. I've admired you for years, but never really hoped that we might... Well. . ."

Molly pulled back; her chains jingled.

"I want to be yours, Nor. Goddess Nor. I don't want to be with anyone else."

"That's sweet," Nor said in her soft, rough voice.

She gazed elsewhere, pulled on her cigarette.

Nor appraised Molly with an inscrutable look; she blew a cloud of gray and and then smashed the end of her smoke in an ashtray on the nightstand. "And what if I want to be with other people?"

Molly slumped. "There are other people."

Nor shrugged. "Sure. I have lovers." She grinned. "I guess I'm just not that kind of girl. I don't do love by a contract, doll. No possession. It's a turnoff. I prefer naked trust. What if this isn't forever? It just feels like a silly aspiration to wave around. It's childish." Then Nor laughed, she reached over and cupped Molly's chin. "Let's be in the moment. Together."

Molly turned her head away. She found it hard to hear Nor's words, even though they were spoken with affection. None of it made any sense to her. All of it sounded distancing, to her ear.

"Oh, Molly! Don't be so sad."

Molly shook her head.

Nor sighed and stood up from the bed. She pulled on a robe.

Molly regretted even that small turn of her face away from Nor. Now she was going to kick her out, no doubt.

"Coffee?"

Molly glanced up at her chef, unable to catch the startled expression that overtook her.

"Okay," she replied quietly.

Nor did not have a kitchen in her studio, but she did have a press and a self-heating pitcher. She hummed as she boiled some water, and poured it over dark grinds in the press.

She turned toward Molly, and gazed over her form.

"I adore you, Molly. Don't question that."

Molly nodded, but her stare sank toward her own feet.

Nor laughed. "What? Not enough for you? Is my affection not sustaining, pet?" Nor's gravel-filled voice took on a sardonic tone. "Do you want to run off together? Get married at the courthouse? Plaster pictures of each other all over the Internet? Meet each other's parents? I'll get to know all your friends. We'll be the perfect picture of monogamy, the very spitting image of—"

"No," Molly said, and cut off Nor's words.

Yes, she had imagined those things.

Fuck!

Nor chuckled.

Molly glared at the woman. "Don't mock me."

Nor shrugged.

Now Molly's ire really bubbled up. She struggled to sit up—the chains attached to her wrists clanged loudly as they were pulled taut from her motions.

"Do you think you could have had this night with anyone else? I'm more than just a casual fuck, Nor. We've worked together for years. Hell, I'm like an extension of your body. Another pair of arms. And tonight, I think I proved that I'm an extension of you in more ways than that, too. I love you, Nor. I still haven't heard you say it back. 'Pet.' 'Toy.' You just see me as a bit of fun. No, that's not enough for me."

Nor was silent. She stared at Molly.

Nor's lips parted as if she might say something.

Molly shook her head. "Just... Take these things off. I think I'd rather just go home."

Nor's lips came back together; she started toward the closet with heavy steps.

Molly's head continued to shake as she watched the woman.

Inside of her, it was as if her emotions teetered over a cliff. Breathe, a rational voice in her head told her. Regroup. Leave it there. Calm down.

It was such a quiet, tiny voice.

"You know. . ."

Nor paused her stride and cast a sidelong glance at Molly.

"Maybe you should find a new waiter, too."

Hurt. She had never seen Nor hurt before, not really.

Indignant. Shocked and angry. Righteously furious.

But never hurt, even with all the sticks and stones the woman had weathered—not until then.

Nor turned toward Molly. She put her hands on her hips; her robe was open in the front, and Molly was given a peek of her nudity: a strip of dark flesh. How quickly that stoic mask returned, as if it was never far from her reach. "Fine. You're fired."

Molly hated Nor's face right then. Already so resolved and strong.

Molly hated that Nor had already assumed control of the situation, as she always did.

Tears threatened the bound woman, and she fought with them.

Thrown away in an instant. Without a second thought.

So Molly reached inside of herself for another sharp knife—

"And I expect you'll be very generouson my way out the door."

Nor arched an eyebrow.

Molly licked her lips.

"It'd be a shame if any of this got out. Star chef poisons her patrons. . ."

Nor glared—yes, Molly thought, there it is—and the stormy-eyed woman marched over to the closet.

"You'd lose your restaurant, Chef."

Nor pulled open the closet door, disappeared from Molly's view.

"So you better take care of me. Because trust me, I'm capable of anything. I don't care what happens to me—"

"Good," Nor said as she walked toward Molly's prone form. She laughed.

She laughed!

Molly's eyes widened as she spied what Nor held: another pair of black handcuffs.

"No! No you fucking don't! Get away from me!"

Molly thrashed on the bed. Her bonds rattled; her wrists hurt, cut, bled.

She kicked at Nor when the woman came close. Nor looped the long chain of the handcuffs around the bar at the foot of her bed.

Then she grabbed for Molly's flailing legs, a wild smile on her face.

"No! No!" Molly shrieked. "It was an empty threat! I won't tell anyone! Nor!"

A cold metal hook slapped against one of Molly's ankles; the cuff clicked closed.

"Nor!" Molly was shrill. Desperate. She was in tears. She whined as she swung her last free limb at her tormentor.

Nor seized Molly's unchained leg and held it down and fastened the metal restraint to her.

Molly was completely immobile, then. She wailed and yelled. She screamed for help.

Nor just laughed at her, and walked back toward the closet.

Molly was not exactly sure what it was that Nor held, then, as she approached the bed, and sat next to her spread-eagle captive—an apparatus fixed to a strap.

Molly's beseeching calls turned into begging, and her begging was silenced as Nor held a hand over her mouth.

The cuffed, naked woman shook her head, mmm'd in protest—

With her other hand, Nor lassoed the strap around the back of Molly's head. Molly's eyes goggled as Nor punched her in the throat. Then Nor brought the device down onto her mouth, and firm pegs covered in rubber slotted between Molly's teeth—

Her lips and mouth were stretched wide open, and a depressor lowered into place over her tongue, pinned it down.

Molly could not move her arms or legs, save for by inches; she could not close her mouth, or even speak, for the apparatus spread her teeth and gagged her.

Her scream was a quiet gurgle.

Nor patted her on the cheek.

"I'm going to take care of you, toy. Don't you worry."

The chef stood and turned away from Molly; her robe trailed behind her like a cape as she strode.

Molly struggled and struggled, but it was useless.

All she could do was watch as Nor put a saucepan on a small free-standing burner, which the woman turned on. She went to the red box of chocolates on her counter; when Nor popped off the lid and held it aside, a cartoonish face leered at Molly. A mean little face. A face that reminded of her the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.

A chocolate from the box was dropped into the saucepan.

Nor poured herself a cup of coffee, and ignored Molly while she drank it, black.

The chef watched her treat heat and melt.

"Chef! Chef, please! I just wanted to scare you! I wasn't going to betray you! Nor! I love you! I was hurt! I wanted you to hurt!" At least, that's what Molly would have said, if she wasn't gagged—

All her words were a blubbered, indiscernible mess.

Nor returned to the bedside. She held a small white saucière.

With a hand on Molly's forehead, Nor steadied her charge's shaking head.

"Don't fight me, pet."

Tears streaked down the side of Molly's face as she gazed up into the abyss of Nor's dark eyes.

"This is exactly what you want. Now, you'll be mine."

The saucière tipped, and hot chocolate poured from it, fell into Molly's held-open mouth.

Molly turned her head to try to avoid the stream, but Nor gripped her hair in her fist, and held her.

"Mine, Molly."

Nor's eyes flashed.

"My little Molly."

She grinned like the face on the heart-shaped box.

"All mine."