The shrunken man came in an unassuming metal box, but she could tell from the motion inside that he was already awake. They had said that he would have no idea where he was or what had happened to him, so she would have the privilege of teaching him that he belonged to her now. He would probably try to escape or to rebel, but she had so much control over him that it wouldn’t matter.
Already she knew exactly where he was and what he was doing, even with the box closed. A passive sensation that was the same as knowing where her limbs were, and one that she could forget about just as easily. He was crawling around, unable to keep his feet in the unpredictable motion of the box, looking around in the absolute darkness, though still able to see as if there was a dim light. The fact that that was irregular probably didn’t occur to him, but the process that had shrunk him had given him a few gifts, and given her a few powers.
The vision even without light was given so that he would see what was happening to him at all times. Even better, his vitals were tied to hers, so she could do literally anything to him and he would not suffer injury. He was functionally immortal, and she had had his pain threshold maximized; she was looking for a toy to humiliate, not to torture.
To accomplish that, she had complete control over his movement and size both. She could change his size merely by thinking about it, from microscopic to his full, natural height. She could move his limbs as if they were her own, or even completely lock out his movement if she wanted. The greatest part, though, was that she could share his senses, or give him her own. Effectively, she could trade bodies with him, and still keep full control over both.
She refrained from doing that, though. At least for now. She wanted his first realization of his status to be when she opened the box. They said that she could take him back to get his memory wiped, to relive his first discovery of being tiny as many times as she liked, but there was something special about the very first time. She would eventually wipe him, though. She wanted him to keep the fierce energy of denial and resistance, before finally resigning himself to his fate.
It hadn’t been cheap, nor was it strictly legal. It was another person, after all, and, even with her income, she had been saving for a long time to afford this. And she could only imagine the consequences if the world realized that Emma Watson had basically bought a sex slave.
Aaron felt his container stop moving, and he finally was able to climb to his feet. He had no idea where he was and no memory of how he had gotten here. His last memory was of falling asleep in his own bed, and he had woken up bare naked to the jostling of the box. The metal under him was warm and the air was stale. He couldn’t see much, but he could tell that something was off. The grain of the metal was too big, the motion of the box too jerky and sudden. Something seemed unnatural and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
He stood up and looked down at his body, wondering where his clothes went. Maybe it was the low light, but it felt like he looked better than he was used to; less fat, clearer muscle definition, the farmer’s tan lines were gone, and all of his body hair had been shaven. Maybe it was the lack of hair, but it seemed like his dick was even bigger, too. He grabbed it and found that it definitely did feel bigger in his hand.
What the hell had happened to him? Panic started to grow, and was immediately replaced with fear as the top of the box swept open, flooding the room with light and explaining instantly what had happened to him.
The face that stared down at him from above was gigantic. Each of the eyes were larger than his head, the mouth big enough to swallow him whole. It was a woman, and either he was tiny or she was gigantic. He didn’t recognize her at first, but as the two of them stared at each other, Aaron in fear and the woman in satisfaction, it clicked into place.
The wispy, auburn hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Intense, brown eyes with a slightly hungry look to them, and lightly freckled skin. High cheekbones, full lips drawn up in a satisfied smirk, and a slightly pointed jaw. The woman was Emma Watson.
The shock of it sent Aaron straight back down to his ass. He was tiny, probably no more than four inches tall, sitting in a box with fucking Emma Watson staring down at him like a piece of food. She saw the stunned look on his face and her grin grew a bit.
“Hello, there,” she said, her British accent coming through even those two words. Her expression shifted to sympathy, looking down at him like a dog she had accidentally stepped on. “Oh, come on, stand up.”
Maybe it was the shock, but Aaron felt himself rise, unbidden, to his feet. He had not moved himself, at least not willingly. Had his limbs moved on their own or had he just been too overwhelmed by the impossibility of the situation?
“There we go, that’s better,” she said, her face brightening. “I’m Emma, your new mistress. I own you now, so you do what I want, you understand?”
Aaron shook his head slowly, unbelieving. Emma’s smile became hungrier and she reached into the box. Her giant hand moved with frightening speed and wrapped around his body before he could react, and she pulled him from the box, lifting him to head level, what seemed like miles above the ground, or, in this case, the bed.
Emma stood, naked save for a thin pair of lacy black underwear, over an unmade bed in a large room. Lit by sunlight streaming in through a single window, the furniture and decorations, mostly everything white or pink in color, made it seem like it was her own bedroom. It was a bit messy, some clothes on the floor and some hanging off the dresser. Her bra, black like her underwear, was strung over the bed’s headboard.
She had a body that deserved to be admired, thin and athletic, with long legs and small, close-hugging breasts, pale skin with light tan marks from a bikini. Her nipples were small and pink, with tiny bumps on the areolae. Her left nipple was slightly larger than the right, but both sat pointing slightly outwards from the center of her breasts.
But Aaron was too terrified, too overwhelmed for admiration. His eyes were locked on hers, and she inspected him like a piece of meat. “I own you,” she repeated finally, drawing him close to her face. “You do nothing without my permission, you do exactly as I say, is that clear?”
Aaron tried to open his mouth to protest, or to even ask what was going on, but he found that he couldn’t. Instead, he nodded, and his eyes widened in shock. He was absolutely certain that he had not tried to nod, but his body had moved anyway.
“That’s right. I can control your every move,” she said. Suddenly, he was her, staring through her eyes, feeling his own terrified body in her fist. “I can control your senses,” she said. He felt her voice as if it came from his own throat, and it was bizarre and terrifying.
Without warning, he was back in his own body, struggling helplessly against her fist as it tightened around him. It grew tighter and tighter, to the point where he could no longer draw breath, and she brought her other hand up and squeezed him even tighter between both hands. The pressure was phenomenal, but it never seemed to escalate to pain. Her hands were shaking from the effort, and then she suddenly relaxed.
Aaron took a deep, relieved breath, and Emma continued, “Your vitals are tied to mine. You can’t die, but I can make things very uncomfortable for you if you do not obey me, do you understand?”
Aaron nodded weakly, this time of his own volition. He didn’t know what her threats meant, but he didn’t want to piss her off until he could figure out what to do.
"My first job for you," she continued, "Will tell me how useful you are. I spent a lot of money, so you'd better do it right."
The sudden sensation of motion was dizzying. Faster than he could believe, he was swept downwards across her entire body, until he was at a level with her hips, staring at the line where her panties met the pale skin of her stomach. Her fist twisted sideways a little bit during the motion, and now he was almost parallel with the ground.
With her other hand, she pulled open the waistband to her underwear. As close as Aaron was, he could smell the odor that spilled out of them, and, as small as he was, it hit him like a freight train. The heady, fishy smell seemed to displace all the air around him, and he hardly heard Emma speak when she told him, "You are going to make me come."
Her belly twitched when she spoke, a subtle flexing of her diaphragm that he never would have noticed had he been full size. But, at this scale, at this distance, it was impossible to ignore, showing him exactly how pathetic he was next to the giantess.
But he didn't have much time to think about it. With her command, Emma opened her fist, and Aaron tumbled down her spread fingers and directly into the waistband of her panties. The heat multiplied and the odor grew overwhelming as he descended. He bounced once off the springy cotton, struck flesh, and stopped.
Without any further prodding or explanation, Emma let the waistband to her underwear snap shut, and his thin supply of fresh air disappeared, leaving him in a world of heat, flesh, and body odor.
Claustophobia set in immediately, and he began to struggle. The flesh in front of him was solid, and the panties at his back were snug and unyielding. He couldn't gain purchase against anything around him, and his panic grew, making him flail wildly, with absolutely no effect.
"You're not gonna do anything up there," Emma's voice boomed from above. The skin that pressed against his face shook with the strength of it, twitched with the flexing of her muscles, and he slipped down another inch or so.
Aaron tried to swallow his fear and figure out what he could do. He certainly couldn't escape, but make her come? How the hell was he supposed to do that? He pushed as hard as he could and managed to get enough distance to see that he was within arm's reach of the cleft that led down between her legs. But he knew that the more sensitive flesh was further on, and he'd have to struggle towards the source of that overbearing stench to find it.
Did he really have to do this? He didn't want to see what would happen if he didn't, so, with a groan, he twisted himself around, working against the pressure of the underwear against his back until he was upside-down, his head level with the cleft. He brought his arms over his head and started to dig into the flesh. His hands met a warm, sticky moisture, and he stopped to look at it. Lubricant. He tried to wipe it off on the dryer skin around him, but it wasn't really coming off.
Disgusting. But he carried on, seeking with his hands for something that would feel like a clitoris. Eventually, Emma spoke again, "Are you having trouble finding it? Maybe it would help if it was bigger, then?"
Without warning, or without even a sound to accompany the sudden transition, the entire world around him became larger. The skin underneath him grew closer, the stitching of her underwear seemed to grow more coarse, and the wet groove he was digging his hands through hungrily consumed him all the way to the elbows, multiplying in size before his eyes.
Christ. She could control his size, too? That would make her the only person who could return him to normal, though. Maybe, if he made her happy, she would let him walk away.
No choice but to do what she asked, then. With a noise of disgust, he slowly started pulling himself forward and downward. The pressure of her panties at his back made it hard to keep his head out of the crack, but the skin was growing pinker and wetter as he moved on, so he knew he was going in the right direction.
Her labia was larger than him now, and by a good amount. Her clitoris might well be the size of his head, and it would be beneath more skin than he could reach by just blindly searching with his arm. He didn't have to stick his face in there, did he?
But Emma made the decision for him. Suddenly, there was an immense pressure on his back, through the panties, and his whole body sank between the lips of her labia. The wrinkled flesh parted willingly to accept him, slathering every inch of his body in her fluids, and his face was pressed mercilessly against smooth, bright pink, soaking wet skin.
There was no air here, only lubricant. He fought the urge to panic as it filled his mouth and he coughed and sputtered. The thick, almost savory taste filled his mouth, combining with the overpowering fishy odor to create a truly suffocating mixture. But, as he fought to pull his head back enough for a breath of fresh air, he realized that his lungs were not burning for oxygen. Between coughs, he had been breathing comfortably, and it was mostly frothy lubricant that had slid down his throat.
He didn't drown, and it didn't even hurt. The realization calmed his panic but made him realize how hopeless his situation was. She controlled everything about him, he couldn't even die down here. He grit his teeth and tried to figure out where she had pushed him.
He felt a firm pressure on his stomach, a smooth object that he guessed was her clitoris. He worked his hands down and started to massage it, praying that he was going for the right thing, and waiting desperately for some indication that he was making progress. Even the slightest motion was tremendous down here, though. She spread her legs slightly, and he could feel her muscles moving, her labia shifting around him. Her heartbeat was very clearly audible, and he could feel it through her skin if he focused on it, but it was steady. Was this doing anything for her?
Suddenly, his whole world shifted violently. The unpredictable sense of motion was nauseating, but he realized from its regularity that she was just walking. Her hips swaying with every step, rocking him back and forth in his panty prison, the impact of her heels hitting the ground vibrating the world around him.
Then, with a tremendous impact, she crashed onto her bed. His orientation shifted with dizzying speed, and he was hanging upside-down, held tight in place by the combination of her panties and the flesh around him. On her back, she spread her legs wide enough that her labia started to give way, and he just sank deeper into it, all but drowning in her hot flesh.
"Well, you tried," said her booming voice. "Let me show you how it's done."
Before Aaron could realize what she was about to do, Emma's hand dug into her underwear. The casual motion for her was absolute chaos for him. Her slender fingertips immediately filled his entire world, effortlessly moving aside the flesh and cotton walls of his prison. Her middle two fingers pressed against his back, shoving him hard against the flesh of her crotch, which parted and welled up around him.
The pressure was tremendous, and then she started masturbating, drawing lazy circles over her crotch with her fingers, and him caught between the two. He slid torturously over lubricant-soaked flesh, every ripple grabbing and twisting at his limbs, fighting in vain against the absolute control of a giantess.
He squirmed, kicked, and punched, but he may as well have been not moving at all for all the good it did him. If anything, she seemed to enjoy it more. With his face being ground mercilessly into her flesh, he could hear her heartbeat picking up its pace. Just barely, through the deafening squelching of wet flesh, but it was distinct. Her hips started to rock, but he could barely tell through all the motion, and, if he wasn't mistaken, he thought he heard a soft moan pass her lips.
But, God, this was taking forever. It would have been erotic if it had not been so terrifying. The dark wrinkles and wet pink flesh of her crotch ripped over his face in a blur of speed, his entire world replaced with heat, noise, and motion. As time went by, she pushed harder and moved faster, making the exercise more torturous for him with every passing second.
It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. He could definitely hear her moaning now, moving faster and pressing harder, making the whole thing, if anything, even more painful. Just when it got to the point that he was starting to get used to it, almost even bored of it, she came.
She let out a cute, choking gasp, and her hips bucked once or twice, more of a twitch, still holding him facefirst against her pussy. And then she let out a long, relieved sigh, and her hand pulled free of her panties, leaving Aaron still trapped between her sopping wet labia.
"Mmm, yeah, that's how you do it," she breathed, her soft voice barely reaching him through the flesh around him, the words barely audible over the pounding of her heartbeat. "You just stay down there for now, see if you can figure it out yourself."
Wait, was that it? A few minutes of sexual torture and now he just had to hang out in her still-wet panties all day? Of course he did, it didn't matter to her that he would by lying here in the heat and stink while she went about her day. What if he needed to eat? Or drink? Or sleep?
He realized with a growing sense of dread that he probably didn't need to do any of those things. She had just put him through a torture that should have killed him at his size, and lubricant had flowed freely down his throat and into his lungs without him even noticing. He couldn't die, and he couldn't escape, he could only lie there and wait for Emma to want another round.
She got off the bed, the motion chaotic and unpredictable, the flesh around him shifting with soft, wet noises as she did so. He finally wound up face-up, his upper body buried so deep in her labia that he was staring at the entrance to her vagina, and his legs below the knee both free, though twisted around each other and pressed up against her flesh by the pressure of her panties. The heat was phenomenal, making it hard for him to think about anything but how hot it was, and he couldn't tell if he was sweating or just soaked head to toe in lubricant.
He rocked back and forth with her hips, unable to move his limbs to seek a more comfortable position for the force of the flesh that surrounded him. With every step, he felt the vibration and heard the soft thump of her heel striking the ground. Her cadence was irregular, but, after a few minutes, the predictable, repetitive rhythm of her every step was something that he thought he could get used to.
Then, abruptly, he was her. Looking through her eyes, feeling cool air on slender limbs. An unfamiliar pressure on his chest that he realized was her bra. He couldn't control anything, and the realization was a new kind of claustrophobia. Trapped in his mind, or, rather, in someone else's, an audience to her life but unable to so much as blink.
She pulled a T-shirt out of a drawer and slid it down over her head, then picked a skirt off the ground and put her legs through it, buttoning it up and straightening out her outfit with mechanical efficiency. She turned and looked at a wall-length mirror, and it still came as a shock, seeing the reflection of Emma Watson through what felt like his own eyes.
She grinned and hiked up her skirts, and a single hand went down between her legs, her middle finger sliding gently over her crotch. He couldn't feel anything there except wet cotton, and he realized that he really couldn't feel more than a slight pressure in his... her crotch. She was basically able to ignore that he was even there.
"That's you," she said delightedly, the voice felt beyond bizarre coming from his own lips. "Now, don't make me come down there, okay?"
Then, just as suddenly as he had been transported into her mind, he was back in his. The assault of heat and pressure and sound and stench was so sudden, and made worse by the few moments he had spent as a regular person, that he yelped and recoiled. Or, at least, he tried. The flesh surrounded him so thoroughly that the shout came out hopelessly muffled and the jump was more of an impotent twitch.
Oh God. Was this his life now? Trapped in this suffocating world while his captor went about her life, completely forgetting about him while every minute spent down here was torture? And what the hell did she mean, come down here? She was going to masturbate with him again, guaranteed, but that threat seemed different.