Aaron stared at the note, unbelieving. What little hope he had vanished, and a deep fear replaced it. Oh God no, she was going to do terrible things to him for this, things that would make him wish for death even though it would never come. He couldn't meet her angry gaze, and he let his head drop, staring down at the ground far below his dangling feet. He was fucked.
Emma crumpled up the note and tossed it onto the bed, then, in a sudden whirlwind of motion, tossed him after it. The mattress was soft, but the impact still drove the wind out of him. Climbing slowly, miserably to his feet, he looked up at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She was wearing pink boyshorts and a clingy white T-shirt that rode up to expose her midriff. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath, and he could see the dark circles of her nipples through the fabric. Her hair was mussed up from the night before, and she still seemed groggy, maybe even a bit hungover. She stared at him, hands on hips, anger radiating from her tired eyes.
"You didn't think I knew? You've tried this before," she said.
"Wait, what?" he asked, out loud. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to speak now but that statement was so surprising he couldn't help himself.
She rolled her eyes, straightening her hair and tugging down her shirt. "I told you, I own you." She sat down on the bed next to him, and the springs creaked under her weight in a way that they never would under his. She wasn't heavy, but the indentation she put in the mattress was like a pit that he had to struggle from tumbling down into. "I can have your memory wiped any time I like. This is the third time I've done it and this is the fourth time you've tried that little trick."
"No way," he said, again out loud. How could she wipe his memory? Surely, he would have... remembered? No...
"Yes way," she said, imitating his accent. She giggled, then leaned down towards him. Her face was gigantic, and he could smell the trace of alcohol from then night before on her breath. "After the first few months, you just give up, and that's no fun for either of us. I like it when you have a bit of life in you."
He shook his head, letting his gaze fall again. There was no way for him to know if she was telling the truth, but his gut screamed at him that it was impossible. He would never give up. He would fight until he escaped or she killed him. He couldn't imagine...
She put a single finger under his chin, bigger around than his leg, and lifted his head to look at her. Her massive brown eyes were intelligent and piercing despite the brown circles beneath them. It felt like she was staring into his soul. "If you don't believe me, tell me this. Who are your mum and dad?"
That was easy. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. He had parents, but he couldn't remember their names, their faces. Were they still together? Did he live with them? His mind started racing. He couldn't remember anything. When was he born? Where did he live? Who had he been before this?
Nothing. He didn't remember anything before waking up in that little metal box. His mouth fell open in shock, and Emma straightened back up, smiling. "You always have a few more tricks you try before you finally break, but this is the first time I've told you the truth," she told him. "This is your life now. We've done all this before and we can do it all again, if you like. Or you can accept it and be the servant you're supposed to be."
He was silent, uncomprehending. What did she know? What else had he tried to do to escape before this? Was this all scripted? Was there anything he could do that she wouldn't anticipate? Dread filled his stomach, heavy to the point of nausea. If she got tired of him, she could just reset him, and he would live forever in a loop of hopeless escape attempts and eventual acceptance of his servitude.
He knew who Emma Watson was, so he had some memory of the time before, but what was the last thing he had seen her in? Harry Potter had come out years ago, and that was the last time he had even thought about her. She looked older, at least he thought she did, but what year was it now? Had he been with her that whole time since the movie came out?
Even if he knew the date, it wouldn't help him. He could have been with her for two years or two weeks. Eventually, if she was telling the truth, he'd be staring up at a woman in her mid-forties, being told the exact same thing and still not believing it, not remembering a single minute of what had come before.
He didn't say anything for a long while, and Emma just looked down at him, a half-grin on her face. God, he hated her, but how long had he hated her for? How many times had he come to accept her? Fuck, this was hurting his head. Every escape plan he could imagine hit a dead end when he realized she had probably seen it all already. What the fuck could he do?
She stood up, and the bed sprang back in a sudden and violent way that knocked him right down on his ass. She kneeled down and rested her chin on the mattress, right in front of him. Her head was taller than he was; all he could think of was how easy it would be for her to open her mouth, snap him up, and swallow him whole. God, she could take control of his body and he would willingly dive into her throat.
"I'll tell you this, you never liked the punishment that came next," she told him. Her hot breath would have knocked him on his ass if he wasn't already down. She grinned at his stunned, terrified look, then stood up. "We'll skip it this time, okay? Come on, let's take a shower." Oh, God, not again. But it was at least better than whatever she had planned for him as punishment. She stood up again and pulled off her shirt, her breasts popping out from underneath it in a very satisfying way as she dragged it over her head. She threw it onto the bed behind him, then paused before she started to strip her underwear. "Well?" she demanded. "Go on, get in there."
He obeyed with only a moment's hesitation, jumping off the bed and making his way at a quick walk towards the shower. He heard the sigh of her panties coming off behind him, then the pounding of her footsteps. Even knowing that he was invincible, the sound filled him with a primal terror, and her right foot came slamming down beside him so hard that he fell over. He looked up as her massive body passed rapidly over him, and stared, captivated, at the jiggle of her ass as she made her way out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.
God, he hated her, but that didn't stop her from being hot. It was difficult to appreciate from inside her, and that was where he spent most of his time. But when he got the full view... He felt a tingle in his groin, and had to remind himself sternly that she had told him to get in the shower, and he was lagging behind now. He didn't feel like incurring the punishment he had fortunately dodged, so he got to his feet and ran after her.
She had already turned on the shower when he got there, and was waiting outside, feeling the water and waiting for it to get hot. He scampered up between her legs and quickly hopped over the rim of the shower, scurrying to what he knew was a safe spot over the shower drain.
The water was aimed at the back wall, but he could feel it. Still lukewarm, but getting hot fast. After a minute or so, she stepped in after him, seeming not even to notice him, and shut the glass door behind her. Again, the sound of the shower became a deafening echo and steam started to fill the space.
No hair over the shower drain this time, but he was watching the woman's feet. She wasn't quite straddling the drain, just a few inches forward of it, but she shift her feet anytime and he would inevitably wind up trapped under her heel. He looked back and forth between them constantly, looking for any signs of movement to dodge away from.
He heard her let out a contented sigh, and he was suddenly aware of the fact that the water around him was starting to turn a faded yellow. He looked up, and saw a steady stream of piss flowing from her crotch.
He could smell it now, heady and thick. Disgusted, he immediately scrambled backwards, away from the water swirling around the drain. He wound up with his back against the wall when she finally finished, then grabbed the shampoo and started to clean herself.
Under the heavy flow of water, the smell of urine dissipated almost immediately. He could see her thighs and the curve of her ass out the corner of his eye, and a horny corner of his mind longed to stare at her, but he knew he had to avoid her feet lest he suffer under her weight. They could move at any time and stomp down on him, and she wouldn't give a shit about it.
So, while he was staring at her feet, he didn't notice what was happening above him. She ran her hands through her hair to rinse it out, and a wave of water came washing down, striking him right in the head and driving him to the ground. He was carried with the water towards the drain, and, just before he reached it, she moved a bit to grab the soap, and her right foot came crashing down on top of him.
He saw it coming down, and the curse that he was about to utter was cut short when all the air was driven out of his lungs by the weight of her entire body. He was trapped head to toe beneath the arch of her foot, the pounding of his own blood in his ears overwhelming even the sound of the shower.
Every second under this massive weight was torture, but, before his lungs started to burn for air, she lifted her foot, and he scrambled on his hands and knees back to her shower drain. He chanced a glance away from her feet, and saw her scrubbing at her skin with a washcloth, leaving behind foamy soap that was immediately washed away by the water.
He sighed unhappily. Just five, ten minutes, he told himself. Enjoy the chance to clean yourself off and try to stay out from underneath her feet. Then you can go back to living with whatever sexual torture she dreamed up next.
He looked down and saw that he was hard. God dammit. Sure, she was hot, but what the hell would you even do to her if you had the chance, he asked himself. He would have to use his entire body to please her, and he already knew how much of a miserable experience that was. Why did he let this get him so aroused?
Dare he risk it? He looked up at Emma, staring at her body from a perspective that absolutely nobody in the world got to enjoy. That tight, wrinkly slit of her vulva may have been the source of all his misery, but it was a hell of a thing to see. Hoping to get it over with quick, he wrapped his hand around his dick and started jerking off, drinking in every detail of her body and fantasizing about wrecking that pussy with his cock as a full-size human.
To his surprise, she started to masturbate as well. With the washcloth in her left hand running steady circles over her tits, her right hand found its way between her legs and started massaging her clit.
Oh yeah, that was it. He stared at the giant hand, pressing the soft flesh of her crotch in every direction, and kept jerking off, determined to finish as fast as he could.
She gasped, leaning forward with her hand against the shower wall, and he came. His tiny squirt of semen was washed away by the shower water almost instantly, and the brief moment of pleasure lasted just long enough for her to cum as well. As the clarity and mild disgust that followed masturbation washed over him, he heard her choking scream, and watched her hand freeze in place, her legs quivering.
That was pathetic, he realized. Masturbating to the sight of his torturer, the woman who owned his life so completely that she could control his fucking memories. But at least she hadn't seemed to notice. He shifted his gaze back to her feet, and almost dove out of the way as she moved, but she was just bringing her legs a bit closer together, apparently having recovered from her orgasm.
He managed to avoid getting crushed beneath her feet until she cut off the water. When she opened the door and stepped out of the shower, her right heel hit him right in the head, and he was bowled over, sliding all the way to the far edge of the shower. It was a blow that should have killed him, he knew, but immortality was his curse. Now fully out of the shower, she grabbed a towel and started to dry off.
No such luxury for him. He'd have to air-dry. He hurried after her, though she had left the door wide open with no indication of shutting it. He clambered over the lip of the shower and landed on the tile floor of the bathroom, his wet feet slipping out from underneath him and slamming him down on his ass again.
She didn't notice or didn't care. She finished drying off and wrapped the towel around her torso, then grabbed another towel and started to twist it around her hair.
Nothing to do now but wait, he supposed. He climbed back up onto unsteady, slippery feet, and fell right back down again when he shrank abruptly to a tenth of his size.
Each tile was a continent now, the grout between them a massive canyon. He could have run at a full clip for an entire day and not reach the bathroom door. Clearly, she had a plan for him, and he was sure that he wouldn't like it.
He stared up at a godess of infinite size, a towel wrapped around her body and another piled up on top of her head, as she bent down and pressed her middle finger against him, driving him facefirst into the tile. For a brief moment, it felt like being crushed underneath a steamroller, then she pulled up and he clung to the thin layer of water on her fingertip. The motion as she picked him up was dizzying in scale, miles passed in mere seconds, the ground beneath him receding at a terrifying pace, but he was still trapped by the ridges of her fingerprint and the surface tension of the water.
She didn't bother explaining herself, and why should she? He was a toy, her property. He'd better come to accept that now; at least then he could retain his memories. If he didn't just totally give up, and if he didn't keep rebelling, he might stand a chance. If he pretended to be her willing toy, to try and please her at every turn, he might get the chance to escape.
The world whipped by too fast for him to follow. Suddenly, he found himself between her legs. Her left hand had spread her vulva open for him, and the pink flesh ringed with the wrinkly brown of her labia rocketed towards him with terrifying speed. With the quick dexterity of a spider preparing its meal, she tucked him up underneath a fold at the very top of her vulva.
Her finger came away, and he remained clung to a thin layer of vaginal lubricant like the speck of dust he was. It was hot, even hotter than the shower, and he was so small that he could feel her flesh quivering with every heartbeat at his back. Then her left hand pulled away too, and his view of the outside world vanished as her labia snapped back together. Everything was flesh now, smooth flesh and suffocating heat, the smell of soap mingling with the fishy scent of her genitals, the fluid that he couldn't escape washing down his throat and filling his mouth with the same taste.
It took a minute for him to process where he was, but he recognized the smooth nub of pink flesh beside him. She had tucked him up underneath her clitoral hood, and he was trapped between her labia and the clitoris. The tiny organ was larger than he was; if she had had a piercing, it would have been as big around as his entire body. Even if he kicked, bit, and scratched with everything he had, he doubted the sensation would do anything but get her horny, if it even registered with her at all.
If he had been a bit bigger, it would have been a position of power. He would have been able to bring her to orgasm at any time, and she would have to race to the bathroom or risk cumming in public. But now it was just humiliation. He could practically hear her cute British accent telling him, "Go ahead and try, you can't do anything to me I won't want you to."
God, she was right. This was his life now, wasn't it? He pushed at the giant bulb of her clitoris angrily, but, as he expected, he didn't even get so much as a twitch in response. He didn't even have the strength to really earn any leverage against the pressure of her labia against his body.
He just had to remember. Keep the fight alive. Freedom meant doing what she asked, pretending to be the slave she wanted. He had to pretend like he wanted it, like he enjoyed it, and eventually he could turn around and make a real bid for freedom when she least expected it.