Anita was getting frustrated. It had been two days, and the shrunken man she had eaten was still stuck somewhere in her body. How long was this supposed to take? She had no idea, and it wasn't like she could ask someone.

Every time she used the bathroom, she very, very carefully sized the tiny man up, and, every time, she felt a distinct pressure in her belly that told her to lay off. Under normal circumstances, profiles that indicated that they were going to have vore play had an upper size limit for the tiny which would be guaranteed not to perforate the tightest part of their intestines. For most people, that size limit was a little less than three inches, but Anita knew that it was smaller for a girl her height.

But that size limit didn't exist for her admin version of the app. If she wasn't careful, she could grow the shrunken toy until he burst out of her stomach like an alien. But she had to grow him; she had kept him at millimeter-height for the entire time since she ate him, and she didn't want to accidentally flush him away.

He had to be getting stuck somewhere, even at his microscopic size. The problem was that this was the first person she had ever eaten without having revoked the protection that came with shrinking. He was, put simply, the first man to enter her stomach who wasn't supposed to dissolve away and disappear forever, so she had no idea what to expect.

The last thing she expected was that, despite her impatience at his refusal to leave her body, she would find the entire situation just a little bit arousing. He was thoroughly a part of her, in a way more absolute than even her other methods of carrying him about, in her pocket or in her bra or even in her vagina, could achieve. Her body kept him trapped, impotent and ignorant, without any effort from her whatsoever. And, with the push of a single button, it would kill and process him, sucking what little value was to be had from his diminutive body, without a second thought.

She had always loved the absolute power that this app gave her over her prisoners; she loved it so much that she risked spending quite a long time in a federal prison every day just because it got her off. She couldn't believe that this, the most absolute, most perpetual, most thoughtless form of domination over another human being that she could manage had never occurred to her until now.

But her impatience was mixing with her arousal to make her deeply annoyed. Annoyed at her shrunken sex toy's refusal to come out and play, annoyed at the fact that she couldn't just scoop up another person, or two, or a dozen to treat the same way, annoyed at the fact that more than one meal had passed into and out of her body, while the tiny man gave no indication of when he was coming out, or even where, in the twists and turns of her digestive system, he was hiding. All she had was the dull pressure that she felt when she experimentally tried to size him up, which she thought was slowly moving downwards with time, but how could she know for sure?

Maybe, once he finally emerged from her body, she would eat him again, just as a punishment for taking so long. Maybe she would just eat him over and over again forever, maybe he would spend the rest of his life in the prison of her digestive system, owned wholly by the passive functions of her body. Maybe she would shrink down a new toy, and Braden would serve as a living reminder of what would happen to him if he were to defy his new goddess.

Or her new goddess? Anita had one gay slave; would a lesbian make a more or a less eager sex toy?

By the evening of the third day, she got horny enough to finger herself to orgasm while watching porn in her office.     In the wash of clarity that followed the body-shaking pleasure, she realized how profoundly stupid what she had just done was, and was also able to suppress the thoughts of bringing another shrunken slave into her life. San Francisco was a big town, and she could surely find someone who nobody would miss, but it was still far too risky.

She sat there, in her office, silent for a few moments, regretting her lust-addled mistake and wondering if anyone had heard her make it. Shit, even if they did, what did she expect? That one of her employees would bust down the door of the CEO and shout, "I caught you masturbating!" Not likely.

She sighed, and stood up to straighten herself out. Fuck. She had fucked up, and there was no way around it. She'd just have to pretend like nothing happened, and live with the nagging feeling that everyone she worked with was pretending the same thing.

The door was, thankfully, still locked, so whatever noises anyone else heard would remain rumors alone. God help her if, a week after she went on Bloomberg to hype her IPO, someone had footage of her masturbating in her office. She walked over to the door to unlock it, then paused, and stepped back around her desk to crack open the window. Just because she couldn't smell it didn't mean that anyone else walking in wouldn't.

A thought occurred to her, and she paused. She had all the data, and she had god-like admin powers over it, to the point that she could make it so that nobody could even see what she had deigned to look at. Why was she stressing out about what the little man was doing inside her body, when she had a million lived experiences right at her fingertips?

She sat back down at her desk and pulled up the data management utility on her laptop. The Syze app was an incredible tool, but what really made it powerful was her company's ability to harvest reams and reams of data from its users. It not only helped ensure that they could keep any of them from getting injured by their truly outlandish sexual adventures, but it allowed them to fine-tune their matching algorithm, and even to determine how best to market the app to new users.

And that was leaving aside the gobs of money that advertising firms paid for the data. They had the names of their users, their photos, their phone numbers, email addresses, near-constant location data, and the most intimate knowledge of their personal fetishes that anyone could possibly imagine. Who they shrank, to what size, and for how long; what they wanted to do with them, what they actually did with them, and even how often the difference between the two kept their partnership going.

It was all anonymized, of course, as California law required, but enough anonymized data loses its anonymity if you have the right tools. Thirty million customers, almost eight million daily users, and more than five million paid subscribers. Even though she had to legally strip the names and profile pictures from the data when the company sold it to advertisers, enough cross-correlation would eventually reveal the truth.

And, of course, that was before she moved the company to Texas. Free of the privacy laws, she could correlate names, faces, fetishes, even their fucking dick size. Who knew what the advertisers would pay for that sort of data?

But it wasn't what she needed right now. She just had to filter through her thirty million users to figure out the answer to the question of how long this tiny piece of shit would hang around in her intestines.

Vore fetish, that was an easy filter, and that knocked off 90% of the users. There were still millions of names left after that, so she started filtering out those who had actually matched with people who also had a vore fetish, and those who had carried their match into the fun part of actually shrinking one of the two of them down. That was a pool of about six hundred thousand people, most of whom had done so with a heterosexual match.

Unlike most of the fetishes they managed, vore seemed to be about equally split on a gender basis, with barely a two-point skew towards men volunteering to be the shrunken party. Because so many heterosexual people used her app to interact, in some way, with the other gender's genitals as a tiny, almost all of their fetishes were heavily tilted in favor of one gender or the other being the shrinkee. Vore, apparently, was one of the few exceptions.

But there, once she had filtered it down to the couples who had kept a person shrunken down for more than one day, the data basically spoke for itself. There was something of a standard deviation, but the first peak in the number of people who were returned to full height happened ten days after they had been shrunken down. Interestingly enough, there was a second, smaller peak at twenty days, and even a third at thirty. Apparently there were some people who wanted another pass after the first.

But ten days was clearly what she should expect. Anita slumped back in her chair, rubbing her stomach with no small amount of disappointment. Ten days? After a tantalizing whirlwind of domination and sexual gratification over her three-day work trip to New York, how could she wait ten whole days to play with her tiny man again?

The thought of it made her start to reconsider her better instincts; maybe a new shrunken toy was worth it. She could dispose of Braden in an instant; literally with the push of a button and without a second thought; and go out into town to find a new plaything to own. It wouldn't be the first time that she had disappeared someone for her own personal indulgence, it would just be the first time that they had lasted longer than a single day.

But she knew, unfortunately, that she really had to put a stop to that sort of behavior, and sooner rather than later. She knew, by now, what the FBI got up to, how they were able to tease abstract patterns out into criminal cases, and she also knew that, in her work with them to make the Syze app safer, she was definitely on their radar.

So gone were the days when she could carelessly dispose of someone. Honestly, in retrospect, that sort of behavior had been deeply irresponsible even then, and she constantly ran the risk of it all coming back to bite her at some point in the future. Hell, the FBI might even be assembling a case against her right now, but there was no way to know for sure. But it wouldn't help her case to keep kidnapping new strangers to die inside her body.

Like it or not, Braden was a long-term commitment.