Anita leaned over the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror and seething at her own indignity. Barely ten minutes ago, she had been perfect. She had a five hundred dollar haircut along with hours of makeup work, artful enough to make her look ten years younger and subtle enough to make it seem like it wasn't there at all. Her dress had been set aside for months for the special occasion, brilliant red and form-fitting, but flexible where it mattered, padded in places, see-through sheer in others, to make any picture of her look like she had the body of an Olympian. She had barely eaten anything all day, and she had deliberately dehydrated herself to keep her belly flat and her bare arms looking toned.

It was supposed to be perfect. It also wasn't supposed to last long. She was a human being, after all, and no amount of money would save her from having to piss and shit like the rest of them. But she thought she could hold out for a few hours, at least, just long enough to make herself seen and then have her bus take her back home.

But she wasn't alone, unfortunately. The shrunken man inside her, who had apparently been more than happy to sit inside her intestines for days on end without complaint, chose that very moment to make himself known to the world. And it wasn't in the straightforward, subtle way that told her that she might have to go to the bathroom later, like she had expected. Instead, she had been standing in a circle of conversation, everything totally normal, then her stomach had growled so loudly that she watched everyone she was speaking to politely ignore it, and her legs nearly went out from underneath her with the sudden urgency of it.

She barely had time to excuse herself from the conversation as she raced to the bathroom with as much dignity as she could manage. There was nobody in either stall, so she locked the door behind her, and just barely got her clothes just far off enough that she could bring her little man back into the real world in the noisiest, most humiliating way she could have imagined.

And so now she loomed over the sink, her panties around her knees and her dress a rumpled mess, hiked up over her hips, letting the cool air flow around her waist after she had wiped herself raw. She stared angrily at her own reflection, and muttered a quiet "Fuck." All that effort for this get-up, and she had barely been able to use it for fifteen minutes, and there was no recovering it now. Had anyone even taken a picture?

Her annoyance was not entirely directed at him, even if she felt like he was an appropriate scapegoat for her to take it out on. She had looked at the data, after all, so she knew exactly what to expect. Her experience was just like everyone else's; it was her fault, really, for having convinced herself the night before this event that she was going to be any different.

She knew that, of course, but part of her rebelled at being held responsible for her own mistakes, and she reached for any reason to be blameless. Obviously, that meant finding someone else to blame, and the only other candidate in the bathroom with her at that moment was curled up at the bottom of the sink, his skin rubbed pink by her rough cleaning. And if it was his fault, then, given that he was supposed to be her loyal little slave, he had to be held accountable for misbehaving.

But there were problems with that, or so she had learned. While she had lingered, waiting for her shrunken man to rejoin her in the real world, she had done a little bit of research. There were, unsurprisingly, entire online communities dedicated to couples' advice for people who had based their entire relationship on the technology of Syze. And, among them, there were a substantial subset of those communities who were trying to make long-term, nearly-permanent size roles work.

Partly to learn what this new shrunken toy offered her, and partly for the quality masturbation material, she had spent hour after hour poring through the community offerings. The fundamental problem was that, unlike her, Syze had to operate within the four corners of the law, and no dating app could survive without ironclad assurances of consent. As a result, almost everything that was in these communities was colored by the assumption that these relationships were fully knowing and fully consensual.

Which meant that none of it applied to her.

And it never would apply to her; even if her little shrunken man spent the rest of both of their natural lives serving her, he would always be a slave. Nothing he did or wanted really mattered to her. That didn't mean that she didn't have the capacity to care about him; that's why she was doing this research, after all; but she would never, ever have the incentive that a normal Syze user did to try to preserve their relationship with their tiny.

And she had to admit that she found the the incredibly graphic stories, and even the intimate pictures that existed on these forums thrilling. These people were way too trusting of internet strangers.

There was a subset of that subset where the relationship of permanent, unwilling shrunken slave was the kink, even if it could never be the explicit reality that she enjoyed. Syze had literally tens of millions of users, but that group barely numbered in the hundreds. That was just the number of people posting about their experiences online, of course, but, if she filtered her admin-side metadata down to relationships where the shrinkee remained small for a month or longer, she found that it really couldn't be a whole lot bigger than that. For people who stayed small for a whole year, there were less than a dozen, but the app itself was still young; she had no idea what the maximum size of the 'permanent slave' community would be, but she bet that it was very, very small.

A few hundred people, maybe just hair shy of a thousand, trying their best to live out a fantasy that was her real life with Braden.

Nearly all the posters were women, and more than 80% of those, according to her metadata, were women talking about their shrunken male partner. Counterintuitively, that actually meant lesbians were fairly over-represented in this group, since relationships on her app were normally only ten percent female-to-female. Surprisingly, a small handful of posters were the shrinkee who described that they had been "permitted" to speak to the public about their experience, and an even smaller number were men who were talking about their shrunken partner, either male or female.

And, to be honest, all of them gave her ideas. But they were ideas that she would have to wait to act on. The idea that she, alone on earth, could actually live out their fantasies, was enough to make her feel powerful, but what she was really after here was their collective wisdom.

She was, after all, an app developer. And the one thing she had learned was that the data generated by crowds was firm. So long as you were comfortable never really knowing the "why" of things, you could get the answer to every other question with enough data. And what she wanted to know was how to keep her own long-term, master-slave relationship healthy.

It was a spirited community, with lots of room for disagreement, but a few tenets seemed to float to the top, creating a kind of Hippocratic oath for giantesses. One subgroup even went so far as to put a variant of those rules in the FAQ channel of its Discord server. And more than a few of these seemed so obvious that she was kicking herself for having unwittingly violated them.

First, "Don't punish the shrinkee for anything outside their control."

Typically, that rule was followed with some pseudo-psychological mumbo-jumbo about how the size relationship was different than a normal dom/sub relationship. It made sense, but, again, Anita didn't care about the "why." If these people had figured out it was the key to success, then it was. But had she ever violated it? She didn't think so.

Second, "Don't punish the shrinkee with any part of your body that you don't want them to hate."

Had she ever done that? Braden had tried to escape her once, while she was having a meeting at Goldman, no less, and she had been forced to reside to shoving him into her shoe. If it had been a punishment, it had been hers to endure; at his size, he had left her entire foot a mess of blisters and cramps after barely an hour. But, really, it had been her only choice of surreptitiously recovering him. Maybe he saw it as a punishment?

But she would surely have to punish him in the future. God knew she had wanted to a few times already. But this rule meant that, for her, every punishment that involved a part of her anatomy was off the table. She wanted little Braden to love every part of her body, or at least tolerate them all enough that he would be able to serve her exactly as she wanted him to. Fortunately, the community seemed to think that, paradoxically, deprivation from their master's body was a suitable form of punishment. Based on what she had seen of her little slave's behavior so far, it seemed like it would be a reward, but, collectively, this group had more experience than she ever could, so...

There was more advice in there that didn't really apply to her, or she didn't feel like it did, but there were a few suggestions that were supposed to help endear the tiny to their master. Again, she didn't really care about what he thought about her, but a willing slave would be a more fun one. Notably, "Explain what you are doing to them and why - more frequent check-ins make for a closer relationship."

That one gave her a chuckle because she knew that she had done it already, if a little tongue-in-cheek, and maybe less frequently than was healthy. Was he secretly growing to like her and she didn't know it? When she had described to him why she was going to eat him, did today finally feel like a job well done to him?

What made her and Braden different from all these relationships was that, at some level, no matter how long of a commitment any other giantess' slave signed up for, their relationship was consensual. No matter how much humiliation they wanted as the shrinkee, the giantess had to walk a line or risk losing her toy at the end of the period. But, because it was always at least mostly consensual, the shrinkee was always at least mostly willing to serve the giantess.

For Braden, his relationship with her was truly permanent. He was her property, as wholly as the clothes she was wearing, and he lived or died at her will. He knew that, or, if he didn't yet, he would soon. If he decided that he would rather die than serve her, then there was nothing she could really do to stop it. So her challenge was, in a sense, inverted. Unlike the app users, who had the luxury of a consensual relationship that they just had to keep alive, she didn't have any problem keeping the relationship permanent. All she needed was to keep it willing, or at least willing enough that her toy didn't reduce himself to an inanimate object.

So, now that he had finaly come out from his tour through her digestive system, it was time to apply what she had learned.

"Alright, little man," she started, using her best boss voice.

He uncurled slightly, and his gaze drifted up to hers. There was no shortage of emotions that ran across his face when his tiny eyes met hers, but none of them looked anything looked particularly like endearment.

Okay, how the fuck was she supposed to react to that? Well, she didn't have the forums to consult at that moment, so she had to improvise. "I hope you enjoyed your little trip. You tasted good! But, I'll be honest, you caught me at a bad time. I'm at a party, and I can't leave just yet, and I don't have a very good place to put you. That means..." She stood up straight, drawing her naked hips up to the sink, "That you get to go for a ride in my panties again! Isn't that fun?"

The shrunken man didn't exactly leap to his feet in excitement. She didn't expect him to, but she at least expected something. She felt compelled, for a moment, to explain herself. To say that, look, what she really wanted was to punish him, brutally, for spending ten days lounging around in her intestines when his purpose in life was to be her living sex toy. She had all sorts of ideas, too, and he was invincible so why not try them out? But, hey, some pervs on the internet that she had never met said that that was a bad idea, so she was trying something else, something friendlier. So why don't you appreciate the effort and reciprocate? Just a little bit?

And then she felt a wave of resentment at the little man for making her think that he deserved a justification for her actions; she was the master, he was property, and that was that. This dress she was wearing... the dress that he had ruined, by the way... was far more valuable to her than he was, and she didn't have to waste time explaining to her clothes that they was about to be worn. So why exactly did he deserve to continue existing?

She shook herself of the thoughts, took a deep breath, and carried on. "Now, I might have to make you just a little smaller than usual," she emphasized the point by squeezing her fingers together. "Because this get-up doesn't leave a ton to the imagination. But, if you do good down there, I can give you a few inches back and we can have some fun tonight, okay?"

The shrunken man didn't leap to his feet with exuberance at the proposition, nor did he immediately set to some ill-fated escape attempt in fear. At his size, any reaction between the two extremes was basically no reaction at all. Which was exactly what she would expect from a good sex toy.

He did shrink back a bit when she reached for him, but that was to be expected. She picked him up, pinching his waist between her thumb and middle finger, then pressed a few buttons on her phone to shrink him slowly, slowly, slowly, until he was about... Half of the the size of a grain of rice, his entire body able to rest on the tip of her middle finger. At that minuscule size, his entire body would be smaller than her clit. So small that, even if he managed to work his way around between her legs and find it, his most desperate efforts wouldn't feel like anything more than a pleasant stirring.

"Sorry I have to make you so small," she purred, "But it's the only way I know you'll be safe! Now, if it gets a little wet down there..." She made a show of thinking about it, then shrugged, "You'll be fine! Have fun!"

She lowered her right hand between her legs and slid her middle finger deep into the soft flesh between the lips of her labia. It was somewhat uncomfortable, and she spent far too long pulling and pushing at sticky folds of damp flesh to find a safe place to deposit him. Eventually, she found the slightly-wet flesh that was so deeply hidden from the world, and smeared her finger across it to make sure the tiny man was left inside. She could hardly even felt where he went, and she had her doubts that she would ever find him again at this size.

As for Braden, well... Her pussy could be his universe for now. He could live in it forever, explore it for the rest of his life and never fully understand it. And she would be the goddess, dominating his world while ignoring his prayers for help, for understanding, for meaning.

She withdrew her finger and inspected it. A cloudy white fluid clung to her fingertip, drawing out in a tenaciously long line when she touched her thumb to it, but it didn't have a shrunken man on it. She rinsed it off in the sink, slid up her underwear, tried her best to straighten out her dress, and went back out into the party.




Braden had spent what felt like a lifetime doing nothing more than suffering inside the giantess' digestive tract. Surely, Anita knew how long it had been, but, when he was finally extruded from her body, and she spent an uncomfortably long time cleaning him off, she never really got around to explaining to him how long he had spent inside her body before she decided to start using him for whatever else her perverted mind could come up with.

So he figured it was about a month. It seemed right, because it had been just long enough that he had gotten used to it. He had gotten used to the pounding rhythms and strange sounds of her body, to the overwhelming heat, even to the heavy and sour taste of living in a thick, suffocating slurry of chewed, swallowed, but undigested food. And then half-digested food, and then fully digested food, and then just shit. It was a slow, seamless process, and he was trapped inside her body for so long that he didn't even notice it was happening.

Which made it less terrible... maybe? The revulsion of being buried in a bog of thick, sour-tasting slime that slowly turned into solid feces was softened and spread out by the sheer weight of time. He never had to sleep, so every moment was filled with the next, smallest step in her digestive process. He experienced nothing but the next, smallest millimeter of movement down her intestines and towards the inevitable end, so the changes were so gradual that it felt as if nothing was happening at all. It was only in retrospect, when he considered the relative freedom of when he had been trapped in her stomach, or even in the chaotic, wet confines of her mouth, that he realized how far he had come.

Maybe it wasn't a month. Maybe it was a year, or two, or ten. Every minute felt the same as every hour, every day felt the same as the last. And he just couldn't fucking die.

When he finally dropped out of Anita's body, she sized him up just enough so that she could recover him from the toilet bowl without getting her pretty hands dirty. With his bizarre, confused sense of how much time he had actually spent inside her body, he almost expected to see the face of an old woman looking down at him. But, somewhat to his surprise, the face that loomed over him was the same one that had swallowed him, down to the haircut that he remembered so vividly.

So it hadn't been that long, and Anita seemed to act as if it hadn't been but a few days, when she finally finished scrubbing him off and started talking to him... Or, really, talking at him. He was way too small to really be counted as a participant in a conversation; even if he shouted, Anita wasn't likely to hear him, so he just sat back and stayed silent, hoping that his body language could communicate enough.

As if the giantess cared.

But the things she said seemed unusual. A bit less like herself and a bit more like... well... like a script from a porno. A little too bubbly, a little too sexual, a little too interested in the relationship her shrunken slave had to her as a toy rather than anything else.

Braden had no idea what she was up to, but he didn't trust it. Wherever it ended, it was probably inside her sock, her bra, or her underwear, and it was probably for her benefit, not his. And, just as he predicted, she snapped him up between her fingers, and then he started to shrink.  

It took a while, interestingly enough. Her fingers only moved off of him once he was small enough to rest on her fingertip, but then he kept shrinking. The rest of her body, or at least what he could see from his perspective, was so gigantic that he could barely see it change. But her finger seemed to grow at a terrifying rate, the rough flesh drawing closer while the rest of her hand drew farther and farther away. Eventually, the ridges of her fingerprints seemed so deep that he would roll his ankle if he were to try to stride across them.

And then his world span, his surroundings became a blur and his back was pressed into the flesh of the giantess' fingertip. In an instant, he was face-to-face with Anita, her massive brown eyes looking down at him like a predator. One lick, and he would soon be sent back down into her stomach, ready for another week, another month, another year inside her intestines.

"Sorry I have to make you so small," she screamed. Her tone of voice was cute, but the volume was so extreme that it nearly vibrated Braden to death. He clamped his hands over his ears, his body tensing for more, but it made no difference, "But it's the only way I know you'll be safe! Now, if it gets a little wet down there..." She continued, the noise penetrating him to his very bones. Braden expected more, and was braced for it, but nothing came for a second, just long enough for him to actually consider what the giantess had said. A little wet... Wait...

"You'll be fine!" she bellowed, blasting hot air down at him and leaving his brain spinning and ears ringing. "Have fun!"

The experience of being spoken at by such a powerful force left Braden dizzy, unable to fully comprehend what was happening, where he was going, until he saw the dark brown, wrinkly lips of her labia right in front of him, and the smooth flesh of the rest of her body towering far, far above.

Oh no, not again.

Without warning or explanation, Anita shoved her middle finger, and him as a helpless passenger, between those fleshy lips, imprinted with the pressure marks of a tight dress and tighter underwear. In a deafening squishing and sliding, he was smeared all over the flesh, dark brown giving way to light brown, giving way to bright pink, and getting hotter all the time.

Finally, some tiny hook of flesh caught him, and he was stripped from Anita's finger. Almost immediately, the flesh came collapsing around him, and the pressure of her middle finger at his back was replaced by the all-encompassing, jello-like pressure of her vulva. His tiny taste of fresh air was completely replaced by the overwhelming fishy stench of her pussy; every breath came with a frothy mix of air and fluid, forcing him to cough violently as the slimy mix invaded his lungs.

But he knew that there was no escape. And he knew that his body would eventually accept the steaming-hot fluid sliding down his throat as equivalent to air, once there was no air to be had. And, as the giantess' flesh slowly tightened around him, the amount of air available quickly disappeared, leaving nothing but the thick, white, extremely salty fluid that flowed from her vulva even without arousal.

At his size, that fluid was extra thick, so thick that his natural breathing could barely draw it into his mouth. He had been here before, of course. He knew the difference between the sparse, slimy moisture that existed between her legs while she was just doing her business, and the slippery, clear fluid that came pouring out when she was horny.

But he had never been so small in this situation. He had no idea even where he was. Was he lost on her clit, her urethra, or somewhere in the depths of her vagina? All he could see was pink, burning heat squeezing at him from all sides. Whatever thick, salty fluid he was breathing right now, surely some of it had to be his own sweat.

He tried, briefly, to find a new place, a more comfortable place. Fighting valiantly against the pressure that surrounded him, he dragged his limbs forward, one at a time, and pulled his way to what he hoped was a safer place, a cleaner place, a cooler place.

But there was nothing. There was only more flesh, more fluid. Did Anita know what he was doing? Could she feel his desperate struggles? Did she have any idea he was fighting for his life?

Who was he kidding? Of course she didn't. That was the point.