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Author's Chapter Notes:

Becoming a statistic. Almost no real sexual content at all.

Vivianne emerged slowly from something like sleep. She had memories of vivid, bizarre dreams, and memories of lying in bed wondering when sleep would take her, and she couldn't really figure out where one ended and the other began. The confusing jumble of memories all evaporated like morning fog as she stretched and checked her watch. Eight P.M.? Holy shit. Even for working third shift, she had defenitely overslept.

Whatever. Weekend. She stretched until her arms and legs started to shake uncontrollably, and finally relaxed, letting out a deep and satisfied sigh. Her bed was a cocoon of heavenly luxury, with only a subtle but insistent pressure between her legs to provide the slightest discomfort, a subtle reminder that her freeloader roomate was stil living with her rent-free.

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand, and it slipped out of her hand, falling to the floor with a dull thud. She couldn't grab it without exposing too much of her bare skin to the chilly air than she wanted, so she let it lie and curled back up into bed. No alarms, no obligations, no worries, and a tiny man under her total control. This was paradise.

A grin started to creep across her face, and her hand reached between her legs, slowly stroking the sensitive flesh through the thin layer of fabric her underwear provided. Her hangover was completely gone now, and she could do herself the service she deserved with a whole human being buried inside her vagina.

Her phone dinged with a new notification once, then twice. She froze, her dreams of pleasuring herself vanishing instantly, and cursed quietly. Are you fucking kidding me? Braving her naked arms against the cold air of her apartment, she scooped the phone off the ground and unlocked it to see who the fuck was messaging her this late in the evening.

Her fingerprint didn't unlock it, odd, so she had to fat-finger a code she had nearly forgotten, and all that for two emails from a hotel chain she had stayed at years ago, and another from a dating app she barely bothered using anymore. Ah, Christ.

Well, she was up. She was up, her sexual appetite had been frustrated, and she was starving. The chilly air bit at her bare skin when she tossed the blankets aside, and she rolled out of bed, immediately looking to grab a sweatshirt off the floor. The baggy blanket of warmth slid easily over her naked torso, and, with the hoodie draped over her body like a poncho, she slowly staggered into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Everything seemed just a little bit wrong. Her phone still refused to unlock to her fingerprint, and the muscle memory of her morning routine somehow kept missing. She nearly dropped her plate and silverware. It took more than a few tries for her to open drawers and cabinets. She had completely missed the power button on her coffeemaker, and didn't even realize until she had grabbed a mug out of the cupboard that the smell of fresh coffee was conspicuously absent.

Oh, fuck. It couldn't be...

She scurried over to her front door and slid her foot into one of her shoes. It slipped in easily, and it was clearly a poor, oversized fit. The same shoe she had worn the day before.


She ripped the shoe off and held it up against her forearm; a rough rule of thumb, but your feet were about as long as your forearm, so your shoes should be about the same, right? But the toe of her shoe well exceeded her wrist, encroaching on the first knuckle of her fingers, large enough that it seemed like it belonged to someone else.

Oh no.

She was shrinking.

She had to do something. No, she had to tell someone. Fuck, she had to get out of the house. Wait, what would that do? No, she had to confirm. She needed to get tested. Shoes are just leather and rubber, right? They're not science, she needed to get a test.

Oh, who the fuck was she kidding? A test would take two days to send off and another two days to get the result back. The whole time, she'd be slowly shrinking to whatever the hell her final size would be, be it an inch shorter or an inch tall. She'd know the answer before she got the test back, and she all but knew it now; she had been infected with the shrinking virus.

Her breath was coming fast, and her head was racing. How had she gotten it? Was it at work? Had it been in her brief outings to the grocery store? She had dared to go to a restaurant last week to eat something good after months of distancing, but it had been mostly outside, and she had worn her mask. Still, had it been then? Could it have been then?

She worked in a hospital, for Christ's sake. She encountered infected people on a daily basis. In the early days, there had been stories of entire hospitals being shuttered as the virus ripped through their staff, back before they had a handle on how the virus was transmitted. They were better about keeping it from spreading now, and people doubled up on PPE and sterilization these days, but there were still some holes.

Fuck, could it have been from the little man she had picked up from the ward? God, she couldn't imagine explaining that to anyone, and it would be a first, as far as she knew. He had been shrunken for months, or so his records said. He surely couldn't still be contagious... But, at the same time, he had lived basically on her body for weeks now. That much exposure, even if there was basically no live virus left in his tiny body, would surely infect her, wouldn't it?

God, she could see that study in the Lancet now. 'Infectivity of extended exposure to post-symptomatic SOVOS victims: an observational study.' Her name would never appear in the article, but every detail of her embarassingly intimate relationship with this stranger, whose only value to her life had been his convenient size and seemingly limitless sexual eagerness, would be dissected by generations of doctors and scientists. She'd be a pariah, a shrunken, helpless outcast, until the day she died.

No, no, no. Take a deep breath. You don't know what happened, you don't know how it happened. But you have a duty to get tested. Take some time off, isolate yourself; you're a danger to your coworkers and to society until you know for sure that you're not.

Her hands were shaking. Could she do that? Could she watch herself shrink until some laboratory somewhere confirmed that, yes, she was shrinking? Nobody ever knew how much they shrank until it was done, and, if that test result came back positive, she'd be out of the hospital for two weeks. But she might need emergency assistance long before that, as her own apartment became too large for her to live in.

Get yourself together. You have a job to do. Her hands still shaking, but less now, she grabbed her phone and dialed the number to her hospital's virus hotline. It could be the real thing, it could be nothing, or it could be anything in between, but people still needed to know. Best case scenario, she got two weeks off work for no reason, plus a day to grab a new pair of shoes.

Worst case scenario... Well, she didn't want to think about that. But, once she finished reporting this unfortunate development to all her bosses and coworkers, she had one last person to tell. The tiny, struggling servant who had volunteered to be a giantess' sex toy. He had to know that his godess was shrinking.

She went through the normal rigamarole with the hotline; have you been in close contact with someone who has been infected, are you exhibiting any symptoms, self-isolate and monitor your height and call back if you lose more than however many inches, blah, blah, blah. Because she worked at the hospital, she had her own test kit at home, so she could draw her own blood, seal the sample, and put it in the mail herself. But it was late at night on a Tuesday, so it wouldn't be picked up until tomorrow, and the lab wouldn't receive it for two days after that... She'd know the truth long before she got the results back.

She called her boss... voicemail... Hi, I think I caught the virus, so I'm going to get tested, I'll be out for two weeks, good luck filling the backshift, bye.

She thought about posting about it on Facebook so she could wallow in a pity party, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to make it public yet. So there was only one last person to tell, and it felt like he was starting to wake up as well.

Where would she be comfortable putting the three inch-tall Francis when she pulled him out of her vagina? She'd have to clean up after him no matter where she put his fluid-covered body, and she didn't want to bother, not now. She headed back into the kitchen and set a paper towel down on the countertop, then shimmied down her panties and, with a grunt of discomfort, slid him slowly out into the open air.

She lifted him up to inspect his tiny body. He didn't seem to be in great shape, hair matted down, limbs moving weakly, an expression of weariness and confusion on his face. Shit. Had she done that to him, or was this just the disorienting effect of waking up at his size, and in his incredibly unique environment?

She set him down carefully on the paper towel, and he rolled over onto his knees, coughing weakly for a few seconds. God, she felt awful watching him like this. Maybe she shouldn't have put him inside her vagina; he had never suffered like this when he had just been riding along in her panties.

When he finally stood up, he seemed a bit more chipper. Time to put a dent in that, though. "So, I've got bad news," she said.

He cocked his head, curious. She was still standing a little too far away for her to hear him if he were to speak, and they had been together for long enough that he had started to use body language by default. Still, this wasn't something that was appropriate for theatrical emoting. She took slow, trepidatious steps to the counter where he stood, until she was sure that she would be able to hear him speak. It was ridiculous, but she couldn't bear to meet his eyes when she told him, "I think I caught the shrinking virus."

"From me?" he asked.

Was that concern in his face? That was unexpected; for someone who had only ever provided and asked for sex in their relationship, he seemed genuinely worried by the possibility. "I don't know," Vivianne confessed. "Probably not, but it doesn't matter. I'll have to quarantine for two weeks."

"What about me?"

"You're already shrunk," she said with a halfhearted grin. "You're stuck here."

"Oh..." He looked down at the paper towel beneath his feet. He was silent for a while, and Vivianne expected some kind of profound response, or at least some expression of empathy. She didn't get that, though. Instead, he pointed down and asked, "Just here?" Slowly, he started walking sideways, "Not over there?"

That took her off guard. "Don't..." Vivianne warned, her grin growing wider, and more honest, despite herself.

"Are you sure?" he asked, inching closer to the edge of the towel. "But it looks so inviting, so clean."

"I'm warning you..."

Slowly, he stepped forward, and put a single bare foot onto the clean countertop. "Oh, that's cold. Feels good. I bet you wish you were my size right now."

"Not funny."

In a burst of forced drama, the shrunken man drew his arm to his forehead and collapsed pitifully onto the counter, smearing the fluid that coated his body all over the granite. "Oh, I'm sorry, mistress! Oh, how I have sinned! How will I be punished?"

"With Windex?" Vivianne offered helpfully.

He flopped onto his belly and spread his limbs in mocking supplication. "I prostrate myself before you, godess. I am unworthy! Use me for your pleasure, please, so I may be forgiven."

He was so tiny, the amount of discharge that clung to his skin was so small, that he really couldn't make a mess. Even so, he was putting in a valiant effort anyway, smearing his arms and legs all over the granite counter. Still, Vivianne couldn't suppress a giggle. "Fine," she said. She scooped him up off the countertop, pinching his waist between her thumb and middle finger, and dangled him in front of her face. "You want to have some fun? Let's have fun while I'm still this size."

She didn't bother waiting for his response. She walked rapidly over to her bedroom, and tossed his tiny body carelessly into the sloppy swirl of sheets on top of her bed. He landed... somewhere, and she dove onto the mattress after him.

Let's have some fun, little man. Now where the hell did you go?

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