“Let’s hope you don’t regret anything.” 

That was the last thing I could remember hearing before everything turned into a blur.  Just then, everything started coming back to me.  

It was like I had just woken up from drinking too much at a party. And it was a damned feeling, too— dazed, fatigued, dehydrated, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world for taking one too many shots.

But this was a slightly different feeling— I didn’t feel the need to throw up, nor was I stumbling around like a drunken mess. I certainly don’t recount any drinking. 

And why was I in this house that I had never seen before in my life? 

The fact that I had no recollection of the last few hours was very off-putting. Most people can remember when and where they’re sleeping, and I had none of that info. All I knew was that I had woken up in a cold sweat, feeling like shit, in a room that I had never seen before. 

There was no time to panic— I had to find my phone and call someone. Maybe I could check my own location to see where the hell I was, then I could find my car keys and escape this random house I found myself in.

What was with this house, anyways? For starters, it was very luxurious from what I had seen so far. I must have been sleeping in the master bedroom, as the room featured a huge glass window that spanned the entire wall facing outward into…the pitch black sky? 

            Peculiar. 

I had no time to uncover mysteries, though. It was time to start figuring stuff out, as I started to get a feeling that I could be in danger. Did someone put something in my drink? Was I robbed? Whatever it was, I eventually started to feel better as the ailments slowly wore off. Things were still far from ideal, though— my phone wasn’t anywhere in the bedroom, and I still couldn’t figure out who’s damn house I was in. 

I eventually gave up on rummaging through the room, and carefully made my way out to the main hallway. 

“Alright, time to find anything that can help me get out of here,” I thought to myself. I hastily made my way down four flights of stairs to get to the living room on the second floor, admiring the beautiful minimalist decor along the way. Most of the walls seemed to feature the same design as the initial bedroom— huge pane glass windows that stretched across one wall to the other, presumably for lots of natural light to accent the tasteful white interior that the house featured. 

But it was pitch black outside. How could that be?

Even if it was 3:00 in the morning, there still would have been the stars in the sky-- the moon-lit surroundings; headlights driving down any neighboring roads. 

Yet, it was total darkness. It was almost as if a giant black cloth was draped over the exterior of the house, allowing nothing to get in or out. And to make matters worse, neither my phone nor my wallet were anywhere in sight. I had no communication, no money, and no identity. I might as well have disappeared off the face of the Earth. I quickly made my way to the front door of the house to make my escape, but the door knob wouldn’t budge an inch. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Locked? From the inside? What kind of place was this? 

This process repeated over and over again, as every possible exit I tried in the house was locked up. Now was the time to panic; I felt as if I was in a horror movie, locked away in a random house in the middle of nowhere, only to encounter some madman with a knife waiting to filet me like a fish. It was all too surreal for me— it felt like a nightmare come to life. 

As I paced around my new confusing environment for ten straight minutes, I did start to realize one thing— I was famished. Some food could help me think straight and come up with an escape plan, so I carefully treaded my way to the kitchen and opened the fridge.  

Plastic vegetables? A fake gallon of milk?

What kind of sick joke was this? Was this a doll house that I was trapped inside?! Why wasn’t the fridge even plugged in? I frantically started to test out all of the electronics in the house, and sure enough absolutely nothing worked. The stove didn’t light. The lights in the house were fixed to stay permanently on, every switch being rendered useless. There was no running water in any of the sinks. 

Ten more minutes had passed, as I desperately searched for any clues scattered throughout the three-story house. Nothing was found. I had to escape this place, or I was going to go insane.

I picked up a chair from the dining room table, and made my way over to the biggest of all the pane glass windows in the house, right in the heart of the living room on the second floor. It would have been a lot more sensible to try and escape out of the first floor, but oddly enough there were no windows on the first floor, so I had to settle for an Assisian’s Creed-esque escape out of the second floor. Chucking a chair through a giant window wasn’t too big of a task for me, but a thought had suddenly entered my mind.

“What if whatever’s outside of the house is worse than being trapped inside of it?”

It was either face the outside world, or die from eventual starvation. I took a few steps back for good measure, and I took off towards the window, hurling the chair through it at full speed. The result was exactly as I had hoped for, as the chair broke straight through the window, leaving large shards of glass all over the surrounding area. 

But as the chair went flying through the window, it was caught right in its tracks by the darkness that had enveloped the entire house. Straight down it plummeted to the first floor, crashing at the very bottom. I peeked my head out the window to see that a gigantic black tarp was indeed covering the entire exterior of the house.  Was I being quarantined? Was the house being prepped for some sort of fumigation?

Suddenly I was met with an unpleasant stench coming through from the outside air. It wasn’t exactly body odor, but it reeked of a hot and busy gym. There was the faint sound of uptempo electronic music, combined with giant thuds coming from what seemed like a miles away. As I looked down, the biggest clue had finally revealed itself to me, and I suddenly knew exactly where I was. 

Carpet. 

I only had a few minutes to gather my thoughts and get myself under control. If my memory was correct, I knew I was in for some trouble— perhaps the best kind of trouble. As I carefully made my way around the broken glass and onto the window sill, my eyes were met with a floor made of carpet. Not concrete, not grass, or dirt, or luxuriously hedged bushes, but carpet. 

I managed to navigate my way to the ground level by climbing down the side of the structure, as my bare feet finally met with the soft, white carpeting. Outside of the house was almost completely dark, aside from a thin strip of fluorescent lighting that emitted from the bottom of the black tarp. I stealthily made my way to the edge of the darkness and lifted from under it to make my escape, barely giving myself enough room to climb under. My jaw dropped as my eyes fixated on where I truly was. 

It was a scene right out of Jack and the Beanstalk. 

I was beside myself. There she was, right in front of me— the sight of a 30-foot-tall woman on a giant stairmaster machine, drenched in sweat— the intense smile on her face as she made her rounds while listening to EDM music. Above her was a digital timer, slowly counting down, with the time reading “00:15:47.” To her left was an open gym bag with shoes and a change of clothes, and to her right, a dining room chair with two armrests; duct tape casually sitting on the seat of the chair. This was relatively a mile away from me, as I soon figured out that I was now the size of a Ken Doll. I had to get out of sight, unless I wanted to be discovered outside of what I finally realized was a doll house.

“That would explain the fake electronics and plastic food,” I muttered to myself. I hastily made my way back under the black cloth and climbed up to the second floor once more, frantically falling back inside the living room and letting out an exasperated sigh of relief. 

“Holy shit, I can’t believe it actually worked!” I exclaimed as I paced back and forth in the living room. It was the feeling of sending a risky text to someone and finally seeing their response after an hour of regret. It was like I had just jumped off a cliff, and there was no going back. Frankly, I was fucked. 

The smell from outside had finally made sense, too. It was indeed body odor that my nose had picked up before, and it only seemed to get stronger as the window stayed open from me breaking it earlier. Every inhale seemed to meet my nose with displeasure, but I couldn’t fool myself— I was extremely aroused by the entire situation. My erection throbbed more and more intensely, creating the most confusing sense of turned on and absolutely terrified. I felt the intense urge to masturbate, but I had no time for such things; I was in the middle of the most erotically intense situation of my life. 

My mind raced for ideas on how to escape this mess I had created for myself. Maybe she knew that I was awake by now, frantically searching for an escape. Why would she lock me inside of a doll house? Wouldn’t it have been easier to bound my arms and legs together and place me somewhere easily accessible? Was she looking to make a game out of this whole experience? 

Most importantly, why did I ever ask for this?

“So, tell me about yourself,” purred Mistress Ashley from across the table. 

Mistress Ashley was one of the most well-known dommes in the Seattle area, specializing in just about everything in the world of BDSM. She was a 29-year-old intellectual blonde who stood 6’2 barefoot, with a busty athletic build from her collegiate basketball days. She wore a tight black dress that revealed her luscious curves, sporting thin black nylon socks and red lipstick that could pierce through an armored truck. She was everything that I thought a woman should be.

It was the moment of truth, as I had saved up a few checks over the last two months to be able to have an in-person session with her, and here she was— asking me about myself while she sat inches away from me. Her natural musk was amazing, as the smell of her YSL perfume mixed in with the slight smell of her armpits. We had set up an introductory dinner to go over protocols and other important information before our session the next day. I had to ponder for a few seconds before I could come up with a worthy answer for her question. 

“W-well, my name is Chris, I’m 24-years-old, I work retail for a living, I played varsity volleyball in high school, but I never took it serio-“

“No silly, I already got all of that information in the initial application process. I want to know the real you. I want to know of your desires, your motivations. Why did you come to me?”

I was shook by the directness of her rebuttal. Her polite nature and charisma definitely took the edge off of such an intricate question, so I felt inclined to answer as honest as I possibly could. 

“For as long as I could remember, I’ve always been a submissive person in the bedroom. But sometimes I feel like it extends even deeper than that— I feel like I’m a submissive person in general. I love to be taken advantage of, but I have trouble articulating that when I go out on dates. It’s embarrassing.”

“That’s a good start!” she replied enthusiastically, nonchalantly scooting herself closer to me. 

We were at a local bar in Downtown Seattle, and the booth we were in seemed to shrink more and more as she got closer to me.  

“Think of me as your safe space, Chris. Talk to me about your fetishes that you had listed when you applied to see me, because I think they’re more than valid.”

Coming right out with the big guns, are we? 

“I have a particular fetish for a woman’s sweat. There’s the physical aspect of it all— the natural scent of unwashed armpits, the allure of a sweat-stained sports bra after a workout, the essence of it all. It drives me insane.” 

“I absolutely love the sweat fetish community! You know, my first ever video shoot was a man being forced to worship my sweaty feet after a workout. It actually made me feel like a queen, being worshipped like that,” she responded. I wasn’t surprised in the slightest that she’d had sweat fetish-based sessions in the past, which gave way to even more honesty oozing from within.

“See? It’s awesome!” I giddily joined back in with. “I think the sweat fetish is a cool one because it involves so many other fetishes along with it, you know, like foot fetishes, armpit fetishes, smothering-“

“Giantess, perhaps?” she slyly retorted. 

Huh, she nailed it. 

From my perspective, macrophillia was one of the most taboo fetishes out there— goddesses the size of buildings roaming around and preying on poor little men, completely using them however they saw fit. I’m sure that other submissive men had this fetish too, but to me, it was always something to hide and feel shameful over. My embarrassment was written all over my body language, but I shyly agreed with her. 

“It makes perfect sense, does it not? You love being taken control of by dominant women, and it would only make matters far more intense if the woman was ten times the size of you, yes? Don’t you agree with me?”

“Yes, Mistress Ashley,” I agreed. 

Unfortunately, the laws of physics surely prevented such a fantasy from happening overnight. It was impossible for me to shrink down to the size of a doll, let alone have a woman grow to be ten times her normal height. 

“So, now that I know you a little better, I guess I should let you in on a little bit about myself,” Mistress Ashley whispered in my ear. Now she was right next to me, thigh-to-thigh, the smell of her heavenly perfume and damp pits infiltrating my nostrils. 

“I chose to be a mistress for many reasons— I’ve always dominated men throughout my life, starting out when I was a young teen. I’d coax my male friends into letting me tie them up, or I would punk the bullies in my middle school. As I grew older, I was able to figure out that I enjoy power dynamics quite much. Nothing turns me on more than taking and holding the power in any given situation, and that’s why I get to enjoy what I do for a living every day.” 

My palms became sweaty and clammy, as my legs started to shake under the table from arousal. My erection couldn’t have been harder.

“If I’m being honest, is there any power dynamic more satisfying than a man being shrunk down to twelve inches in size and being in a giant woman’s clutches after a grueling workout? Hahaha!” I nervously chuckled. We were both two vodka sours in, so I wasn’t holding back one single iota. 

“But I’m not naive,” I continued. “I know that could never happen.”

“Now hold on, what makes you so sure that could never happen?” she inquired. For such a bold statement, her tone suggested that she wasn’t kidding. My curiosity was peaked. 

“I…well…I mean, it’s just the laws of physics. There’s no technology out there yet that could ever do something like that. That’s some sci-fi shit, with all due respect, Mistress.” 

She had a challenging look in her eyes. “You know, I’m sure anyone in their right mind would agree with you. So how about we do this— come to my dungeon tomorrow at 1:00pm sharp for your session, and we can discuss this further. Sound good enough for ya?”

It was a deal. 

We spent the rest of the night getting to know each other over a wonderful meal, going deeper and deeper into each of our psyches, revealing all of the intricacies that played into our sexual interests. Not only was it a riveting conversation, but it was very educational, perhaps even inspirational. As someone who never had the chance to talk about their true sexual desires with someone, it was a very cathartic moment for me. I paid for the meal, we said our goodbyes, and we parted ways until the next day. 

I knew I was in for an amazing session either way. Mistress Ashley was stunningly beautiful, intelligent, personable, and most importantly— she knew exactly what I wanted now.  

There was no going back.

I barely got any sleep later that night. All my mind was thinking about was Mistress Ashley— standing over me as I’m tied up, rendered helpless with nowhere to go. Her 36DD breasts glistening in her sweat, her pit stains completely taking over her sports bra. It was too much to handle, resulting in a night of furious masturbation— all to the thought of what was in store for me. 

As I finished my second orgasm of the night, I eventually tired out after a joint that I had packed earlier in the night. I was in a beautiful Airbnb in Downtown Seattle, and it featured a breathtaking view of the city’s skyline. I sat out on the porch, the calm breeze complimenting a gorgeous 68° night as I smoked my roll.

It tasted amazing. Seattle has amazing (and cheap) weed.

I was happy that I had finally taken a step for myself to do something spontaneous and meaningful. It was more to me than just a fantasy being fulfilled— I wanted to discover more about myself in the process. It was time to venture out and see what I truly wanted sexually, and there was no one better to take this journey with than someone like Mistress Ashley. 

I laid my head on my pillow, as my mind slowly wondered off into the night while soft instrumental music played in the background. Rain started to glaze over the window, serving as the last sound I would hear until next day’s adventure. 

***

The morning came, as I was greeted with an unpleasant ray of sunshine piercing my eyelids. I went on my phone for a little bit after waking up, and eventually stumbled out of bed. I had only gotten five hours of sleep, but that’s all I needed to feel ready for the day. I showered, and put on my freshest fit for a stroll down the street to get some breakfast before my adventures later that day. 

It was about noon by the time I got back to the apartment, and my nerves were reaching a new high. For something that I was so hellbent on doing, I actually started to get scared— not for my safety, but I was about to be at the mercy of a professional dominatrix for five hours straight. And it wasn’t a cheap session, either. Mistress Ashley was the best of the best, so naturally her rates were high. It was a whole ordeal just to plan the trip— finding flights, requesting off from work, and finding an Airbnb close enough to Mistress Ashley’s personal dungeon. 

There was a lot riding on this session, and I thought to myself that I had potentially bitten off more than I could chew. I even briefly thought about cancelling the session all together and taking the loss on all the money I spent. 

Then my phone rang. 

I hurried over to the table to check the notification— it was a WhatsApp message from Mistress Ashley. My hands were shaking as I picked up my phone and read the message. Enclosed in the message was a friendly reminder of our scheduled time, the address to her dungeon, directions on parking (luckily I wasn’t driving), and an attachment at the very bottom. 

It was a picture of her, standing in her home gym with a chair and duct tape in the very center of the room. She was wearing light blue Lululemon workout attire, with leggings that made her huge ass look even more enormous. Her mountainous breasts were covered in a sports bra of the same color, her left arm slightly raised to reveal her unshaven underarm. I was mesmerized. 

When 12:30 rolled around, I called my Uber to the address she had sent me, and I was on my way to meet my destiny. A sense of confidence grew over me, and I felt like I was ready for absolutely anything. 

It was a beautiful neighborhood that I pulled up to, a suburb about 15 minutes out from Downtown. There were luxury condos and giant trees that surrounded Mistress Ashley’s private-entry building, yet I felt a sense of anxiety creep up again. I stopped myself as I reached to ring the doorbell. 

“No, fuck that, you got this,” I assured myself.  I mustered up all the strength I had to finally ring the doorbell. 

“Who is it?” asked a seductive voice that echoed through the speakers. 

“I-it’s me, Chris! Sorry I couldn’t be earlier!” I squeamishly offered. 

“Oh, wonderful! Come in!” she replied, as the main gates parted to make way for the beautiful brick walkway that led straight to her front steps. My heart was pounding through my chest at this point. I made my way down the walkway and up to her front door. My legs had the shakes like I just drank five nitro cold brews; this was it! This was the moment I had been waiting on for months in advance! This was going to be either the best five hours of my life, or the worst. 

The door opened, and there she stood— all 6’2 of her goddess body, enveloped in a tight casing of nylon fabric that sealed everything inside of it. I was 6’0 tall, so I wasn’t tiny by any means, but I wasn’t used to talking to women this tall before. Her worn down Nike running shoes maybe gave her an inch or so; she was basically eye level with me.

“Hi, Chris. Please, come inside.” she urged. 

I abided, as I followed her through her Victorian-style dungeon, staring at all the amenities she had.

“Man, this woman knows how to torture people,” I thought to myself. I mean, she had everything. Whips, chains, ropes, strap-ons, human toilet seats, chairs and tables with built-in handcuffs, and more latex than you could ever conceive of being in one room. 

We finally arrived inside of the same home gym that was in the picture she had sent earlier, and as we stepped foot inside I could already feel how hot and humid she had made the environment. 

“No air conditioning, huh?” I chortled. 

“Oh, we couldn’t have it any other way, could we now?” she laughed back. 

We sat down on the couch and made small talk, breaking the ice before an intense interaction. I told her about the breakfast spot I had hit, and she suggested me an even better one. She was such a pleasant host, offering me refreshments and asking about how my trip was going. I always thought of the stereotypical dominatrix as one who was mean and demanding, one who dressed in a black latex catsuit and spewed defamatory, humiliating comments at my expense. Mistress Ashley wasn’t any of these things to me— in fact she was the exact opposite. 

Maybe she was capable of being that person to other submissives, but she knew that wasn’t what I wanted. 

About a half-an-hour of conversation had passed, and I could already feel the tension in the air thickening. Her and I were both sufficiently covered in sweat; our foreheads shining in the light, both of us getting horny off all the talking. We carefully planned out safe words, the experience that was to be had, and everything in between. It was agreed on that I’d be bound up to the chair, forced to watch her as she enjoyed a two-hour workout right in front of me— then the torture would begin. Mistress Ashley was splendid at explaining proper protocol, building such a strong sense of trust in me for her; she made me feel safe. 

Well, as safe as one could be, given what was to happen. 

Mistress Ashley suddenly got up from our conversation and walked into the next room over, without a say of what she was doing. She seemed to be excited by the haste in her steps, but I had no idea what was about to happen. She eventually came back into the gym with a mason jar full of a clear liquid, about 1/4 of the way full. As she opened the lid, my most beautiful mistress looked right into my soul. 

“Inside of this mason jar is a black market elixir that mutates human DNA. It is capable of causing whoever ingests the liquid to shrink down to about 12 inches in size, for up to 7 hours. And don’t call me on any bullshit, because I’ve successfully used this same product multiple times in the past. I have photo and video evidence, if you don’t believe me.” 

Holy fucking shit. 

Was this real? Could I buy such a hysterical story? I had to see the truth. 

“Show me the photos and videos, and if you aren’t bullshitting me then I’ll think about it,” I answered. It was time to see if Mistress Ashley was about to make all of my wildest fantasies come to life.

She pulled out her phone, went onto her Google Drive account and navigated to a folder called “GIANTESS.mov.” 

There it was. Videos of Mistress Ashley holding men the size of Ken Dolls completely captive. Some she made out with, covering their shrunken faces in saliva and red lipstick. Others she made rub her feet; less lucky ones were used as human dildos and butt inserts. It was either too good to be true, or some seriously impressive CGI work. Either way, what did I have to lose? If I drank the elixir and shrunk, it would be the craziest dream I’d ever thought about— finally realized. 

“So, what do you say, do you want to be captured and tortured by a sweaty, ravenous, horny giantess Goddess?” she pronounced, approaching me closer with each word. The look on her eyes was something I had not yet seen before; there was a hunger and desire that blazed in her pupils. It felt as if she wanted me to oblige so badly. 

And there I stood, on the edge of the proverbial cliff. If I said yes, my entire world was about to change. If I said no, I could avoid the risk of anything going wrong, and ensure my safety. It was one of the hardest decisions in my life, but I knew what I truly wanted. 

The urge was too strong. 

“Deal,” I uttered. 

She had gotten exactly what she wanted. Mistress Ashley deviously smiled as she handed me the mason jar. As I opened the lid, the smell of rubbing alcohol hit me right in the nose, sending me into a temporary coughing fit. “What the hell is this stuff made of?” 

“It tastes like cheap vodka, don’t be scared. Trust me that you will be fine.” She spoke firmly, but endearing enough to be trustworthy. 

We filled out rigorous paperwork for about fifteen minutes (which she was gracious enough to not include in my purchased time with her). At the very back of the gym stood a tall box with a black curtain draped over it. 

“What’s that over there?” I questioned. 

“Nothing important,” she replied. I was dubious of what was in that box, but I didn’t want to continue prying. It was finally the moment of truth, as she handed me the mason jar. 

“Your session will start after you become unconscious, do I make myself clear?” she asserted. She was getting more and more firm with her tone as the minutes passed. I nodded in agreement, and started to chug the special elixir. 

To my surprise, it wasn’t that bad— not the most pleasant taste, but based off of the smell it could have been much worse. I finished the whole thing in about three gulps, wiping my mouth off afterwards. I felt the liquid rush through my body and finally settle in my stomach, as I looked back up at a grinning Mistress Ashley. 

“Let’s hope you don’t regret anything,” she seductively whispered to me. 

After about two minutes of waiting, I started to intensely hallucinate, witnessing my world turn into complex and vivid fractals. I had done acid and mushrooms before, but this was completely different. Just then my consciousness started to fade, and my world turned to black. 

I was knocked out cold, and all signs were pointing towards my deepest, darkest fantasy actually coming to fruition. The last thing I remembered was the sight Mistress Ashley, staring in amazement as her special cocktail worked its magic on her new slave. 

There was no turning back, now. 

Time was ticking, and I was still searching for answers. I had finally managed to remember everything— the reason I was twelve inches tall, our extensive conversations, Mistress Ashley. All of it. It was the most intense feeling I had ever felt, being prey to a woman who was relatively 30 feet tall in comparison to me. It was exactly what I had always wanted, and the rush of being prayed on and chased around was extremely arousing. Conversely, I feared that the results of my torture may end up being too much in my shrunken state, so I needed to escape. 

“Maybe I can find an alternate route somewhere in the gym, then hide in the dungeon until I return to normal size,” I thought to myself. I felt like she would appreciate my efforts to escape— she wanted to use me as a sweat rag, so she’d have to work for it. And it made all too much sense as to why I was in this doll house; it was a game. It would have been too easy to just bound me up and wait for me to awaken; she wanted to hunt me. 

I managed to climb out from the second floor window and step onto the carpeted floor once more, being careful to not reveal my location. Each step I took now felt like I was being monitored, feeling like one wrong step could cause the now Giantess Ashley to spot me, and pounce. 

I lifted the black cloth from under, and poked my head out to see what the time was at: ten minutes left, and counting. 

The gym featured a relatively open floor plan, aside from the nine or so pieces of equipment she had placed throughout. This was not ideal for me— I needed as much cover as I could get, or I could easily be spotted running across her floor. There was an exit door on the other side of the room right next to the giantess, which I’m sure was her strategy. If I was going to escape, I’d need to go right past her— and in about ten minutes time. 

I took a deep inhale, and I made my move. I sprinted across the floor to get behind the first piece of equipment, which was a treadmill that stood about four feet away from the doll house. At any point she could have locked eyes on me and detected me, so I had to be quick and decisive with my movements. 

Perfectly executed. 

I was that much closer to my escape, but there was much more ground left to cover. My eyes locked in on my second target, and that was an elliptical that stood another four feet away from the treadmill. I followed the same tactic as the first time, making sure to peer out and see Mistress Ashley preoccupied with the stair master, and then make a run for it. I looked up at the clock to see how much time I had left before her workout was complete. 

00:07:33. I had seven and a half minutes to either make my escape, or hide somewhere she couldn’t find me. Once again, I took a deep breath, and sprinted towards my next target. 

Flawless. 

I was now hiding behind an elliptical, about ten feet away from where Mistress Ashley was completing the final minutes of her two-hour long workout. 

“Wow, two hours,” I thought to myself. “I cannot imagine how sweaty she is, I just might drown if I end up getting caught.” 

The smell of her body odor was so strong that it had managed to reach my tiny lungs from where I was standing, causing me to stop an inhale deeply. I loved the natural smell of armpits, and it was obvious that she was not wearing deodorant. I looked up at my beautiful 30 foot tall Goddess, and nothing was more evident than the giant sweat stains that had collected under her armpits and onto her sports bra. I couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of such a gargantuan lady so close to where I stood. 

I located my next target, which was an incline bench press that stood just about a few feet away from the door. This was probably the last place to hide along to way before I hit the exit door, so if I nailed this, it was smooth sailing. 

Suddenly, I heard her stiflingly loud voice booming across the entire room. “You should DEFINITELY be awake by now, my little slave! And there’s only five minutes left before I make your life a living fucking nightmare!” Mistress Ashley yelled out from her stair master. She spoke directly towards doll house, so she must have thought I was still inside. Great. 

What a twisted woman she was! She had to be planning on snatching me from inside the doll house, prying me away from safety and into her clutches. I now saw how lucky I was to escape the doll house, and I would soon reach salvation if I could just make it a few more feet to the exit. Once more, I took a deep breath, and made a run for it. 

I was sprinting at full speed, as I was now in plain sight of the giantess. At any moment she could simply turn her head a little to her left, and she’d see a doll-sized man making a run for the door. The incline bench was much skinnier in size, so hiding there would be no easy feat, but I still had to try. 

Just then, my long strides were interrupted by a few droplets of Mistress Ashley’s water that had spilled onto the floor from her hydroflask. To any normal sized person it probably looked like exactly that— a few droplets of water. To me, however, at twelve inches tall, that little spillage was enough to cause me and slip and fall right onto my back, creating a thud on the ground. I stayed on the floor for a few seconds, trying to manage the pain from my fall and collect myself before getting back up. 

Then the music stopped. 

I looked over to the stair master to see if I had been spotted by Mistress Ashley, and to my luck I was still unnoticed. The piercing sound of an iPhone alarm went off, signaling that she was done with her workout. Her long, blonde hair was slick with sweat— the majority of her light blue sports bra being turned to a dark navy blue from all the perspiration that had soaked into it. 

I was still out in the very open, and a thirsty Mistress Ashley was starting to make her way back towards her hydroflask. I had no choice but to make a U-turn and sprint back towards her gym bag, furthering myself from the exit. It was the only choice I had, other than being caught and smothered. As I climbed into her gym back, the stench of old workout equipment abused my nose, with smelly white socks on either side of me, and previously worn leggings padding the bottom of the bag. 

There I laid in her gym bag for a few minutes, as Mistress Ashley readied herself to raid the dollhouse. In my mind, the best case scenario was for her to search the house, eventually realizing I wasn’t in there, resulting in her to go on a scavenger hunt to find me throughout her dungeon. My plans were quickly foiled though, as she started to walk back to her gym bag. I was screwed. 

It was either hide in one of her nasty gym socks, or make a run for it. Hiding in her gym sock would only imprison me faster if she found out I was in it, so I decided to run. As I popped my head out from her bag, I looked both ways before scurrying off. 

Left. Right. Clear. 

I climbed out from the main compartment, hoisting myself up onto the top of the bag, ready to make a run for it. This was the homestretch, and I felt like I was in the clear. 

“I see you found your way out of the house,” her Goddess voice boomed from above. “Good job! Now let’s see how fast you can run.”

Mistress Ashley’s eyes were locked onto me, as she let out a squealing and playful giggle as she saw the instant fear in my eyes. My survival instinct immediately kicked in, as I kicked it into high gear while bolting for safety. The closest option for cover that I had was to go back to the doll house, where I could hopefully evade her grasp until I could get back to normal size. 

But at this point, anything other than me being captured was a stretch. It had only been a couple hours since drinking the elixir, which meant I still had a good amount of time left being tiny. There was too much time that I would have to kill to survive. 

“I’ll tell you what, tiny little slaveboy, I’ll give you a five second head start before I take you and bury you in between my swamp ass, does that sound fair?” she taunted from above, a smile on her face bigger than I was. I was only about 25 steps away from the doll house, but I had to hurry. 

“Oooneeee, twooooo, threeeee, FOUR FIVE!” 

She started to go chase me, her boobs bouncing as sweat fell off and landed on the floor below. It was such a crazy moment in real time, but I had zero time to process any thoughts. I barely managed to slip under the black cloth in time before she could reach me. I hastily climbed back up the side of the house and into the second floor living room, as Mistress Ashley stopped to admire the situation she had created for me. 

“Oh, Chris… can’t you see? You’re all mine now! It’s only a matter of time before you’re struggling in between my hands, begging for mercy as I wrap you in duct tape and pleasure myself with your shrunken body. There’s nowhere you can go, nowhere you can hide!” her voice echoed from outside the house. 

Well, I still had the doll house. And I was going to make it last for as long as I could. 

My faith was wearing thin, though. I was battling something much bigger than me, and time was not on my side.