“Where is my makeup bag?”

I laid propped up naked in bed, watching as Jasmine frantically searched around the room, packing up a massive suitcase that already looked stuffed past the brim.

I noted the small black bag next to me and lifted it up, letting it dangle from my fingers.  “This one?”

“There it is,” she said in a huff.  “Can you throw it to me?”

I gave her a mischievous grin, putting the bag under the covers next to me.  “Nope, You’re going to have to come get it.”

She chuckled lightly and gave me a teasing wink, knowing this game well.  “Fine,” she sighed, then turned to the bed and bent over, slowly crawling up toward me and making a show of swinging her hips as she moved.  She stopped hovering directly above me, letting her long braids cascade down and create a canopy around my face as she enveloped my field of view.  “Can I please have my makeup bag?”

My eyes broke from her gaze and moved down to her plump lips, the white of her smile sparkling against her dark skin.  God, I was going to miss her.  “For a kiss.”

She rolled her eyes and kissed me gently, but I was hungry for her.  She moaned gently under my lips as I pulled her weight on top of me, coaxing her hand onto my breast and guiding her thumb to lightly circle my nipple.  Her kisses grew more forceful until she met my passion, setting me alight, leaving me throbbing with desire…and then she stopped.

“Thank you,” she teased, sitting up with her makeup bag and quickly scooting back toward the foot of the bed.  Leaving me buzzing, my pussy still desperately throbbing.

“You are so cruel,” I groaned as I snaked my hand down toward my thighs, yearning for relief.  “How am I supposed to go three months without you?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” she assured me as she put her makeup bag on top of her pile of clothes, moving to close the suitcase before stopping in her tracks.  “Hey, this could be an opportunity for you.  Get your weird shit out of your system.”

Pulling no punches, eh? I thought, letting out a surprised chuckle.  “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“I’m not judging.  I’m just saying.”  She flopped the top of the suitcase down, then stood. “What happened to your subby boy?”

“Jon?  I haven’t talked to him in ages.”

“You should see what he’s up to.”  

I was surprised to hear the suggestion.  Our relationship was open and we both spoke frankly about our outside escapades, but she’d never actively encouraged me to pursue another partner before.  After thinking about it for a moment, I realized the obvious. “You heard he sold his start-up, didn’t you?”

She bit her lip, giving me a sheepish smile.  “Caught me,” she confessed.  “Mama needs a new laptop.”

I gasped, clutching my invisible pearls in feigned horror.  “Are you whoring me out?”

“No, no.  Just…see if it comes up naturally.  Like, in a sexy way.”

“Oh yeah, sure.  ‘

She beamed.  “Right, like that!” she replied through light laughter.

I grabbed a pillow and threw it at her but she blocked it deftly, looking impressed with her own reflexes.  With the initial surprise worn off, I considered her proposal.  My sex life with Jazz was joyful and fulfilling, but our tastes didn’t always align – as much as I enjoyed the passionate, vanilla lovemaking she craved, I sometimes lamented that she took no interest in sating my dominant streak.

Jon was the opposite.  We’d met in college, back when he was a lanky, skinny nerd who hadn’t yet blossomed into the Adonis he’d eventually become, and we began as friends before a drunken night in our dorms uncovered our mutual kinks. We never even floated the idea of romance, but we dove into an intense sexual relationship – discovering ourselves, testing our limits.  Eventually his desperation to submit became so overbearing that I had to distance myself, but it had been so long since I’d indulged…

“Alright, maybe I will,” I decided.

It took Jon about 30 seconds to enthusiastically respond to my text proposing we meet up.

I knew he’d gotten rich in the past few years, but I still found myself in shock as I entered his door code and stepped into his gorgeous penthouse.  It looked ripped from the pages of Architectural Digest, each piece curated perfectly and hand-picked by one of the world’s foremost interior designers.

“Damn, Jon!” I called out, hoping my voice would echo loud enough to hear me as I removed my shoes at the door.  “Definitely a step up from your room in the quad.”

I started exploring the apartment, playfully slipping around on the polished hardwood in my socks.  I walked into the open living room, but he wasn’t there.  “Jon?”  I called out.

I kept looking around the huge penthouse, peeking into each room.  Empty and silent.  I checked my texts – nothing.  Deciding that he must have gone out, I picked up my phone and gave him a call.

Bzzt!  I heard his phone buzz in an adjacent room, behind a closed door.  Why would he leave without his phone when he knew I was coming over? I thought.  Maybe he’d fallen asleep?

I knocked loudly on the door, and my ears perked as I thought I heard his voice.  It sounded like he was mumbling something from the other side of the room.  “I’m coming in,” I announced, but when I opened the door, there was no one – his bed was unmade, but empty.  I checked his night table for a note, but it was just his phone and an empty glass bottle that I assumed once housed some kind of homemade kombucha.

“Anna, I’m in here!”  Jon called, still sounding distant – his voice was fearful, desperate.  He sounded like he was far away, but I’d checked every room in the apartment and hadn’t seen him.  “Look down!”

Given the panic in his voice, I realized he may have been in danger.  Had he fallen from the balcony?  I ran over to the door, pushed through a gust of frigid air, and looked over the railing, but sure enough, he was still nowhere to be found.

“No, I’m in my room!  Come back and look down!”

More confused than ever, I doubled back, the wind slamming the door behind me.  “What are you talking about?  There is no down.”

“At your feet!”

I complied, and sure enough, there he was.  Desperately tugging at my sock, nude except for a piece of tissue paper wrapped around his waist like a towel.  Standing no higher than my ankle.

It took me a moment to process what I was seeing, but my body acted before I could think.  My knees buckled and I fell to the floor, pulling myself away from the tiny man at my feet.  Finally, words: “What the fuck!”

The small creature claiming to be Jon started walking closer. “Anna, listen to me – “

“Don’t touch me!  What if it’s contagious?”

“It’s not!   I promise it’s not.  It was something I drank.”

I paused for a moment and closed my eyes, letting my panic subside.  I sat up, take a deep breath, then leaned over, struggling to believe what I was seeing.  In the back of my mind, I was taking stock of it all - the absurdity of the situation, the impossibility of a shrinking potion, the abject terror he must have felt - but at the front of my mind was instinct. I was in awe. I lowered myself to my stomach to study him.

Jon was blushing under my gaze.  He seemed uncomfortable, but I couldn’t help myself - I kept leaning closer.  He was precious.  I wanted to grab him and cradle him into my chest with all my strength, but every bit of my active brain power was devoted to keeping myself restrained.  "I don't know how this is possible," I whispered.  "You're amazing."

That seemed to comfort him.  He gave a shy smile, then stood straight, softening.  “I’d be flattered if I weren’t so terrified.”  I continued to gape at him, stunned.  Resisting the urge to stick out a hand or foot to compare his scale to mine.  Finally, he cleared his throat, breaking the silence.  “Can you help me get off the floor?” he called.

I shook my head, snapping back to reality...or whatever this was.  “Right, yes, of course.”  I got up to my knees and considered my approach – I didn’t know exactly how durable he was, but I suspected he was incredibly fragile.  Then I laid my palm out on the ground for him to climb on, extending my thumb toward him to grab like a railing.  “Is that alright?”

He looked up, smiled, and nodded.  “Thanks,” he called, shakily grabbing my thumb with one hand and holding his tissue-towel around his waist with the other.  I tried my best not to coo at his soft touch, but I’d at least try to give him some scrap of dignity.  Once he was standing firmly in the center of my palm, he gave me a thumbs up, leaving heart feeling like it was made of jelly.

I started to rise, but clearly I moved too quickly – Jon immediately lost his footing, leaving him splayed out on his back as the tissue covering him fell between my fingers. 

The sight before me took my breath away. 

Jon wasn't the sort of man who went unnoticed.  Olive-skinned, strong-jawed with a perfectly trimmed beard, thick hair with a halo of dark curls.  Sparkling brown eyes.  He’d always been tall, but in recent years, he’d built himself into an athlete – defined muscles, with just a dusting of hair over his chest.  Strong and handsome.

Now here he was nude, chest heaving, spread-eagle like a tiny Vitruvian man.  Such masculine strength reduced to a plaything in my palm.  And I immediately saw why he was being modest – his cock was so hard that a light gust of wind could’ve made him explode.

Something profound shifted in me.

I was more aroused than I’d ever been in my life.

Anna, what the fuck is wrong with you?

A few hours had passed and both of us had calmed down somewhat, trying to act as normal as possible given the absurdity of the situation.  Jon had explained to me that the strange drink was an aphrodisiac he’d gotten from a "contact" he'd met in his travels. He explained that it was supposed to be temporary and should have worn off already, but it seemed to be lasting longer than expected.  Regardless, he assured me that it was just a matter of waiting it out.

I asked him more about this "contact," but all he could say was that he'd heard about them through a woman he'd done ayahuasca with. I rolled my eyes - he really was becoming a rich guy.

There were probably more details in there, but I likely missed some things as I imagined what he'd feel like squirming around in my panties. 

He also informed me that the raging hard-on he sported was a side effect of the magical shrinking aphrodisiac.  Out of politeness, I left him on his bed to take care of it privately, quietly hoping I'd have time to relieve my own throbbing arousal while he was at it...but much to my dismay, he'd finished himself off before I could even make it to his door.

Once he was fresh and cleaned off, we pulled together some fabric and fashioned him something that resembled a tiny toga. I then set him on his coffee table and sat on the floor beside him, preparing to measure him with a ruler.  It was partially out of curiosity and partially as a benchmark in case we needed to monitor his regrowth.

Trying to fix his body against the ruler, I noticed him stretching and craning his neck and snorted with laughter.  “Are you seriously trying to stand on your tiptoes to seem taller?”

He sighed, shifting as he recognized how absurd it was.  “Maybe a little…”

“I hate to tell you, big guy, but you’re not clearing six foot.”  That got a laugh out of him.  “Now stand still.”  He complied and stood against the ruler and I leaned in close, assessing him as I checked his height. Sure enough, I could still see his protruding erection, even though it'd only been about 15 minutes since his orgasm.  “Three inches on the dot,” I informed him.  He flinched, as if he was only now realizing how much he’d shrunken.  “And you’re still hard as a rock.”

He sighed.  “I know.  That damn aphrodisiac.”

“Do you need me to leave you in your room again?”

“No, it’s fine,” he sighed, slumping onto the soft, clean sock he was sitting on.  “I’ll probably be hard again in a few minutes.  I think I just need a distraction.”

"Sure, let's watch something."  It felt absurd to even attempt the distraction, but there wasn't much else to do.  I reached over for the remote and reached over to him, gently patting his back with my fingertip.

As he leaned into my finger, I once again processed his scale.  He was utterly powerless.  Yet another wave of shameful arousal stormed through me.  “Sorry this isn’t exactly the fun, sexy time you were expecting," he muttered.

I had to laugh.  "We've just discovered that magic is real, you're stuck at 3 inches tall, and you feel bad that I can't fuck you?  Please." 

We’d been watching a movie together for about 30 minutes and I couldn't even remember what we'd chosen.  I hadn’t noticed a frame of it.  All I could do was stare at Jon as he sat propped on the coffee table, thinking about all of the ways he could pleasure me at his new size.  I was horrified with myself – my entire world should've been turned upside-down, but instead all I could think about was how to use my tiny friend as a toy.

As I kept my eyes on him, I didn't think he was paying much attention either.  At first I thought his head was spinning from the day's revelations, but I could see him periodically look down at his still-raging erection and shift uncomfortably in his seat.  Maybe I was projecting, but I began to suspect there was something he wasn’t telling me.

If we really only had one night with him at this size, I needed to at least shoot my shot.

One sexual interest Jazz and I never really shared was foot play.  She'd indulge me, planting kisses on my soles as she worked her way to my pussy or massaging them after a long day, but she was humoring me.  And though she offered me a million things no one else ever could, I often missed Jon's obsession with worshipping my feet.  It drove me absolutely wild.

Part of me doubted his interest would hold for the pair of giant soles I was about to present, but it was worth a try. I pulled off my socks and put my feet up on the coffee table behind my tiny companion, slamming them down with just enough force to startle him.  I looked up, pretending I didn't notice him - but I was slightly disappointed when he simply shifted back and started watching the TV again.

It didn't take long for me to notice that he was actively trying not to look so I subtly encouraged his attention, idly wiggling my toes over his head like flags at full mast.  I watched him fidget under the looming shadows my feet cast until he finally stood and turned to me, arms crossed in suspicion.  "You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?"

"What are you talking about?" I lied, pausing the TV and meeting his gaze.

I could sense him weighing whether or not it was worth saying anything, but he stood firm, looking up at my toes.  Now that he was no longer trying to resist, I could see him falling under their spell - his eyes glazed over and his hand started to move down toward his erect cock.

"I was just testing the waters," I explained, my loins burning with desire as he started to masturbate.  "But it looks like you enjoy being tiny at my feet."

With that, he walked up to my sole, leaning over to kiss them - only for me to pull both feet away.  In all the years I'd known him, I'd never seen him respond to anything with such desperation - he fell to his knees, groaning in agony.  "Please," he begged, still slowly stroking himself.  "Let me lick them clean."

I raised an eyebrow, considering the absurdity of his request given his scale.  "And how exactly do you intend to do that?"

"I'll take as long as I need to," he promised, breathless.  "Just let me serve you. Let me explore your body."

He'd always been intensely submissive, but this was something else.  And it lit something in me on fire.  "Fine," I relented.  "But I get to explore you first."