Not many people have a very good opinion of lawyers.  I sympathize; I’ve worked for lawyers for over ten years.  But very few people appreciate just how diabolic they can get.

I was typically wary as I walked into the weekly meeting of all the paralegals in the firm.  No attorneys were present, but everyone was feeling the pressure, and if you don’t pay attention at these things you can get thrown under the bus.

As a male paralegal, I was used to being in the minority.  Indeed, the conference room contained all women, including the HR manager who had the chore of seeing who had time to take on new work.  We all said we were busy, of course.

Janie spoke up first, as usual.  She had shoulder-length blond hair, and freckles dappled her face and neck all the way down to her frequently-exposed cleavage.  She was friendly, but easily the worst gossip in the office.  “Discovery in the Wright case is heating up,” she said.  “Andrea has me all loaded up.”

Andrea was a pretty self-sufficient attorney, so I doubted Janie was all that swamped.  Still, basic camaraderie dictated that no one point this out in front of HR.

“I’m preparing for six depositions in the next two weeks,” said Erin, the doe-eyed six-footer across the table.  She was brought in four years ago to help with a huge case I was already assigned to, and we worked our share of late nights together.  She was smart and good to work with, but she was very consistent about not responding to any of my subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints at exploring a relationship.  We were good colleagues, and I tried not to let her catch me gazing at her wistfully.

Sondra was short, had light brown skin, and she always kept her long dark hair in a brightly-hued scrunchie.  She also had the foulest mouth of anyone I’d ever met.  “Don’t look at me,” she said.  “We’re not halfway done redacting on the Blaise public records request, and Tim says that cockdribble is gonna file another one next week.”

And so it went around the table until it got to Yvonne, whom I’d reflexively sat next to.  She’d been with the firm even longer than I had, and she was the closest I had to a friend in that damn place.  Her office was next to mine, and I was often in there, bitching about work.  She was married with stepdaughter, but that didn’t stop us from flirting constantly.

“I’m still troubleshooting the Gillette database,” said Yvonne, “and they have a production to get out next month.  If you want any of my time, take it up with Keith.”

“What about you, Tyler?” asked Georgia, the HR manager.

I had plenty of time to get my excuse ready, and it was rock solid.  “I’m going to trial with Mark on the Vinson case in three weeks, and last I heard their demands were too high, so it’s not gonna settle.  So I’ve got no time to spare, sorry.”

Georgia kept her eyes on me.  “I’m told it will settle, in fact,” she said.

“Really?” I said.  “Who told you that?”

“Mark did.”

I inhaled deeply.  Georgia wouldn’t misrepresent Mark in public, and Mark wouldn’t have told her that unless opposing counsel had suddenly lost their enthusiasm for trial.  And we all knew the only way that might have happened.

“Well,” I said, “I’m sure the client will be happy to hear that.  I am too, of course.”

“So you have time then?” prompted Georgia.

“Sure,” I said, exhaling.  “What’s the new case?”

“Torres v. City of Livingston.  Employment discrimination.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Everyone started to get up, now that the meeting seemed to be over.  Georgia still had one more gift for me, though.

“Even if Vinson hadn’t settled, I still would have put you on Torres,” she said.  “The attorney on it asked for you specifically.”

“It’s always nice to hear you’re in demand,” I said.  “Who’s working on the case?”

“Olivia.”

All conversation died.  No one made eye contact with me as they shuffled out, except Janie who smirked and wagged her eyebrows at me.  When they had all left, I was still sitting at the conference table and staring at my yellow legal pad, trying and failing to deny what everyone had instantly realized.

Olivia had just made partner.

* * *

Our firm had a reputation for ruthless litigation without scruple.  Rumors abounded regarding our formidable record of success with absurdly difficult cases, but I doubt any of the whisperers had even a partial understanding of what went on at that firm.

Only the partners knew everything.  Non-partners were forbidden from the top floor when they held their monthly meetings.  Other firms might fly their partners to Aspen or Cabo San Lucas for their annual retreats, but ours go to places like Bhutan and Easter Island.

Then there are things I wouldn’t tell anyone outside the firm because they wouldn’t believe me.  People laugh when I say our clients are monsters, but they don’t know about the legal assistant who was chronically late until she started vomiting frogs at 8:30 sharp if she wasn’t at her desk.  Nor have they met the poor document clerk who, whenever anyone says “alphabetical” around her, is compelled to shout out “ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ!” in rapid succession.

I rarely even talk about those things with other employees.  We seem to have accepted that ignoring these. . . manifestations is the price for our higher-than-average salaries.  We have also noticed that no one ever seems to quit and go on to different jobs.  Departing employees typically just vanish, with vague announcements about medical necessity.  Accordingly, we have learned to tactically mute our curiosity.

Almost instinctively, I followed Yvonne into her office and sat down.  Normally my gaze would have followed her wide hips as she rounded her desk, but I was too dazed by my impending doom.  I tried to find solace in her round face.  She had shortish light brown hair that she occasionally tinted red.  She wore a perpetual frown to keep annoying co-workers at bay, but I was one of the few with whom she shared her sunny smile.

“What am I gonna do?” I whined.

A dismissive look came over her.  “About what?” she said.  “It’s a discrimination case.  You’ve done half a dozen.”

 I wasn’t reassured by such bravado.  “It’s Olivia.  You know what they say about making partner and initiation.”

“’They say.’  No one knows for sure.”

“I don’t want to find out for sure.”

The phone in my office next door started ringing.  Yvonne tilted her head to signal that our conversation had exhausted itself.  I reluctantly stood up then sprinted to catch the call.

“Olivia wants to see you on Torres,” said Zorah, Olivia’s legal assistant.

“I’ll be right up,” I said and hung up.

Zorah was one of the many attorneys caught out in the cold by the recession in the legal field.  I don’t know how many people with J.D.s I’ve run into who were grateful to be working as paralegals or legal assistants.  They tend to have complexes about their overqualification, and Zorah was no exception.

For a while after she started, Zorah was always trying to impress me with her legal knowledge, and at least twice she had complimented me on my uninspired work wardrobe.  Physically, she had some attractive qualities:  dark brown hair, mischievous eyes, more than a handful hanging from her chest and derrière.  Her desperation, however, was a major turnoff.

“She’s waiting for you,” said Zorah as I entered her vestibule.  I’m sure the hint of a sadistic smirk was just my imagination.

Olivia was standing with her back to me when I entered her office.  I’d never seen her in court, but at the office she always dressed more feminine than one might expect from an ambitious litigator.  Even when she wore hose in the winter, a skirt or a dress always hung from her hips and clung to her round ass.  About half the time she also exposed a fair amount of cleavage.  Her long brown dreadlocks were always secured in some fashion, and now they fanned out from a simple tie at the back of her head.

I froze as she turned around.

“You’re here, great,” she said, piercing me with her deep voice and deeper brown eyes.  “This needs to happen ASAP.”  She walked to a small table piled with binders.  She opened one and turned to the first tab.

“I need you to go through all these and pull any documents related to hiring,” she said.  “Applications, letters, interview notes.  This is what their applications look like.”

I walked over to the table and looked at the page she indicated.  I recognized the form.  Then my eyes drifted to the top of her blouse, which was sufficiently open to display the brown slopes of her voluminous breasts.

“Should be very easy to spot,” I said.

I glanced up and saw that Olivia was looking right at me.  She had caught me ogling her rack, no question.  My every instinct was to look at the floor, to back away, to adopt as submissive and apologetic a posture as possible, but I was held fast by her gaze.  I don’t think either of us moved for almost half a minute.

“That’s why I asked for you, Tyler,” she said with a neutral expression.  “I need your eye for detail.”

She stared into my eyes for perhaps another five seconds, then turned away and sat at her desk, releasing me.

I started to load my arms with as many of the binders as I could.

“Use the box they came in,” said Olivia, her eyes on her computer.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, following her suggestion.  “I’ll start on these right away.”

Nothing more was said as I trudged out of the office with the laden box.

* * *

Over the next week, I had near-daily contact with Olivia, but it was strictly professional.  I always carried my notepad so I had somewhere to focus when I felt my eyes wandering.

I didn’t relax, however, and Yvonne gave me shit for it.

“For having been turned into a newt,” she said when I was in her office, “you look pretty good.”

“That’s not fucking funny,” I said, but in truth I was always glad when Yvonne cracked up, even at my expense.  We had worked together long enough that we felt comfortable sharing most anything, including our sexual histories.  She once told me that she was “asked to leave” a job after she blew a guy in the stairwell and his wife found out and called the boss.

“Aw,” she said.  “You want I should buy you an ice cream cone?”

“Yes, please,” I said.  “I never get tired of licking.”

“Show me.”

“Sure, you just drop trou and I’ll get under your desk.”

And that’s where these exchanges usually ended up.  I think she knows I’d do it, too, but neither of us wanted to get caught at work, and there wasn’t any obvious way to arrange a rendezvous outside of work.  And I was too chickenshit to try to make it happen.

* * *

The next day, Olivia moved a deadline on me.  She had asked for a production to be ready on Friday so she could review it before it went out on Monday, but then she made plans for the weekend and it need to be ready before I left on Thursday.  Which was the day that I was informed of all this.

“I’ll be working late, tonight, too,” she said.  “If you have any questions.”

It was after 8pm by the time I got it done, and most of the non-exempt staff had gone home (including Zorah, fortunately).  No one saw me as I got off the elevator and made my way to Olivia’s office.  She was working at her computer and didn’t look up until I laid the sheaf of documents on her desk.

“Excellent,” she said.  “Have a seat.”

I sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk while she paged through the production.  She stopped about a third of the way in.

“Is this responsive?” she asked, holding up a couple of pages of handwritten notes.

“I think so,” I said.  “The handwriting matches that of their risk manager, and the date is the same as the interview with the plaintiff that we know she sat in on.”

“Good,” she said, proceeding through the entire stack.  When she was done, she stood up.

“There’s one more thing I want you to look at,” she said, walking to her filing cabinet.  She bent at the waist and opened the bottom drawer, presenting her ass directly at me.

I quickly looked at the notepad in my lap, flipping through and pretending to read something important.  I didn’t dare look up, but I could hear that she wasn’t moving or manipulating any files.

“Tyler,” she said, startling me, “I’m not going to move until you take a look.”

I took a deep breath, then raised my eyes to meet hers.  She was still bent over, her arms holding the file drawer for support, and her head was turned around to face me.  She tilted her head to indicate her hindquarters, and I gave into the pulsing temptation to gaze upon her booty.

I was immediately seized by a powerful waking vision, more vivid and sensual than any daydream.  I saw myself stand up, walk behind Olivia, flip her dress up over her back, then rip her underwear down between her legs to the floor.  In my dream, I unzipped my pants, kicked her ankles to spread her legs apart, then plunged my rod between her soft brown cheeks and into her warm, wet pussy.  I felt her pelvic muscles grip my cock, and my thighs shuddered as I imagined thrusting into her over and over.  Like all dreams, my vision ended quite abruptly, without the closure I had expected.

I found myself still seated in the chair, my hand pressing my notepad down hard in a futile effort to suppress my raging boner.  Hesitantly, I looked up to see that Olivia had turned around and was now standing next to her desk in front of me, her arms crossed and a devilish smile on her face.

“Is there a problem, Tyler?” she asked impishly.

“Uh, no problem,” I said, standing and trying to casually hold my notepad in front of my crotch.

She reached down, effortlessly brushed my pad aside, and grabbed my cock through my pants.

“Seems like a problem to me,” she said, raising an eyebrow and widening her smile.  “Quite a big problem, in fact.”  She backed me up against her desk, then knelt down and started unfastening my pants.  “Let’s see what we can do about this,” she said, looking up at me with hungry eyes.

I’d like to say I was paralyzed, supernaturally rooted to the spot, unable to escape or push her away.  That would not strictly be true.  I distinctly remember setting my pad down on her desk, reaching behind me to brace myself, and spreading my legs as she leaned forward to take my aching cock between her warm and willing lips.

I closed my eyes as she ran her tongue and teeth over my shaft and head, her hands fondling my balls and massaging my taint.  Her lips fluttered about my pisshole and I thought I heard her mutter something unintelligible.  I looked down to see her gazing up with wild eyes, and she pulled her right hand out of her jacket pocket and raised it above my swollen pole.

She sprinkled a white powder down the length of my cock, moaned another nonsense phrase, then took my electrified eel entirely into her guzzling maw.

I leaned forward as I shot my load, and I felt so light that I seemed to lift off the desk and floor.  As I squirted the last drops, a sharp chill pierced my chest and spread out to my extremities.  My vision exploded into stars, fractured moonscapes, and unearthly skies.  Then I saw myself, crawling through a burrow, deep inside a gigantic rotting log, surrounded by an incessant chittering and crunching.  I couldn’t see anything in the decomposing dark, but I could somehow sense that right in front of me was an enormous insectioid thing, its mandibles clacking and breaking down all organic matter in its path.  I was overcome by an eruption of stench, the sulphuric smell of all the eggs that ever rotted since life began.  I abandoned my senses and retreated into unconsciousness.

When I returned to myself and opened my eyes, my vision was filled with Olivia’s shoe.  I turned my head to follow her ankles and calves, stretching all the way up under her dress as she sat at her desk, under which I had somehow wound up.  She looked down at me with a girlish smile, then picked up the production stack.

“This is good work, Tyler,” she said.  “Thanks for all your help tonight.”

She didn’t seem to find it at all unusual that I was lying on the floor with my head under her desk, my pants still around my ankles.

“You best get on home,” she said, returning to work at her computer.  There really is no dignified way to get up from underneath someone else’s desk and pull your pants up, but mercifully Olivia kept her eyes on her monitor.  I barely remembered to collect my notepad before stumbling out of her office.

“Good night,” she called after me.

Yvonne had known I had to work late with Olivia, so when I got in the next morning, she poked her head into my office and teased me that I survived the evening unharmed.

I offered a weak smile and chuckle in response, but I didn’t tell her anything, primarily because I still had no idea how to feel about it.

Part of me, of course, was in denial that anything had happened, that the residual chill I still felt was just in my head.  But the impressions left by all those fantastic sensations haunted my every stray moment.

Had I been raped?  There was no denying that on one level I definitely desired something like that scenario to happen.  I had never had an orgasm like that, and I would love to feel that degree of pleasure again.

On the other hand, I never once indicated to Olivia that I wanted her to do any of the things she did, and of course I was terrified by the encounter, which had destroyed any possibility of a professional working relationship with her.

I couldn’t tell Yvonne about what happened because I hadn’t decided what had happened for myself.  I also had no idea whether she would be more distressed if I told her I had been raped by my supervising attorney or if I told her I had let my supervising attorney give me a blow job.

Monday arrived, and the production went out without incident.  I saw Olivia a couple of times that day, and you’d never think from her demeanor that the previous week she had swallowed my jism.  I tried not to think about it, but every time I caught sight of my reflection, I felt the chill in my chest again.

The next day, my phone rang after lunch and the caller ID displayed Zorah’s extension.

“Olivia wants a meeting,” she said.

“Now?” I asked.

“No, Easter Sunday.  Yes now.”

“On my way—“ I said, but she hung up before I finished.

Zorah barely acknowledged my arrival with a glance, and I had no excuse not to proceed into Olivia’s office.  She was sitting at her computer when I reached her doorway, and she looked up immediately.

“Come in, Tyler,” she said.  “Close the door.”

I closed the door as she quickly finished typing whatever she had been working on.  When I turned back around Olivia was looking at me expectantly, and I had little alternative but to take a seat.

“I wanted to thank you again for your work on the production,” she began.  “I’ve spoken to Georgia.  You’re now permanently assigned to my practice group.  If you ever need work, come see me.  My needs come first.  Do you understand?”

“Of course,” I said.

“We’ll see about that soon enough,” she said, standing up and walking to the shelving unit behind her desk.  “Come over here, please.”

Numbly, I got up and walked over next to her.  I didn’t see any files and I couldn’t figure out what she was going to show me.

As I approached, Olivia never took her eyes off me, and when I stopped to sit on the edge of her desk, she spoke a single, unearthly word:  “Inshil-hatam.”

I breathed a whiff of sulphur, and then I went into another waking vision.  I was falling through immense tents or sails made out of light cotton and dark polyester.  The fabric billowed around me but failed to catch me or even really cushion my impact on the ground.  I didn’t seem injured by the fall, but even though I was completely buried in the tenting or whatever, I felt cold, and not just because I was also naked.

The huge sheets of fabric rustled and were drawn up, and the part I was standing on was yanked from beneath my feet.  I fell forward as the fabric was lifted up, and I hastily decided that I would rather tumble out onto the ground rather than be lofted blind into another maelstrom.  I landed painfully on my palms and knees, then I tucked my limbs in trying to guard my head and my balls.

I was still trying to identify the spongy material covering the ground when there was a dull roar, as if the sky itself was sighing in satisfaction.  I looked up, and what I saw somehow made my chest feel even colder.

A giant Olivia loomed over me.  She was huge, easily over 40 meters tall.  She was holding in one enormous hand all the tent-like material I had been caught in and which I now identified as equally giant versions of the clothes I had worn to work that day.  My immense shoes lay on their side nearby, next to Olivia’s building-sized desk.  At that point, my mind began to accept that Olivia had not become gigantic but rather that I had become tiny.

It’s just a dream, I thought as Olivia reached down with her colossal hand and wrapped her log-sized fingers around my trembling naked body.  Her skin was intensely warm, and even though I was terrified of her I clung to her hand as she lifted me up and carried me to the shelf.  I clung even harder when it became apparent that my destination was a spherical glass bowl too small to house commensurately-sized goldfish.  It was for naught, as her giant hand easily shucked my helpless frame into the cold, hard prison.

I lay on my side, rubbing my shoulders as I watched the gargantuan Olivia gather my absurdly large clothes and deposit them in the cabinet below the shelf holding my glass cell.  I shut my eyes and repeated “it’s just a dream” until the bowl lurched and I shouted in shock and tried to prevent myself from rolling as the immense Olivia picked up the bowl and carried it to her desk.

I goggled at the splayed fingers of her giant hands just underneath me as they held the bowl and set it down on the plain of her desk.  No longer being jostled, I pushed up from the glass floor and tried to make out the closed office door, impossibly far away.  I had been dreading Olivia’s godlike voice, but I didn’t realize how scared I was until she spoke and I nearly voided my bowels right in the center of the fishbowl.

“Get up, little Tyler,” her voice thundered in the bowl like a cosmic reckoning.

Shakily I stood up and, holding both hands in front of my privates, I turned to face my titanic captor.

Even if I had not been imprisoned in the bowl, Olivia’s monumental regard would have held me immobile.  Her thick dreadlocks now formed a lush forest that swayed with each turn of her mighty head.  Her dark, full lips stretched over her powerful teeth in an imperious smile.  Her haughty cheekbones rose over me like the prow of an implacable ship.  Her python-sized eyebrows arched mischievously at me.  Most possessing were her dark brown eyes, like bottomless pools of twilight.

“This can’t be happening,” I whispered.

“Welcome to your new life, little Tyler,” she boomed, causing my knees to buckle.  “You are mine.  Do you understand?”

I understood almost nothing, but I instinctively nodded.

“I will take you whenever I want, for whatever I want,” she continued.  “It is time for your first task.”

She reached her tree-sized arm into the bowl.  Even though I had mentally surrendered to Olivia’s terrible beauty and size, something in my limbic system recoiled from the monstrous hand descending toward me and I scurried around the perimeter of the bowl, the tiny circumference underlining how pathetic my flight was.  She quickly gathered me up into her irresistible grasp and raised me to her bemused face.

As Olivia chuckled at my plight, I got my first close look at her perilous mouth.  She could decapitate me or crush me into paste with a single bite, or just swallow me whole.  She can’t eat me, I thought desperately, then I wouldn’t be able to do anything for her.  Unless she had the power to bring me back afterwards. . .

“I have a lot of work to do,” she rumbled as I hung helpless in her fist.  “I require constant stimulation, which you, little Tyler, will provide.”

She started lowering her hand, and I looked down to see that she had hiked her skirt up to reveal her strong, brown legs, each longer than an 18-wheeler.  She effortlessly spread her immense thighs to further expose her underwear, a deep purple triangle of doom.  With her other hand, she pulled back the waistband to reveal her giant pussy, covered in a tangle of dark curly hairs.

I would like to say that I regarded the impending encounter with nothing but the deepest horror, and indeed I remained as terrified as I was when I first looked up from the floor at the giantess Olivia.  But clinging to her huge hand, her warm fingers wrapped around my naked skin, I had to admit the oncoming sight of her garage-sized pussy evoked both wonder and, yes, desire.

She again easily dumped me out of her hand into her open panties.  I landed on my ass on the purple silk and scrambled to find my footing so I could look up and address the huge Olivia for the first time.

“What am I supposed to do?” I shouted.

My giant supervisor gazed down over the rise of her C-cup breasts and past the rolls of her skirt bunched on her abdomen at me struggling in her underwear.  Her expression held expectation, amusement, and absolutely no pity.

“I’m told you are extremely resourceful, little Tyler,” she said.  “Here’s your chance to prove it.”  She let go of the waistband, trapping me against her snatch.

The smells were intense and inescapable, but they did not differ much from the scents of any of the other women who have wanted my face in their crotches.  There was, however, something about the saltier flavors that suggested a primordial sea, almost as old as the earth itself, that held both more peril and more opportunity.

I was confronted with the thicket of dense curly hair covering her eight-foot-tall vulva and extending beyond.  Her soft lips radiated more heat than her palm.  What am I supposed to do with this? I thought.  She didn’t expect me to crawl inside, did she?

I yelped in surprise as something, almost certainly Olivia’s giant fingers, slammed into my back through the purple fabric and shoved me halfway between her pliant outer lips.  Okay, I thought, reaching in and up, here’s hoping she’s not an “innie.”

Her thick curls scratched my naked skin as I shouldered my way inside her outer lips, which closed about me like a fleshy sleeping bag.  Olivia’s enormous clitoris hung over me like a large rubbery papaya, and when touching it I could feel her pulse.  I could fit both my spread hands around its base, and I when I grasped it a low “Mmmm” filtered down to me through Olivia’s diaphragm.

For a while I just jacked her clit off like it was the shaft of a giant dick.  Then my fingers started to cramp up, so I switched to rolling my palms, like I was trying to kindle a fire by rubbing a log.  Eventually all I could manage was to slowly knead her clit as it throbbed and stiffened in my hands.  I had no idea if I was performing as expected, but I wasn’t menaced again by Olivia’s giant fingers.

Meanwhile, the slick curtains of her inner lips were constantly brushing against my naked chest, thighs, and cock.  Throughout the ordeal the scent and sensation would start to get a rise out of me, until I thought about the deep cave beyond and cringed.

I don’t know how long Olivia kept me in her underwear “stimulating” her, but it didn’t take long before I was drenched in my own sweat.  Her own smells and wetness did not increase much, but her whole pelvis twitched suddenly on a couple of occasions.  My labors continued uninterrupted, held securely as I was in my labial cocoon.

I was soaked, exhausted, and overheated by the time Olivia’s giant fingers pulled the waistband back and fished me out of her crotch.  I grunted in shock at the sudden cool air.  My limbs turned to rubber as I lay back between her thumb and forefinger.  Trembling, I could not meet her dominating gaze.

“You did a good job, little Tyler,” she purred, louder in my ears than a pride of lions.  “Look, the brief is all done!”

She held me towards her monitor, which indeed appeared to display a 25-page brief, complete with citations.  I didn’t care; I just wanted out of this nightmare.

“I can see I made the right choice with you, little Tyler,” she thundered, pulling her skirt back over her legs.  With her other hand she grabbed the glass bowl and turned to return it to the shelf.  Then she leaned forward in her chair to place me on the floor next to the cabinet.  She sat back up, leaving me to face her truck-sized feet and her merciless pumps.

Just don’t stand up, I thought.  She had so thoroughly destroyed my self-image as an independent person that if I had to tilt my head back and take in all 120 subjective feet of her full height, I was sure I would faint.  Why wouldn’t she then stomp on my helpless form?  Looking at her formidable heels, I had no answer.

Instead, she leaned forward and looked down at me with a matter-of-fact expression.  “I’ll need all the case law cited in the brief to prep for the hearing by the end of the day tomorrow,” she boomed.  Smiling, she spoke another alien word:  “Kahp-hasheena.”

Pain exploded in my chest, and my vision blurred into fog.  Then the pain subsided to a dull ache, and I looked down to see my bare feet on the carpet, and they were as big as Olivia’s.

Olivia turned back to her desk, and it might have been a half-minute before I fully grasped that I had been restored to my normal size.  I was also still naked.

I yanked open the cabinet and found my clothes where Olivia had put them.  I hastily dressed, terrified that Zorah or someone else would walk in and find me in an indelicate position.  After I had everything on and tied my shoes, I started towards the door.

“You will have that case law ready by tomorrow, right, Tyler?” Olivia’s voice couldn’t have been more innocent.  I hesitated in my stride but didn’t turn to look at her.

“Uh, sure,” I said, then quickly opened the door and peered out of her office.  Mercifully, no one was around to witness my shameful exit.

When I got back to my desk, I noted that 90 minutes had elapsed since the time I had been called up to Olivia’s office.  I tried one last time to convince myself the entire encounter had been a dream, but I failed miserably.  The sensations had been too vivid.  I tried to push the memories away by throwing myself into my work, but I couldn’t escape the smell of Olivia’s pussy, which clung to my hands and chest and even in my hair.  Could everyone smell this? I worried wretchedly.  Worse, it was giving me a raging hard-on.

Finally, there was nothing for it but to slip out to the eleventh floor men’s room and take care of business.  I hurried down the stairs and through the fire door and almost ran straight into Erin.  She was wearing her three-inch heels, which put my eye-line right at her chin.

“Whoa,” she said, looking down at me with a grin.  “Where’s the fire?”

In my pants, I thought miserably.  “Sorry,” I said, looking up at her and trying to determine if she smelled anything.  I tried to pretend I had an urgent errand as I strode off in the direction of the file room then took the detour to the single-occupancy restroom.

I bolted the door and fervently pulled out my cock and started jerking it.  I still had plenty of lubrication from my time in Olivia’s crotch.  I started, as I often do, imagining Yvonne on all fours, presenting me with her rosy rump.  She looked over her shoulder at me and told me all the dirty things she wanted me to do to her.

In my mind’s eye I reached out to grab Yvonne’s ass, but she faded away and was replaced by Erin, who looked down with her soft brown eyes and began to slowly disrobe.  With each item of clothing she removed, she seemed to grow taller.  When she was at last completely nude, she was over twenty feet tall.  She bent down and said in a voice that caused my guts to quiver, “You’re all mine now, little Tyler.”

I came so hard I sprayed the wall; I missed the toilet completely.

I showered and slept and showered again before I returned to work the next day, but I had given up on trying to deny what had happened.  I wasn’t ready to talk about it, however.

After lunch Yvonne came into my office and closed the door, then sat down.

“Did you meet with Olivia yesterday?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“How’d it go?”

“Fine.  She just needs me to look up some case law.”

“Zorah is going around saying to went into Olivia’s office and never came out.  She’s saying Olivia must have sent you somewhere.”

I exhaled sharply, summoning all my disdain for Zorah.  “She’s crazy,” I said.  “I was in there for less than five minutes.”

“She says she saw you go in and you hadn’t come out when she went in there half an hour later.”

I tried not to show the horror I felt at the thought that Zorah had been that close by when I was tiny and servicing Olivia.

“She’s either an idiot or a liar,” I said.  “She was probably peeing when I came out.”

Yvonne didn’t say anything and just examined my face for a moment.  “Okay,” she said finally.  “I just got worried, is all.”

“Thanks,” I said quite sincerely, “but I’m alright.”

She gave me a tight smile, then got up and returned to her office.  She hadn’t been gone for two minutes before she called me on the phone.

“Are you doing anything after work?” she asked.

I was totally unprepared for this question.  “Uh, no,” I blurted.

“Meet me at Six Bells, then,” she said, and hung up.

Whatever sense of balance I might have hoped to keep was lost.  Not only did Yvonne never participate in office Happy Hour gatherings, she always went home an hour earlier than anyone else.  I had never heard of her staying late for any reason.

I busted my ass to get Olivia’s case law done on time, and I just routed it upstairs so I wouldn’t have to visit her office again.  Then I grabbed my bag and coat and headed out.

McNalley’s was the usual watering hole for people at the firm, but it was in the opposite direction as Six Bells, which was dead when I got there.  Yvonne had taken a booth in the corner, and she already had a beer that she had barely touched.  A single waitress was perched up at the bar, but no other souls were in evidence.

I sat down across from Yvonne and obtained a beer of my own.  Yvonne looked rather out of place in the gloomy pub.

“What gives?” I said.  “I thought you always had to catch your train.”

“There are other trains,” she replied, taking a large sip of beer.

“So who does that bitch Zorah think she is, anyway?” I sallied.

“An attention whore,” said Yvonne.  “Probably the other kind, too.”  I think Yvonne knew I liked it when she got all judgy.  I had some beer, overpriced but drinkable.

“How’d you know about this place?” I asked.

“I used to come here all the time after work,” she said quietly.

“But not anymore.”

Yvonne looked into her glass for a moment, then back at me.

“Remember Bill Mathers?” she asked.

“Sure.  Retired a couple of years ago.”

“I had a case with him once.  The trial was back in New York, and I worked like a dog to get him ready.  The week before he left, he told me that I would need to be at the office by 6:00 am every day in case he needed something.  I thought he was joking.”  A haunted look came over her face.  “I told him that I partied too late to be in by six in the morning,” she continued.  “That night at 8:30 I became instantly drowsy.  I collapsed on my living room couch and went right to sleep.  It happened again the next night.  And the night after that.  The first day of the trial, I showed up at work at 6:00 am.  Bill didn’t call for anything that day, but I kept coming in early.  I think once he needed a clearer copy of something he already had, but that was it.”

She paused to finish her beer before continuing.  “After the trial ended, I thought I would be able to stay up late again, but nope, still out like a light at 8:30.  Then Bill retired, and I thought it might end then, but no.  So I got my hours officially changed, and that’s why I leave early every day.”

I just stared at her for a minute.  Finally all I could say was, “Shit.”

“Yep,” she said.  “Shit.”

“These fuckin’ people,” I said, looking up at the ceiling.  I glanced down to see Yvonne looking at me, and I could tell she knew I had lied about my encounter with Olivia.  I had some more beer.

“Olivia,” I began, “actually...”

“Olivia what?” she asked gently.

“She did a number on me yesterday.”

“So Zorah was telling the truth?”

“Zorah has her head up her ass,” I said, “but I didn’t get out of that office for over an hour.”

“What did Olivia do to you?  Where did you go?”

“She, um, made me, um, small.”  It sounded so ridiculous.

“What do you mean, she made you small?”

“Just that.  She shrunk me.”

“How?”

“How did Mathers put you on Eastern Standard Time?  Magic; I don’t know.”

Yvonne just stared at me as I had stared at her.  I took a big gulp of beer.

“Like, how small?” she asked finally.

“I. . . I don’t know.  She didn’t get out a ruler.  Probably three or four inches tall.”

“Three inches tall?”

“I got better.”  Yvonne didn’t even smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said, growing visibly angry.  “You’re fucking with me.  I don’t know why I did this.”  She started to collect her purse and coat.

“I’m not fucking with you,” I said, momentarily raising my voice.  “Please stay.  She said a word and I was tiny and afterward she said a different word and I was big again.”

Yvonne gave me a wary look but sat back down.

“After what?” she asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“You said, afterward she said a word and made you big.  After what?”

“She, um, you know that glass bowl on her shelf, sort of like a small fish bowl?  She put me in there.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, she put her face next to the bowl so it looked even bigger, and then she. . .” I trailed off, shifting uncomfortably on the booth bench.

“Then she what?”

“She told me that she could do anything she wanted to me and I couldn’t do anything about it.  She told me how powerless I was, that a single one of her fingers was stronger than me.”

“What’s the point of that?”

“I don’t know, to demonstrate her control over me.”

“But why?”

“I guess she gets off on it.  You know these people.”  I had been displaying signs of increasing discomfort, and I slumped defeatedly back against the booth.

Yvonne’s expression slowly shifted from impatient bafflement to appalled concern.

“Is that where you were when Zorah went in there?” she asked.  I tried to retain the momentum of my revised version of events.

“Yeah,” I said.  “She just dropped some files off on Olivia’s desk and left.  It’s relatively dark on that shelf, and I froze as soon as the door opened, so she didn’t see me.  That would have been even worse.”  There was nothing contrived about my shudder.

Yvonne nodded.  “Well, at least it’s over now,” she said.

I wanted to take comfort from this, but I knew it wasn’t over.  At that point I was just relieved to have satisfied Yvonne’s curiosity without having to go into the really degrading parts.

“Thanks for listening,” I said.  “I didn’t think I would ever be able to talk about this.”

“It’s that damned office,” she said.  “It’s us against them.”

“But which side is Zorah on?”

“Not ours, that’s for sure.”

Yvonne had already stayed downtown for later than she had intended, and she let me pay for the beers.  On my way home, I tried to savor the relief that I knew would be short-lived.

Olivia sent for me the first thing next morning.  I dared not look Zorah in the eyes, so I pretended my errand was so urgent I had no time for niceties.

The first thing I noticed after entering Olivia’s office was that she was wearing the most low-cut blouse I had ever seen on her.  Her brown slopes were so visible that I could discern her breasts’ outer curvature.  To top it off, her locks were all bound up above her head, further exposing her plunging neckline.

As I approached Olivia’s desk I kept my eyes locked on hers.  “What can I do for you?” I asked.

“I’m deposing Peter Dillon this afternoon,” she replied, “and I need your help to prepare.”

I couldn’t believe she was going to a deposition dressed like that, but of course I didn’t say so.  Sitting down and readying my notepad, I asked, “What do you need?”

“Just you,” she said, rising.  “Inshil-hatam.”

My stomach sank before the rest of me, and the whiff of rotten egg was lost in my growing shirt billowing around me.  My pants slipped off my hips and fell to the floor, leaving me on the seat of the chair buried under my shirt.

I can’t do this again, I thought in a panic.  Scrambling naked, I pulled on the tent of my former shirt, trying to escape.  At last I exposed the edge of the seat, and I was still trying to decide how best to reach the floor when Olivia enclosed me in her giant fist.  I was pressed against her warm palm, one armed pinned above my head, my feet poking out into the cool breeze as she raised me up.

Vertigo hit me as her palm and most of her fingers lifted away, with only her thumb and forefinger holding me under my armpits.  I dangled naked facing once again her remorseless mouth and pitiless gaze.

“Now, now, little Tyler,” she rumbled with only the coldest smile, “I thought we had settled this.  I can take you whenever I want, and I want you now.”

I was helpless as she lowered me facing her chest and throat and slipped me between her massive breasts.  My arms were spread across her warm skin, and I could feel her pulse through my hands like the thrum of a turbine deep within a hydro-electric dam.  I tilted my head back to look up at Olivia, whose smile had warmed at my predicament.

“Dillon is a minor witness, so this shouldn’t take very long,” she boomed, her words propagating through her chest and vibrating in my legs.  “When I depose the plaintiff, I’ll take you with me.”

The world dropped and spun as Olivia bent over to collect my clothes and notepad.  With one arm draped over each of her car-sized boobs, I hugged myself to her through all the gyrations.  After she had stored my clothes again and returned to her chair, I pulled my strained arms to my sides and sunk lower between the walls of her boobflesh.  Finally at rest in that warm crush, my cock began to stiffen.

Olivia glanced down at me between her boobs like a seductive Sphinx eyeing a pilgrim between its paws.  “It’s very important, little Tyler,” she said, “that you don’t touch little little Tyler.  I need him to stay strong all morning.  Do you understand?”

I nodded, my tiny head bobbing between her round tits.  The scent of apricots rose from her skin, probably her body wash.  I started to imagine the titanic Olivia in the shower, rivers of water cascading off her curves, her powerful torso and limbs bending as she applied the liquid soap.  Even worse:  a lake of a bathtub, with Olivia’s soapy tits as the warm shore welcoming the shipwrecked sailor.  My hand drifted down and had almost completed its migration to my dick when Olivia cleared her mighty throat, and I jerked my arm back in terror.

She didn’t move much as she flipped through documents and consulted her computer, but the least adjustment of her arms or torso caused Olivia’s boobs to sway, gently rocking me in that tide of flesh.  The warmth of her skin, the richness of her fragrance, and the cadence of her heartbeat all threatened to put me to sleep, but the insistence of my boner kept me on edge.  I had never taken Viagra, but there was something unnatural about the speed and constancy of my erection.  Even if I had not been forbidden to do so, I wasn’t sure I could have released myself had I tried.

The final evidence of my hard-on’s artifice came when Zorah walked in.  She must have knocked, but I didn’t hear her until she opened the door.  She quickly approached the desk while I scrambled to submerge myself completely between Olivia’s boobs.  I straightened my legs and pointed them downwards while I reached my arms under as much tit as I could and pushed up.  Just as Olivia’s pliant flesh slid over my face, I looked up to see Zorah, her mouth hanging open, her eyes locked on mine.

Please don’t let her realize what she saw, I prayed, entombed in Olivia’s rack.  I didn’t completely lack for air, but it very quickly became stifling and hot.  More distressingly, my erection persisted, despite my visceral fear of discovery by Zorah.  Surely, I thought, that prospect ought to have killed any boner not maintained by supernatural forces.

Sweat, either mine or Olivia’s or both, started to run into my eyes, and it became harder to get enough air.  When at last I could no longer bear it, I reached up and pushed the giant boobs apart slightly, admitting a rush of cool air.  My perspective was very limited, but I could no longer see or hear Zorah.

I tentatively swam upwards and poked my head farther out of Olivia’s cleavage.  When I had more clearly determined that Zorah was no longer present, I looked up at Olivia’s face.  Her huge head tilted down just long enough for her to shoot me a smirk that showed just how utterly she possessed me.

I lay there, caught between drowsy arousal and hyper-alert tension, while perspiration accumulated on my naked skin.  Even with my hands kept at my sides, the waves of slick boobflesh colliding with my cock threatened to put me over the edge.

Before I lost all control, however, Olivia closed her deposition notebook and looked down at me.  “Well, little Tyler,” she rumbled, “I think I have everything I need.”

She reached up and drew me out of her rack with her log-sized fingers.  I gasped at the cold shock as she rapidly lowered my shivering frame to the floor near her immense feet.  She stood me on the carpet, but as her giant hand lifted away, my legs collapsed and I sank to my knees.

As she leaned forward in her chair, I raised an arm in a futile gesture of restraint, but she nevertheless spoke the word:  “Kahp-hasheena.”

My torso was again wracked by pain, and I shut my eyes until I felt my vision return.  I had returned to full size, but my arm was still raised to ward off a giant Olivia.  I quickly hunched down behind Olivia’s desk and retrieved my clothes.  I kept a nervous eye on the door as I pulled my clothes over my sweat-covered body.  Lying on the floor, I wrestled my legs into my pants.  All the while, Olivia had turned her back to me like I was the janitor emptying the garbage.

Finally, I recomposed myself and stood up.  No one else was there, and I was free to leave as if nothing had happened.  Then I remembered my raging boner, trying to poke through my pants.  I collected my notepad and held it low as I opened the door and peeked out.  I didn’t see Zorah, so I scurried to the stairs.

I didn’t even make it back to my office before I had to duck down to the eleventh-floor men’s again.  My aching cock was still slick with sweat when I jerked my pants down in the stall.  As I pumped my shaft, I tried to envision Yvonne, Erin, Salma Hayek, but thoughts of Olivia kept crowding them out.

In my mind, I was tiny again.  Olivia held me before her hungry face, then opened her cavernous mouth.  My whole body felt electrified, as if all my skin were as sensitive as my cock.  As her giant, plush lips slid over my face and around my shoulders and torso, I recalled a hundredfold the sensations of the blow job she gave me the first night I worked late for her.  In the men’s room, I milked my load into the toilet, but in my mind I vomited a gallon of cum out of my mouth and down Olivia’s dark gullet.  Her imaginary moans underscored my grunts as I relieved my poor balls of their backwashed jism.

I almost didn’t go into work the next day.  I stayed up most of the night trying to figure out how I could escape the firm and Olivia.  I kept coming back to the fact that I didn’t know anyone who had managed to successfully quit and returned to a normal life.  Paralyzed by despair, I drifted in to work out of sheer habit.

That afternoon, Yvonne stepped into my office and closed the door.

“Olivia did it again, didn’t she?” she asked.

The chill bit my chest again.  “How did you know?” I asked, dreading the only possible answer.

“Zorah says she saw you when you were, you know.”

My blood froze.  I needed to know what Zorah was telling people.  “Is that all she said?” I asked.  “That I was tiny?”

“I don’t think she’s entirely sure what she saw,” replied Yvonne.  “But she did, didn’t she?”

“I tried to hide,” I said, terrified of telling Yvonne much more than she already knew.

“She didn’t talk to me,” said Yvonne, “but apparently she told Janie.  Janie just said that Zorah saw you go into Olivia’s office, and when she went in there she saw something tiny moving around, and since you hadn’t come out, she thinks it was you.”

Nothing about me being trapped between Olivia’s boobs, then.  Either Zorah had kept that little detail to herself, or Janie had kept it from Yvonne.  Not really reassuring either way.  I put my face in my hands.

“What am I gonna do?” I wailed.  “She said she’s gonna take me with her when she deposes Torres.  He lives on the other side of the state.  That’s at least an overnight trip.”

Yvonne looked at me with a mixture of compassion and confusion.  “I still don’t get why she’s doing this,” she said.  “Did you screw something up?”

“No,” I protested.  “She’s always said she likes my work.”

“Maybe you. . . offended her somehow.”

Yvonne and I had had shared plenty of dirty thoughts, and I had scoped her out both when she had known I was looking and when she hadn’t.  Had she guessed that I had been pervving on Olivia and had been caught?

“If I did,” I ventured, “she hasn’t told me how.”

Yvonne didn’t look very satisfied with this answer.

“She must be doing it for some reason besides just humiliating you,” she said.  “There’s gotta be some benefit to her.”

“I think she might be draining my energy somehow,” I said, not sure how best to contain this line of inquiry.

“Do you feel tired afterwards?”

“Sort of, yeah,” I lied.  “She did say that I was helping her prepare for the deposition.”

“Really?  That’s weird.  When the transcript comes back we should look to see if she got any particularly juicy testimony out of him.”

That made a remarkable amount of sense.  I began to think of Yvonne as a viable ally in this nightmare.

“So you said she said a special word to make you small?” continued Yvonne.

“Yeah.  I have no idea what language it’s from.”

“What was the word?”

“Inshil-hatam.”

“Inchilhadam?”

“No, it’s ‘in-shil’ then ‘hatam,’ like in Arabic or something when they hock some spit on the ‘h.’”

“Inshil-hatam,” said Yvonne.

I felt the chill before I smelled the sulphur.  I saw Yvonne’s eyes bug out just as I became lost in the tent of my shirt.

“Jesus!” I heard her exclaim.

Panic returned as I fell through my clothes to the seat of my chair.  Naked and helpless, I cowered under my giant shirt, conditioned to expect imminent degradation.  Then the sky spoke.

“Tyler?” thundered Yvonne through the sheets, louder than she had ever been.

I froze, absurdly conflicted as to whether I wanted to be found by Yvonne.  She really was the only person who could help me in the current circumstances.  I was nevertheless in a very embarrassing position, and I wasn’t sure I could trust her.

A shadow fell over my shirt , and a corner of the white cotton started to lift away.

“Tyler,” hissed Yvonne, “where are you?”

Fearing that she might inadvertently knock me to the floor, I ran to the opening she had created and started waving.  I ducked a falling sleeve as she removed my shirt entirely, then I tilted my head back to look up at Yvonne.

She had come around my desk and bent over my chair, peering down at me in amazement.  Her brown bangs fell forward to frame her wide eyes, eyes that promised both deliverance and desire.  She held one of her arms across her chest and the other was tucked under her chin.  One of her giant hands started towards me, but I reflexively flinched and she drew it back.

Yvonne then began to kneel down beside my chair to bring her face closer to me.  As she reached out to the side with her arms for balance, my eyes fell to her giant breasts.  They weren’t as big as Olivia’s, but they were still fetching and, at my current scale, intimidating.

I don’t know whether Yvonne could discern the shift in my tiny gaze, but she raised an eyebrow and whispered, “You never said she made you tiny and naked.”

I had become so accustomed to getting a boner when Olivia shrunk me that it wasn’t until a hint of a smile appeared on Yvonne’s giant face that I thought to cover my crotch with my hands.

“You have to say the other word to make me big!” I shouted.

Yvonne shook her head.  “I can’t hear you like this,” she rumbled.

I raised one arm and gestured for her to lower her ear towards me.  Instead, she pursed her lips and brought her hand up around me.  She was quick, and when I involuntarily raised my arms to fend her off, the only result was that my arms were outside her fist when her huge warm fingers curled around my torso and legs.  At least one of her pillow-sized fingertips brushed my stiffy.

Yvonne raised me to her face, and I gazed into her soft brown eyes, desperate to determine her intentions.  Her rapid breathing showed clear alarm at the dark magic she had triggered, and the gentle (if sudden) embrace of her fingers signaled concern for my safety.  But there was a brief twitch of her lips that hinted at other appetites.

“You have to say the word to make me big!” I insisted.

“What’s the word?” she asked, her voice like a warm ocean breeze that makes a beach stroll difficult.

“Kahp-hasheena!” I shouted.

Yvonne furrowed her giant eyebrows at me.  “Cappuccino?” she boomed.

Impatiently, I waved her closer.  She raised me to her ear, and I felt the warmth radiating from her neck and smelled the sweet fragrance of her hair.  The tendons in her mighty jaw flexed nervously, and I could see her powerful throat muscles move when she swallowed.

I cupped my hands in front of my mouth and shouted again:  “Kahp-hasheena!”

With the mouth that I had often fantasized about and which could now consume me in a single gulp, Yvonne said the word:  “Kahp-hasheena.”

Pain stabbed me and through the fog I heard Yvonne yell “Fuck!” as I returned to full size in her fist.  I thudded to the floor next to my chair, and by the time my vision returned Yvonne had retreated to the other side of the office near the door, rubbing the hand that had held me.

I sat up and started gathering my clothes.  Yvonne tried to calm herself down with deep breathing, but she kept looking at me as if I might sprout horns at any second.  For all I knew, I had.

When I was about to stand up to put on my pants, she said, “I’ll watch the door,” and stepped outside my office.

It was the third time in a week that I had to hurriedly dress at work, and I felt so defeated that I started to consider changing my wardrobe to allow me to dress more quickly.  Definitely slip-on shoes and fewer buttons, I thought.

When I was again presentable, I opened my door to find Yvonne chatting with Sondra, someone she ordinarily scorned.  I rather doubt Sondra had been coming to my office, but Yvonne must have decided that a hallway chat would give her a plausible reason to camp out in front of my door.  The look she shot me indicated that she had already exhausted her meager supply of small talk.

I smiled and nodded at both women and headed to the nearby, less private men’s room.  I took a stall and sat down to sort out my head.  I still had the remnants of a boner from when Yvonne had held me before her beguilingly gigantic face, but it was ebbing naturally and my erotic imagination was my own.

It started as a ball of ice in my gut, and then the full implications of the afternoon’s events quickly washed over me in a prickly wave.  Anyone could do this to me.  It wouldn’t be enough just to get away from Olivia.  Anyone could make me insignificant and helpless.  Anyone at all.

I spun around and threw up until there was nothing left in my stomach but a dull chill.

When I got back to my office, Yvonne was no longer loitering outside, but there was a curt email from her:  “Six Bells.  5pm.  Mandatory.”

She was waiting for me in the same booth.  The waitress was nowhere to be seen.  Yvonne had an untouched drink in front of her, three fingers of an amber liquid.  After I sat down, she slid the glass across the table to me.  I didn’t have to smell it to know it was the Irish that she knew I liked.

She looked at me patiently while I took my first, long gulp.  Then she reached across the booth and took my hand in hers.

“Normally,” she began, “I’m supposed to give you the time to ‘find a safe space’ where you can talk about this, but this isn’t a normal situation and we don’t have that kind of time.  If you want my help with this—and believe me, you do—then you need to tell me everything that Olivia did to you.”

I did want her help.  But the shame was like a flood that I was barely holding back.  Not just what Olivia had done to me but also how I felt, both before and after.  I thought that if I opened myself to her even the slightest bit, I would lose it completely.

But I kept looking into her warm brown eyes, and even though I could feel the tears starting down my face, her concern and determination never wavered, never devolved into pity.  We faced each other as colleagues across the booth, but I submitted to her protection just as readily as when she had held me naked in her fist.

I told her almost everything.

I told her all the things that Olivia did and said when I was tiny, where she put me, what she made me do.  I told her about the unnatural erections and how I thought Olivia was somehow using my arousal for her magic.  The whiskey helped a lot.

Notably, I omitted any reference to the night I let Olivia give me a blow job, despite my clear misgivings that it was that very encounter that had made me vulnerable to the arcane words of transformation.

To her credit, Yvonne received my story with neither skepticism nor cheap disgust.  She just drew it out of me with an uncharacteristic lack of judgment.

At one point, after I had paused to blow my nose, I said, “You’re remarkably good at this.”

“Lots of practice,” she replied.  “I’ve done this about a half-dozen times.”

“With who?” I was baffled.

“My sister was the first, and the hardest.  Then my college roommate, my cousin, the girl in the apartment across the hall.”

“All these people told you they had been shrunk?” I was beginning to get angry, thinking she was making fun of me.

“No, they all told me they had been raped.”

The word felt like a dash of cold water to my face.  I was reflexively indignant in my response.

“I wasn’t raped,” I protested.

She gave me a tight smile and squeezed my hand.  “That’s a very common reaction,” she said, “but you can’t make excuses for her.”

“I was aroused the whole time,” I said.  “I had to jerk off afterwards.”

“It doesn’t matter.  Lots of rape victims experience arousal, even orgasms.   It doesn’t change what she did.”

My expression must have betrayed my conflicted reaction, because she pressed on.

“It doesn’t matter if you got a boner or if you came.  It doesn’t matter if you like to be dominated in bed.”  Where did that come from?  I tried to interrupt, but she continued her recital.  “It doesn’t matter if you found her attractive or even if you had consensual sex with her before.”  I kept my eyes on hers and hoped I didn’t give anything away.  “What does matter is that she forced you to have sex without your consent.  You didn’t consent, did you?”

“No!” I hoped my reply was sufficiently quick and genuine.

“Then she raped you, period.  I know it’s a hard truth to accept, but you can’t start healing until you do.”

I looked down at my glass and slowly exhaled.  My eyes itched and my throat was sore.  Another tear rolled down my face and I squeezed her hand.

“Yvonne,” I said, “it means everything to me that I am able to talk to you about this.  You’re a much better friend than I deserve.  No, let me finish.  You’re the only thing keeping me from going insane.”  I drained my glass and kept going.  “But I’m pretty sure I won’t start ‘healing’ until I can get away from Olivia.”

Yvonne slowly nodded, while I switched to drinking water.  We both knew it was hopeless to try to leave the firm, and neither of us saw much point in belaboring the fact.  She never made to get up, but I knew her day was almost over so I thanked her again and went home to uneasy dreams.

* * *

The rest of the week passed without major incident, just a sense of accumulating dread.  Yvonne checked in with me every morning, but we mostly avoided the topic that neither of us had anything helpful to say about.  I even resumed our pointless flirting, and she kindly held up her end.  My contact with Olivia was mostly restricted to email, and I successfully avoided Zorah.

Until Friday.  Olivia summoned me to her office around 3pm.  I immediately went to see Yvonne, who was scheduled to go home in less than an hour.  My face told the story before I could get the words out.

“Olivia just called me upstairs,” I said with a dry throat.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” she said.

“It could be hours,” I said warily.  “Go on home.”

She tilted her head admonishingly.  “If you didn’t want me to stay, why did you come in here?”

To protect me, I thought.  To kill the witch and make it all better.

“I don’t know,” I said feebly.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll email you when it’s over.”  I turned to leave.

“Tyler,” she called.

I stopped.

“Remember who you are,” she said.

I smiled and nodded at this, but it wasn’t until I was in the elevator that I began to tear up.  I waited in the hallway until I had recomposed myself before proceeding.

My bravado almost collapsed when I saw Zorah at her desk and she threw me a predatory smirk.  I forced a jaunty smile on my face and went into Olivia’s office.

“The Torres dep has finally been set,” said Olivia as I sat down.  “Next Wednesday.  He’ll be in town on other business, and as a mercy opposing counsel has agreed to let us depose him here.”

At least I don’t have to travel with her, I thought.  It was pretty obvious how she might have planned to save on the per diem.

“I need the following items by the end of business on Monday,” she continued, listing several documents and exhibits.  When she had finished, she concluded with a perfunctory “That’s it.”

I hesitated a fraction of a second, then stood up quickly and made for the door.  “Sure thing,” I said.

As I left her office, I came upon Yvonne engaged in a subdued conversation with Zorah, which came to an abrupt halt when I appeared.  They both looked surprised to see me.  I gave them both a broad smile and continued back to the elevator.

Back on my floor, I lurked near Yvonne’s office.  She arrived shortly thereafter, having taken the next elevator car.

“She didn’t do anything, did she?” asked Yvonne hopefully.

“No,” I said.  “She just wanted some stuff for the plaintiff’s dep next week.”

Yvonne grimaced sympathetically and gripped my upper arm.

“At least it’s gonna be here,” I said.  “I don’t have to go anywhere with her.”

“Thank goodness,” she replied, nodding.

“What were you and Zorah on about?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, I made up some bullshit about how I needed some help with the database.”

“Why?”

Yvonne paused to give me a weary look.  “I didn’t want her to try to get another look at you while you were small,” she explained.

“Oh,” I said.  “Thanks.”  Yvonne’s smile started to lift the chill in my chest.  Then another suspicion washed over me.

“Do you think she knows what you were up to?” I asked.

“No,” she said, perhaps too quickly.  She headed into her office and started packing to leave.

I watched her stretch into her coat and heft her bag, and I wondered if she still loved her husband.  Would she save him from Zorah?  Probably.

“Have a good weekend,” I said, turning back toward my office.

“You too,” she called.

On Monday and Tuesday I spent as much time as I could in Yvonne’s company.  My flirting somehow became even more crass than usual.

“Did you get laid this weekend?” I asked her.

“Only technically,” she replied.

“Jeff still has lockjaw?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t,” I said, puffing myself up.  “I’d keep going until you came home.”

She smiled but she didn’t meet my eyes.

By Tuesday afternoon, I was a bundle of raw nerves.  When it was time for her to leave, Yvonne came into my office.

“Try to get some sleep,” she said.  “Don’t think about the dep.”

I started to realize the toll my distress was taking on Yvonne.  I stood up and tried to look cocky.

“It’ll be fine,” I said.  “Olivia will get him to admit under oath that he has no case and the dep will be over in an hour.”

She gave me an encouraging smile as she walked over to give me a hug, the first time she had ever done that.  I returned her embrace, hoping to keep the creepy uncle vibe to a minimum.

“See you in the morning,” she said as she left.

I needed two glasses of Jameson to get to sleep that night.

* * *

I got to work early on Wednesday.  I swung by Yvonne’s office first thing, but wasn’t there.  I checked my work email, but there was nothing from her.  No voicemails, either.  Finally, I called the front desk.

“Yvonne is out today, staying home with her sick daughter,” said the receptionist.

She’s her step-daughter, I thought, but I said nothing.  I got an email from Olivia, summoning me to her office immediately.  I went numb.

Zorah wasn’t at her desk when I arrived, but as I approached Olivia’s office Zorah appeared and followed behind me.  Olivia looked past my shoulder to address her.

“Is the conference room ready?” she asked.  I didn’t dare turn around.

“All set,” replied Zorah.

“Great,” said Olivia.  “Come on in, Tyler.”

I closed the door behind me as I shuffled into Olivia’s office.  She was wearing a relatively conservative jacket and skirt with a white silk blouse.  Her locks were bound up with a subdued blue cloth.  She wore no hose, and for shoes she had chosen designer pumps that complemented her hair wrap.  Standing in front of her desk, she looked me up and down.

“You’re looking very preppy today,” she said, no doubt referring to my pullover and loafers.  Before I could reply, she said, “Inshil-hatam.”

The heavy sweater billowed less than my button-down shirts and fell behind me as I shrunk.  It was my first time shrinking from a standing position, and my feet slipped out of my shoes as I contracted to a point atop the pile of my pants and underwear.

I got a good look at Olivia’s expensive shoes with three-inch heels as she walked over to me.  I stood there, paralyzed by resignation and dread, when I was snapped out of my trance by the sight of Olivia’s giant bright red panties hitting the floor right in front of me.  As an echo of my former existence, I remembered how sexy I first found Olivia, and I recognized that—even after all she had done to me—on some level I was still very attracted to her.  I still wasn’t sure if I wanted what was happening to happen, but for the moment I liked what I was seeing.

The surge of blood flowing to my cock was all-natural as I looked up and watched her brown redwood-sized legs splay out as she squatted and hiked up her skirt.  With an arm as long as a bus she reached down to claim me, her hand enclosing my body and pointing my feet towards her crotch.

“Remember, little Tyler; stay strong,” she said, looking down between her legs and as she nestled my tiny feet between her pussy lips.  Slowly she worked my ankles, thighs, and hips past her vulva and into her vagina.  Her irresistible thumb and forefinger pinned my arms to my sides as my tiny stiffy slid across the threshold, and her warmth flowed through my torso as more and more of my body was enveloped by her pussy.  When only my head and neck remained outside her inner lips, her fingers withdrew, leaving me facing upwards at her clit, my face brushing against her dark wiry pubic hair.

The wind was almost knocked out of me as she stood up and her abdominal muscles contracted about me.  My blood rushed to my head as I hung upside down in her crotch and she pulled her panties back up, blanketing my world in red silk.  Then her skirt came back down, leaving me in near-darkness.

I struggled to keep my bearings as Olivia walked, stopped, bent over, sat down, got back up, picked up items, and made her way to the conference room for the deposition.  At no time was I in danger of slipping out of her pussy and into the jostling crotch of her panties, but it was nevertheless a slippery ride.  I was light enough that she didn’t have to exert her muscles to keep her grip on me, but I was heavy enough that each shift in orientation resulted in friction along her sensitive membranes.  And along my cock.

The must of Olivia’s sex surrounded me, but she must have scented her lingerie that day because the tent of her panties brought the fragrance of honeysuckle into her tropical garden, and the mélange was surprisingly soothing.

Olivia’s pulse resonated in the tissues around me, echoing in my ears and bringing a flush to my skin.  My boner had proceeded at its own pace, but now it was as insistent as it had been during my previous shrunken encounters with Olivia.

She finally sat down and settled into the deposition, her titanic legs crossed, surrounding my head with thigh and heat and darkness.  As the examiner, Olivia was obliged to speak loudly for much of the deposition, but gradually her reverberating words started to seem distant compared to her heartbeat and the rush of her blood.  And mine.

As Olivia fell into the rhythm of question and answer, a new appreciation of my circumstances started to dawn on me.  While I was utterly imprisoned in Olivia’s crotch and would be totally at her mercy once she left the deposition, for the moment I seemed to be beyond her reach.  Even though I was so small that I would be easy prey for a petulant squirrel, the fact remained that my ripe and voluptuous boss had let me into her pussy.

My whole body was slick with sweat, and I suspect the act of shrinking me had somewhat aroused Olivia, because the membranes that embraced me brought their own secretions.  So I had plenty of lubrication available when I grabbed my aching cock and started pumping.

The reaction from Olivia was immediate.  Even through my masturbatory frenzy I heard her stumble through her next question.  Her pelvic muscles slammed into me, but as powerful as they were they couldn’t contract into a small enough volume as to prevent me from tugging my pud.  Her immense thighs rubbed together, but my head was too well-cushioned between her plump lips.

There was no need to fantasize; I was neck deep in Olivia’s wet hot sex.  My entire body was where my dick wanted to be, and for just under ninety seconds what my dick wanted was all that I wanted.  As I started to cum, Olivia must have leaned forward because the roof of her cunt pressed down on me even harder, but I was beyond the point of no return.  I shot my tiny load into her giant canal, but my jizz splashed back upon my chest and stomach, along with a tenfold fluid contribution from Olivia for which I flattered myself I was responsible.

Blood rushed to my head as Olivia stood up and began to walk, a few polite steps at first then accelerating to a steady stride.  Her heels echoed on a linoleum floor, a latch was slid home, her skirt came up and her panties came down.  I tilted my head back to gaze upon a porcelain pool of doom beneath me.

“I have half a mind, little Tyler,” she hissed, “to flush you down right now.”

I yelped as she abruptly sat on the toilet seat, and I dropped below the rim into semi-darkness.  I didn’t dare look up past her abdomen and breasts to see her face, but her giant fingers swooped down and pinched me about my chest and back.  I easily slipped out of her pussy, but she didn’t immediately drop me into the cold water below.  She instead continued to pinch me painfully between her thumb and forefinger, bringing me before her furious face.

“Consider yourself lucky, little Tyler,” she said.  “I don’t have to take you out for this.”  The cataract of her urine started echoing in the bowl.  I didn’t look down, but perhaps I should have, because the wrath in her eyes and the power in her terrible jaw were enough to make me lose control of my bowels.

Fortunately, my tiny turd fell between Olivia’s giant legs and joined her waste.  She gave a derisive sneer and deposited me atop the cold toilet paper dispenser with exaggerated disgust.  She left me there, shivering and soiled, while she wiped herself.  I cringed as she made as if she were going to grab me with the wet wad, then she chuckled at me as she pulled it back and dropped it in the bowl.

She leaned forward to retrieve her purse, which had been hanging from the coat hook on the back of the stall door.  She pulled out a packet of sanitary wipes and opened it.  With one hand she grabbed me and held me upside down, my legs flailing above her fist, and with the other she roughly dragged a wet wipe between my tiny ass cheeks.  After disposing of the wipe, she set me back on the metal shelf and took from her purse a roll of first aid tape.

“I guess this is how it’s going to have to be from now on, little Tyler,” she said with mild disappointment.  I flinched as she loudly unreeled a length of tape and tore it off.  She gave a cold smile as she grabbed me again and tightly wrapped the tape around my arms and torso, binding my hands to my sides.  Again pinching me about my chest and back, she lowered me between her legs and below the rim of the toilet, and then she let go.

“Whoops,” she snickered, catching me by my ankles at the last second.  She reached down with her other hand and held her lips open while she inserted me like a fresh tampon.  “See you later, little Tyler,” she said.  “I know you’ll do a good job in there.”

She left my head outside like before, but the rest of my body was held utterly immobile.  As thoroughly contrived sexual visions of Olivia danced before my mind’s eye, my cock started to swell with hydrological inevitability.  But this was no longer my fantasy, and my erection remained an implanted reflex.

Olivia stood up, raised her panties over my face, and brought her skirt back down.  As she returned to the deposition, I was troubled less by Olivia’s magical enthrallment of my cock than by the glimpse I had caught of the shoe and foot in the adjacent restroom stall, and the freckled ankle that was all-too-familiar.

The deposition took all day.  By the time Olivia returned to her office, my skin was wrinkled, my cock was numb, and I was thoroughly dehydrated.  When she at last reached under skirt and pulled me out, she was standing behind her desk.  She briskly squatted and let me roll out of her hand onto the carpet, then she sat down in her chair.

“Kahp-hasheena,” she said as she turned to her desk.

The blinding pain included the added sting this time of bursting through the tightly-wound first aid tape as I returned to full-size.  I stifled a groan as I pushed my bruised naked body up from the floor and reached into the nearby drawer to collect my clothes.  As anticipated, the sweater and loafers were easier to don quickly.  As I reached the door, Olivia warned me, “Don’t forget, Tyler:  you’re still mine.”

Once again I was spared having to encounter Zorah on my way out of Olivia’s office, although in truth I was probably too exhausted to have noticed her, and nothing she could have said would have made me feel any more degraded.

When I got home that night, I barely had time to make and eat a sandwich before I collapsed onto the couch.  In the morning, Olivia’s admonition weighed on me as I struggled to rise.  Only the hope that Yvonne might have returned to work sustained me through my routine.

Sure enough, I had barely arrived in my office and taken off my coat when Yvonne glided into view and looked at me with concern.

“Was it a short day?” she asked hopefully.

I smiled wanly, shook my head, and hugged her with genuine relief.  She returned my embrace without reservation.  I sat at my desk and she pulled up the other chair across from me.

“How was it?” she asked gently.

On my way to work I had rehearsed the story, deciding which parts to mention and how much detail to go into, but all my plots dissolved when I gazed into her kind face.

“Olivia, uh,” I began, “she shrank me again.  She put me inside her pussy this time.”

Yvonne’s eyes went wide.

“For the whole dep?” she asked, aghast.

“My head was outside so I could breathe,” I said.

“Still, that must have been awful.”

I nodded.  “Yeah, well, it was certainly strange.  Very hot, and she had me in a tight, um, grip.”

“I bet.”  Yvonne’s expression mixed pity and wonder.

“Most of the time it was pretty scary,” I offered.

“’Most of the time’?”

“Well,” I said, hesitating over each word, “I think I might have interrupted whatever magic she was doing.  At least temporarily.”

Yvonne tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.  “How?” she asked.

“You know how I think she, um, feeds off my, uh, sexual excitement?”

“Yes. . .” she said warily.

“Well, not too long after the dep started, I sort of. . . expended my excitement.”

Yvonne raised her eyebrows.  “What?”

“I, uh, jerked off.  No boner, no ju-ju.”  I gave a weak smile.

She looked at me, blinked, then took a deep breath and sat up straight.

“You’re telling me,” she began deliberately, “that you were lying there in her giant cunt, her big clit hanging over your face, and you decided to beat off until you came inside her?”

My smile froze on my face as I tried to gauge her expression.  Her tone and raised eyebrows indicated skepticism, but she was breathing just a bit faster than usual, and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.  Her lower lip twitched ever so slightly.

At last I tore my gaze from her inquisitive eyes and looked down at my desk.  I slumped forward onto my elbows.  “Jesus, I’m such a pig.”

She leaned forward and reached across my desk to grasp my hand.

“Look at me,” she said.  I raised my eyes to her strident face.  “She’s the witch who shrunk you and almost crushed you to death in her cunt,” she pronounced.  “Just because you managed to get off doesn’t change the fact that she’s evil.”

Relief welled up from my chest, shone out of my eyes, and rolled down my face.  I smiled broadly at Yvonne, who withdrew her hand and sat back, turning her head slightly and regarding me from a different angle.  Only a hint of a smile played at the corner of her mouth.

“So did it work?” she asked finally.

“What do you mean?”

“Did it break the spell or whatever?”

“Well, she was really pissed, so I guess so.”

“What did she do?”

“I suppose she called for a break in the dep, because the next thing I know we were in a stall in the women’s restroom.”

Yvonne’s breath picked up again as she listened with a fixed stare.

“She pulled me out and pretended she was going to drop me in the toilet and flush me,” I continued.

“Jesus,” said Yvonne.  “Did you think she was gonna do it?”

“Yeah, I almost shit myself.”

“Would’ve been the place for it,” she said with a guffaw.  “Then what happened?”

“She wrapped me in tape so I couldn’t play with myself again, then she stuck me back in.”

“For how long?”

“It couldn’t read a watch in there, but it was at least three hours.”

Yvonne just looked at me and shook her head.

“She didn’t even take the tape off before saying the word that made me big,” I said.  “It hurt like a sonofabitch when I grew back.”

“Ripping the tape off first might have hurt worse,” she ventured.

“You’re probably right.”

There was a brief pause as I decided that I had gone into as much detail as I felt necessary while Yvonne just digested everything I had told her.  I didn’t meet her gaze much, but when I did she was looking at me with compassion.

She got up and came around the desk to give me another hug.

“I’m sorry that happened,” she said, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

“Yeah, what happened with that?”

“Samantha had a 102° fever, there was nothing I could do.”

I must have failed to sufficiently suppress my skepticism because Yvonne drew back.

“Do you wanna see the receipt for the co-pay?” she bristled.

“No, I’m sorry,” I said, holding my palms up.  “I’m trying not to fall into paranoia, but people like Olivia and Zorah aren’t helping.”

“Do you think I’m like Olivia or Zorah?” she asked.

“No, I don’t,” I said, meeting her expectant eyes.  She gave me a generous smile.

“I’m proud of you keeping your shit together through all this,” she said.  “You should be proud, too.”

I returned her smile, and she went back to her office.  I was genuinely grateful for everything Yvonne had said and done, but there was a definite limit on what she could do about my situation.  I would have to do a better job managing my expectations, lest I alienate my only friend in that place.

The next day was Friday, and I just threw myself into my work in an effort to reach the weekend.  Olivia didn’t call or email, and I managed not to run into Zorah.  I checked in with Yvonne, but I didn’t camp in her office or unload my worries on her.

That afternoon, I went down to the lunchroom to get a cup of coffee.  Janie and Sondra were sitting together at a table, and when I came in they stopped talking and looked at me.  As I was pouring the coffee, I heard them whispering behind me.

As I turned to leave, Sondra, who never took anyone’s advice, said, “Hey, Tyler, I need your advice.”

I stopped and gave her a weary look.  “Yeah?”

“I’m doing an index for Olivia and I need to know if she’s in a good mood.  Is she on the rag?”

“How should I know?”

“I heard on Wednesday you had an up close and personal view,” said Sondra, while Janie broke out cackling.

Oh great, I thought, remembering Janie’s foot in the stall next to Olivia’s.  I stalked out of the lunchroom with as much dignity as I could muster.

Retreating to my office, my mind raced with trying to guess how many people Janie might have told, and how many might have believed her.  Avoiding Zorah was a minor hassle, but I couldn’t work in that office if everyone knew I was regularly being reduced to the size of a mouse.

I stayed in my office as much as I could, but near the end of the day I had to go to the file room to look at a case that was too old to have been scanned.  I went to the elevator lobby, looking over my shoulder at everyone who walked by as I waited.

The elevator arrived and as the doors opened, I caught the tail end of a conversation between Erin and Susan, a legal assistant who matched Erin in height.  Erin was smirking as she delivered her punchline:  “So I told him, ‘Sorry, I don’t date smurfs.’”

They both turned to look down at me.  Neither said anything or even changed expression, but I could see it in their eyes:  they knew.  They knew that while Erin’s rejected suitor might not have stood much higher than five feet, I had recently been the size of an actual smurf, and would be again.  They didn’t even have the good grace to be embarrassed as they passed me on their way out of the car.

I hid in the file room until it was time to go home for the weekend.

* * *

I don’t remember much from that weekend; I drank pretty heavily.  On Sunday night, as I poured myself the fourth whiskey of the evening, I told myself I would call in sick on Monday.

Curiously, I woke up the next morning with nothing more incapacitating than bad breath.  Looking at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t come up with a good argument not to go into work, if only to feel less useless.

I got through most of the morning without anyone teasing me or dropping innuendo.  Even at the workload paralegal meeting, everyone was distracted by some trivial story Janie was telling about her cats.

Just before lunch, I went into the copy room to pull something off the printer.  I grabbed the pleading, but when I turned around the doorway was blocked by Zorah.  She was looking straight at me, and she had an evil grin.

I adopted an impatient manner and made to pass her by, but she got right in my face and said, “Enchilada!”

My bafflement was genuine as I tried to shoulder past her.  “Excuse me?” I said.

Zorah actually put her hand on my chest and repeated slowly, “En-chil-a-da.”

“The lunchroom is downstairs,” I said, nudging her out of my way and quickly strolling down the hall.

By the time I returned to my office, I had started to hyper-ventilate.  Yvonne came around the corner, and I caught her eye before going in and sitting at my desk.  She followed me in and closed the door behind her.

“Everyone knows Olivia used me like a tampon,” I said.  “Janie was in the next stall and she told everyone.”

“I know,” said Yvonne.  “She told me this morning before the meeting.”

“It’s worse than that.  Just now Zorah cornered me in the copy room and tried to use the shrinking word on me.”

“What do you mean, ‘tried’?”

“She came up to me and said, ‘Enchilada.’”

“’Enchilada’?” repeated Yvonne.  I tensed involuntarily, subconsciously expecting the approximated word to have more efficacy coming out of Yvonne’s mouth.  But nothing happened, and Yvonne just laughed at Zorah’s error.

“It’s not funny,” I said, my voice breaking.  “Eventually she’s gonna get it right.”

“I’m sorry,” said Yvonne, sobering instantly.

“Do you think she was eavesdropping?” I asked her.

“Oh, she probably figured out the trick of remotely activating the speakerphone in Olivia’s office.”

“But how did she get the idea that the word would work for anyone besides Olivia?” I asked, looking at Yvonne perhaps too sharply.

Her face iced over.  “What are you saying, Tyler?”

“I don’t know!” I exploded.  “This thing keeps changing every day, and it’s all I can do to keep on top of all the threats!”

“Are you saying you think I’m a threat?” she said evenly.

“No, I’m not,” I cried, shaking my head.  “You’re my only friend in this damn place, and. . . “ I started to deflate.

“And?” prompted Yvonne, her eyebrows raised not in skepticism but impatience.

I looked into her eyes for about three seconds before I replied, “And I trust you with my life.”

She paused, too, before allowing a kind smile to slowly expand across her face.  I knew it was the right thing to say, and it had the added virtue of being true.

My computer chirped with the receipt of an email.  I looked at the screen and said, “Oh, God, it’s Olivia.”

“What does she want?” asked Yvonne.

“It just says, ‘Please see me.’”

“Maybe she just needs you to review something.”

“Maybe,” I said, staggering to my feet.

“I’m sure that’s all it is,” she said, coming around the desk.  I clasped her hand and looked into her face.  I knew she was lying, and she knew I knew, but more importantly she knew I was grateful to her anyway.

“I better go,” I said.  Yvonne leaned forward and gave me a quick peck on the cheek, then she disappeared back into her office.  It happened so fast I thought I had imagined it.

As I stepped out of the elevator on Olivia’s floor, my legs started to feel weak, and my stride faltered.  I peeked through the main door, but Zorah wasn’t at her desk.  Perhaps she had just wanted Mexican food after all.

Olivia was standing in front of her desk when I walked into her office.  The look in her eyes was so predatory that I instinctively turned to flee.  She advanced on me and before I made it through the door, she said, “Inshil-hatam.”

The vertigo and entanglement of shrinking out of my clothes were exacerbated by my attempted flight.  My belt buckle landed on my back and I was pinned until Olivia arrived and started rooting through my clothes.  When she lifted my pants, I was rolled onto the carpet and came to rest on my back, so I got to see her colossal figure looming above and her eyes flash as she spotted me.  Before I could get up her giant hand snaked down and snatched me up.

She didn’t even bother collecting my clothes but returned immediately to her seat.  She released me a couple of inches above her desk blotter, and I landed painfully on my knees and wrists on the minimally-padded surface.

“I have an important hearing tomorrow, little Tyler,” she said, reaching into a desk drawer.  “It’s our motion for summary judgment in the Simone case, and you are going to help me win it.”

She produced a small spool of dental floss, and then reached down to press her fingertip into my back until I was pinned face down.  Then she pulled my arms back together and looped the floss tight around my wrists and tied it off.

Pinching my shoulder between her thumb and forefinger, she stood me up on the desk to face her.  She leaned back in her chair, but she still towered over my three-inch form.  Her top was magenta with violet trim at the collar and cuffs, and it flowed loosely but generously around and over her shoulders, arms, and bosom.  Her locks were down, waving friskily about her face.  Her smile was confident, her eyes cunning.

She was intimidatingly beautiful, but for once my fear overcame my lust and my cock stayed limp.  Furthermore, unlike the previous encounters with Olivia, my brain was not inundated with baldly explicit sexual images of Olivia or anyone else.  I was left without distraction from contemplation of how Olivia might next degrade me.

“I have to enunciate clearly at the hearing tomorrow, little Tyler,” she said, plucking me from the desktop and licking her lips, “so we’ll have to do this today.”

I had thought that by not looking at Olivia’s cavernous mouth I could somehow prevent the idea from occurring to her, but her eyes just twinkled at me and I shrieked as her terrible jaw lowered to reveal the twin reefs of her deadly teeth tended by the enormous writhing eel of her tongue.

Was that why she no longer needed me aroused for her magic?  Could she get what she needed just by eating me?  She didn’t stop to explain but instead popped me screaming into her mouth like a cocktail weenie.

I landed on the drunken mattress of her tongue, which immediately bounced me up.  “No!” I cried, imagining I was headed down her gullet, but I was thrown sideways onto the stony rack of molars, which immediately pressed me into its upper complement.  The irresistible force of her jaw squeezed the breath out of me, and the sharp ridges of her teeth dug into my flesh.  The merciless grinders slowly compressed my body until my ribs and innards screamed and I felt my skull trapped in the wet enamel hollow.  Stars swam before my eyes in that dark, then my stomach fell as her jaw relaxed and her tongue flipped me to the other side of her mouth and underneath the other set of molars, which came down on my chest.

I struggled for breath between her jaws, and then her tongue rolled me into the gully between her gum and cheek, where I landed on my chest, my hands still bound behind me.  Then her cheek held me fast and my ears popped as she sucked all the excess saliva down her throat.

Left momentarily unmolested, I lay in the wet dark, starting to be slowly poached by Olivia’s hot gum.  She was breathing primarily through her nose, but the roar of air through her sinuses resonated throughout her head.

I remained terrified that at any moment her dominating tongue would dig me out of that wet trench and shove me forward to be sliced in half by her incisors or ground into paste by her molars or simply vaulted down her throat to be slowly digested whole.  What was she waiting for?

Then her tongue did, in fact, return.

The tip of that diabolical muscle snaked onto the middle of my chest and traced a slimy trail down to my cock and balls, which it somehow enclosed in its supple folds.  My dick had remained soft from terror throughout the whole ordeal, and during my time between Olivia’s jaws my balls had done their best to retreat into my abdomen.  My brain remained unclouded by artificial sex fantasies, and both my body and soul ached from physical abuse and spiritual domination.  Yet, at the most primitive level governed by the limbic system, Olivia’s giant tongue and my tiny cock made a connection.

Slowly, the persistent rhythm of that delicate muscle milked my dick back to life.  The tip of her tongue found its way under my balls to massage my taint, and my balls resented her tongue’s departure whenever it turned its attention back to my cock.  My arms and shoulders were screaming from their cramped restraint, but I found myself pushing off her gum with my arms to press my crotch into her tantalizing tongue.

And just when I thought I would come, her tongue withdrew.

I lay there, my balls aching for release, and damn if Olivia didn’t cut loose with a deafening chuckle.  Another ear pop as she vacuumed the fluids away, then she flipped me onto her tongue and slammed me into the roof of her mouth, then over her jaw again and against her other cheek.

Then she waited for my boner to subside and she repeated the whole process again.  And again.

Sometimes, when I was being thrown from one side of her mouth to the other, I would land face down on her molars, and my suffering cock would be raked across the sharp ridges.  Once, her tongue shoved me forward so that my head slid outside of her mouth briefly and I gulped some cool air before her smothering lips rolled back over my neck and head.

It went on for hours.  My cock got a break when she took a phone call, but when she spoke her voice surrounded my tiny body and penetrated my viscera.  Olivia also received a visit from Zorah, who I’m certain asked more questions than necessary.  Olivia shuffled me about throughout the conversation, so it must have been obvious to Zorah that Olivia had something in her mouth.

As the afternoon dragged on, my balls remained at full froth for longer and longer, requiring Olivia to leave my cock alone for longer and longer so that it could “cool down.”  When her tongue would return, I tried to think boner-killing thoughts:  polynomial extrapolation, industrial hog farming, any song by Celine Dion.  But I was physically and emotionally exhausted, and in the end it was simply easier to detach my mind completely from my cock and wait for it to be over with.

When Olivia finally spat me out into her palm, I was barely conscious.  My eyes fluttered open at the shock of cool air on my wet skin, but I didn’t even look up at her gigantic face.

“I think that should do it, little Tyler,” she boomed, laying me on the carpet next to her boat-sized feet.  I looked at her giant shoes, my raw face scratched by the grimy carpet fibers, and mentally invited those obliterating pumps to lift up and crush me out of my misery.  Instead, Olivia’s thundering voice spoke again:  “Kahp-hasheena.”

My wrists burned as I grew out of my floss handcuffs, and my arms were so cramped behind me that pulling them down and pushing myself up from the floor brought tears to my eyes.  I’m sure it took over ten minutes for me to get up and get dressed.  A glance at Olivia’s wall clock told me that it was 6:30pm.  She had sucked and chewed on me for over six hours.

“Wish me luck tomorrow!” chirped Olivia as I reached the door.  I didn’t even turn around, just kept my head down and stumbled out of Olivia’s office.

I should have looked up, because then I might have been able to dodge Zorah, who was inexplicably still at work after 5pm.  She looked at me and grinned.

“Hey, Tyler,” she said, “I could sure go for some gum.  Got any?”

Incredibly, that wasn’t the worst part of the encounter.  Even though I was quite ready to collapse, my strung-out libido was still flailing about, looking for a target.  Zorah was standing at a filing cabinet, giving me a full view of her profile.  With her looking straight at me and drinking in my reaction, I stood there slack-jawed and let my eyes linger over each of her curves, down to her calves and back up to her face, which sparkled in recognition.

“Is there something I can help you with, Tyler?” she asked, coquettishly turning towards me and cocking her hips.  I shut my eyes and grimaced, then fled down the hall, chased by Zorah’s laughter.

When I reached my floor, Yvonne’s office was dark, of course.  She had, however, left me an email.  “Text me when you get back,” it read, followed by her cell number, which she had never given me before.

I pulled out my phone and keyed in my text to Yvonne:  “Still here.  Going home to crash now.  See you in the morning.”

I collected my stuff and headed out the door, but before I reached my bus stop my phone chimed with Yvonne’s reply:  “Thinking about you.  Sleep well.”

When I got home, I realized that I had failed to pick up much in the way of food.  For dinner I had over a pound of cocktail nuts, followed by at least a gallon of water.  I also popped a half-dozen pain pills before I fell into bed.

That night I dreamt I was buried underneath an infinitely-large pile of compost.  I could breathe, but I couldn’t see or even determine which way was up.  I started digging, trying to get out, and then I started to hear something behind me.  At first I thought it was just the noise from my own burrowing, but then I heard the crunching noises made be some dreadful combination of teeth and mandibles.  I dug faster and faster, but the clicking and crunching behind me became louder and louder.  I woke up before either reaching the surface or being caught by my pursuer.

Yvonne checked in with me in my office just after I got in.  She gave me a hug, but I couldn’t return it.

“My arms are still too sore from yesterday,” I explained.  “I had to sleep on my stomach.”

“What happened?”

“After she shrunk me, she tied my wrists behind me with dental floss.  Then she stuck me in her mouth and sucked on me for six hours.”

Yvonne screwed up her face in disgust.  “Ew,” she offered.

“She didn’t have any bits of food in there, at least,” I said.  “Just me.”

“But, she didn’t eat you, obviously, right?”

“No, that’s right, she didn’t eat me and then magically restore me after being digested.”

“It’s a fair question!” she protested.

“I’m not mocking you, honest,” I said.  “She did tenderize me quite a bit with her back teeth.”

“Sounds terrifying.  Do you think she was feeding off your fear like she did before with your. . . arousal?”

“No, she wanted me aroused this time, too.”

“So she made you think of naked girls again?”

“No, she wrapped her giant tongue around my cock and balls until I was on the verge of cumming, then stopped until I was soft again, then did it again.  Lather, repeat—no rinse.”

Her eyes went wide.  “For how long?”

“The whole time.  Six hours.”

Yvonne’s jaw dropped.  I hoped it was in amazement and not in anticipation.  Eventually she dared to ask another question.

“But, at the end, you came in her mouth, right?”

“No,” I replied flatly.  “My hands were tied until she grew me back.”  I held up my wrists to display the welts.

Yvonne pursed her lips and looked away.

“She said it was for the SJ hearing in Simone today,” I said.

Yvonne shook her head and turned back to me.  “I’d hate to see what she does when she goes to trial,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna wait to find out.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, alarmed.

“They have to be stopped.  Olivia, the partners, all of them.”

“How?”

“I realized it last night:  what is the only thing the partners are afraid of?”

Yvonne shook her head.

“Their clients,” I said.

The blood drained from Yvonne’s face.

“There’s gotta be a reason why no one is allowed on the top floor during the monthly board meeting,” I continued.  “Maybe I can learn something that I can use against them.”

“They’ll kill you,” she said.  “Or worse.”

“Not if they can’t see me.”

Yvonne blinked and sat back, overwhelmed.

“You’re crazy,” she said finally.

“No, just desperate.  The next board meeting is Friday night.  I’ll probably have recovered enough by then, provided Olivia doesn’t decide to use me as an insole in the next four days.”

Yvonne turned away from me, then stood up as she dug a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose.  My instinct was to stand up and go to her, but the moment was lost as my complaining joints slowed my reflexes.

“I’ll be alright,” I called to her, convincing no one.  She turned back to me with wet eyes and a polite smile.

“Think this one through, Tyler,” she said, then she returned to her office.

Of course, I had already thought it through.  I had had plenty of time to think it through as Olivia tortured me with her tongue.  The way I saw it, I had nothing to lose.

* * *

It’s a bit of a cliché, but there’s a reason they say that a death sentence liberates the mind.  Once I had told Yvonne of my decision, I felt as if a great weight had been lifted.  I stopped worrying about everything else.

I even dared to eat my lunch in the lunchroom.  Janie tried to get a rise out of me by chomping and popping her gum rather loudly, but I just smiled at her until she got uncomfortable, and I returned to my sandwich.

After I got home that night I went to my favorite Italian restaurant and had the veal, something I usually reserve for my birthday.  Afterward, I went for an hour-long walk through a nearby park.  When I got home, I had the best night’s sleep in weeks.

Wednesday morning started off with a fun encounter with Zorah and Janie by the coffee machine.

“Hey, Skoal-boy,” said Zorah, “didja hear that Olivia won her SJ motion?  Looks like you’ll be doing all her hearing prep from now on.”  Janie snickered.

“Well,” I replied, “I must have been so helpful that the judge didn’t even notice that you failed to proof the Table of Authorities.  Three of the citations pointed to the wrong cases.”  I hadn’t even read the brief, but from Zorah’s face I could tell I had correctly guessed she had been too lazy to proof it.

“I’m sure Olivia will cut you some slack,” I concluded, taking my coffee and leaving.  Janie flashed me a wicked smile.

Later, I had to go to Central Processing to get some supplies.  I thought I was alone as I picked a couple of binders out of a cabinet.

“I really admire you, you know.”

I turned around to see Kira, the document clerk who had been magically compelled to recite the alphabet whenever someone mentioned it.  She was a couple of inches shorter than me, with long flaming red hair and a plump round butt.

“When they first hexed me,” she said, “it messed me up for months.  I ate crap food, I cried all the time, I lost my boyfriend.  For a long time I thought about jumping off a bridge.”

This was already the longest conversation I had ever had with Kira.  I started to ask, Why didn’t you jump off a bridge, but I decided it would sound tactless.

“What did you do?” I asked finally.

“Oh, I have a shrin—I mean, a therapist now.  I knew she’d never believe what happens here, so I made up a story about childhood sexual abuse and she prescribed anti-depressants.  I don’t think about suicide nearly as often now.”

“That’s good,” I said with my most reassuring smile.

“Yeah, well, anyway it’s nowhere near as bad as what they’re putting you through.  No amount of Xanax would help if they did that to me.  You’re my hero.”  Looking into her eyes, I could see that her grief at my plight was genuine.

“Uh, thanks, I’ll try to deserve that,” I said.  “So, it gets better, then?”

Kira gave me a bitter smile and pulled up one of her sleeves to show me the ranks of tiny scars on her forearm, many of which were very recent.

“No, it really doesn’t,” she said.

* * *

I spent most of Wednesday afternoon slacking off in Yvonne’s office.  She was in a much better mood than the day before, although she still didn’t want to talk about Friday night’s board meeting.  Instead I encouraged her to talk about her upcoming trip to see Shelly, an old friend from high school.

At some point over the years, Yvonne had confided to me that she and Shelly had had a couple of drunk make-out sessions, and this aspect of their relationship hadn’t completely disappeared even after they both married other people.  Shelly had even told Yvonne that Shelly’s husband (unhelpfully also named Tyler) had confessed to having a crush on Yvonne, and now Shelly wouldn’t stop talking about a possible threesome.  Yvonne was pretty sure that she wasn’t up for it, but even though she imagined that Shelly was only half-serious, she felt uncomfortable telling her old friend to shut up.  Given that Yvonne would not be taking her own husband on the trip to see Shelly, she anticipated an awkward confrontation.

I was no help.  Yvonne and Shelly hadn’t done very much together, but I had made Yvonne go into as much detail as possible.  I was sympathetic to her conflicted feelings, but I also relished the hints at her half-formed desires.

“Don’t do anything this trip that you’re uncomfortable with,” I said patronizingly, “but the next time Shelly comes to town, gimme a call.”

Yvonne’s face, which up until that point had been friendly and confiding, suddenly became frustrated.  She looked away, then took a deep breath and turned back to me, her jaw set in defiance.

“I love Shelly,” she said, “and there’s no way I’d turn you loose on her without first making sure for myself that you can hack it.”

“Anywhere, anytime,” came my near-reflexive reply.

A cold smile came over her face.  “Right here.  Tomorrow, 6:30 am.  We’ll have the floor to ourselves.”

Time seemed to slow down.  I heard my blood rushing in my ears.  I had no doubt she was serious.  After all these years, she had finally called my bluff.  My mouth went dry and I couldn’t speak.

“You know what they say about talking the talk, Tyler,” she said.  “I think it’s time for you to show me what you’ve got.  What do you think?”

I nodded hurriedly.

“I need to hear you say it, Tyler,” she said.

I finally found my voice.  “I’ll be here,” I croaked.

“Good,” she said, returning to her computer.  “Drink lots of water, and be sure to wash your hands right after you get in tomorrow.”

If I had gotten a great night’s sleep on Tuesday, I hardly got a wink on Wednesday.  I started to speculate as to why Yvonne had finally responded positively to my overtures, but I quickly decided both that it was impossible to know and that it didn’t really matter.  I was really getting into the whole “condemned man” shtick.  I had never been a smoker before, but I wondered if I should start.

I fretted over my wardrobe for longer than usual on Thursday morning, but I made up the time due to the much lighter traffic at 6:00 am.  Not only did I remember to wash my hands after arriving at the office, I even trimmed my nails.

Yvonne was already seated at her desk when I appeared in her doorway at 6:30 sharp.  She looked up and gave me a smile that was somehow both wry and triumphant.

“You made it,” she said with a note of congratulation, standing up.  Her clothes didn’t seem outside her typical work wardrobe:  a loose beige top under a flowing dark cardigan with expansive burgundy pants, almost like parachute pants.  I grinned appreciatively as she came around to the front of her desk.

“I’ve been thinking about you all night,” I said, slipping my arms around her hips.  She leaned up against me and looked into my eyes with girlish glee.

“I’ve been thinking about you all week,” she said just before I pressed my mouth onto hers.

It was the warmest kiss I’d known in years; she held nothing back.  I could feel her pulse quicken, and my hands roamed her back looking for a way under her shirt.  She brought a hand up to my chest and extracted her lips from mine.

“I thought we could get away with this,” she said, “and God knows I want you, but. . . “

“But what?”

An embarrassed look came over her.

“Rob came in early, too,” she said.  “He’s already called me once this morning.  You know him; if I ignore the phone, he’ll come down here looking for what he needs.”

“My office, then,” I said, exhaling insistently.

“No, he’d hear us, or someone else would come by.”  She brought her hand up to my face.

I closed my eyes and tried to appear calm as my hands drifted down toward her ass.

“If you’re having second thoughts because of Jeff,” I said, “I respect that.  I’m cool with it.”

“It’s not that, Tyler, I just don’t want to get caught.”

I nodded and gave her a reassuring smile, then I hugged her tight.

“Of course,” she said over my shoulder, “there is one way for you to get into my pants without anyone seeing us.”

I had to hand it to Yvonne.  Even standing there with my nose in her hair and her tits pressed up against my chest, I had no idea whether this was truly an urgent improvisation on her part or the final realization of a plan that she had been working on since I accidentally taught her the word.

As I pulled back to look into her eyes, my boner sprung free from against my belly where her leg had been pinning it.  She clearly felt it move, too, and her smile was kind, almost innocent.

Was Rob really even in the office?  I could find out with a single phone call.  I didn’t move at all.  Instead I gazed into her face and marveled at the audacity of her proposal and the cunning with which she had arrived at it.

“If it’s too soon,” she said gently, “I respect that.  I’m cool with it.”

My mind raced with conflicting emotions.  I was clearly suffering from traumatic stress from the abuse by Olivia, and I still hadn’t fully recovered from my injuries.  We had no idea how this magic really worked, and there could be unknown side effects or hidden consequences.  And whatever motives Yvonne might truly have had, she had no experience handling shrunken people, and the slightest misstep could prove fatal for me.

I, on the other hand, had been shrunk five times and lived to talk about it.  Between my desperate commitment to thwart the partners and my resolve to meet the challenge in Yvonne’s eyes, I had become very reckless.  I had been lusting after Yvonne for years, and if I had to become three inches tall in order to finally have her, well, so be it.

What I couldn’t get over was that this was Yvonne’s idea.  She knew better than anyone just how vulnerable I had been and still remained, and yet she suggested it anyway.  I meant it when I said I trusted her with my life, but now I realized I also trusted her to know what she wanted.  Not only is such self-confidence rare, it is also sexy as hell.

I grinned as broadly as I could.  “I knew you liked to be on top,” I said, “but this is ridiculous.”

She pressed forward and we kissed again, but now I had a different regard for her tongue as it found its way into my mouth.  I slipped my fingers under her waistband and caressed the soft skin of her ass.  She opened the front of my pants then broke off our kiss as she licked her fingers.  She stuck her wet hand inside my briefs and ran her fingers over my head and shaft, sending an electrical thrill from my crotch up my spine.

Yvonne cupped my balls, put her mouth next to my ear and whispered, “Tell me the word again.”

With her finger caressing my taint, I closed my eyes and spoke it into her ear, “Inshil-hatam.”

She pulled back to look into my eyes again, and I took a deep breath and smiled.  “Inshil-hatam,” said Yvonne.

Unsurprisingly, it was the most pleasant of all my shrinking experiences.  My clothes fell off and away without buffeting or entangling me.  I myself did not fall at all but instead clung to Yvonne’s warm hand as it rapidly grew around me.  Through the whole process, Yvonne gazed down on me with wonder and delight.

She enclosed me in her fingers and returned to her chair as she brought me up to her face.  It was like watching an IMAX movie that watched you back.  When Olivia had handled me, I had tried to hide from her gaze inside her fist.  I wanted Yvonne to see all of me, including my resurging stiffy.  I planted my feet against her palm and pushed against her thumb and forefinger with my arms.  I couldn’t move her by strength alone, of course, but she seemed to understand my purpose and opened her fingers to make a platform of her hand.

I stood up, spread my legs, and put my hands on my hips.  Yvonne brought me closer and I felt the warm wind of her breath as she looked me over.  I had been checked out by women before, but I had never felt as desired as I did standing naked in Yvonne’s palm.

“If you want me to stop,” rumbled Yvonne, “tell me and I’ll stop.”

I raised my arms and waved her closer with the universal “Bring it” gesture.

Her eyes flashed and her tongue quickly emerged and touched her upper lip.  Then she tilted her hand up and I fell back slightly so that my feet were propped against the heel of her hand and my back was resting on her upper palm.  She slowly brought me right next to her face, and I could feel her eyes on me as I watched her enormous tongue roll out.

The tip wormed its way between my legs and underneath my tiny balls.  She dragged the wet blanket of muscle over my balls, cock, belly, and chest, and I moaned into it as it slid over my face.  She pulled her hand slightly away from her face so she could scrutinize me with those big brown spotlights.  When she read the unfettered ecstasy on my face, she smiled and chuckled.  She owned me, and she knew it.

She brought me close again, and I arched my back to receive the blessings of her tongue.  I got the full body wash a couple of more times, then the world contracted until it was nothing more than my cock and balls wrapped up inside the warm wet velvet of the tip of her tongue.

She wanted me to do it, she wanted me to cum on her tongue.  I seized that realization and hugged it tight, then I let it go, my arms splayed out behind me pressing into her hand, and I jizzed all over her supple pink mattress.  I came so hard that I thought I saw the first drop arc up over the back of her tongue, but it was too dark back there to be sure.

I grunted and collapsed back onto Yvonne’s hand.  Her tongue rolled back into her mouth and she held me before her expectant eyes.

“That was quick,” she chided.

I couldn’t help laughing with giddiness and relief.  Yvonne patiently waited for me recompose myself.

“You are amazing!” I shouted.  “You could swallow me whole right now, and it would still be the best day of my life!”

She raised a judicious eyebrow and smirked.

“Well,” she said, “let’s see what we can do along those lines.”

She leaned back in her chair and with her other hand pulled the waistband at the front of her pants away from her crotch.  She curled her fingers around me and tilted me down so that she could still see my face as I looked down into her open panties.

Her bald pussy lips were folded and flushed, and I could smell that she had been working herself while her tongue had its way with me.

“I hope it doesn’t look too scary,” she said.

“Nope!” I shouted.  “Looks like a tropical paradise to me!”

I slid down from her hand to stand before her swollen vulva.  Her plump outer lips just barely contained her pink inner lips.  I couldn’t see her clit, but I suspected it would be a short quest.

I looked up to see Yvonne gazing down at me with a doting expression.  I made an exaggerated gesture of cracking my knuckles, then put my arms together to slide them between her inner lips.  Yvonne smiled, then closed her eyes and let her pants snap closed.

I nestled in between her outer lips, which were heavy but they quivered in anticipation.  Her clit was waiting for me, pulsing and perspiring.  I reached up and embraced it, and Yvonne’s pelvis shuddered.  I pressed my face against the tender nub, and Yvonne gasped and closed her legs as I licked it from base to tip.

This is almost worth it, I thought.  The weeks of terror, abuse, and humiliation seemed a distant memory as I lost myself in Yvonne’s immense vulva.  I hugged and kissed her wet folds until I was completely coated in her pleasure.

Yvonne’s mound jerked a couple of more times, then light returned as she pulled her waistband open again.  I leaned out of her lips to look up at her impatient face, her cheeks flushed red.

“I need something inside,” she gasped. “Your legs, anything.”

I let go of her clit to consider how to best satisfy this request.  She mistook my hesitation for reluctance.

“If you can’t go in,” she said, “I’ll take care of it.”

Three weeks ago, if Yvonne had offered to jerk herself off while I sat and watched, I would have said yes in a heartbeat.  Now, my horizons had been expanded.  I waved my arms in a gesture of frantic rejection.  I shouted, “I got this!”

Moving quickly lest Yvonne conclude I wanted to be extracted, I reached up and out and pressed on her outer lips to lift my legs up and angle them towards her canal.  Yvonne’s shaved and slick skin made it difficult for me to get a purchase without pinching her, but fortunately I didn’t weigh much and I easily slid my legs and trunk through her inner lips and into her vagina.

“Mmmm,” said Yvonne.

Her vaginal muscles contracted, effortlessly pinning my legs together.

“Feel that?” she asked.

“Yup!” I shouted.

“Push back against that.”

She’s gotta be kidding, I thought.  I tried to spread my legs, my ankles, shins, and thighs straining against her immoveable membranes.

“That’s good,” she said, smiling.  She released the waistband of her pants again, chirping “Good luck!” before sealing me inside her underwear again.

Seeking better leverage, I let myself slip further into Yvonne, sinking in to my armpits.  I could feel her pulse reverberate in my chest.  I set my arms into the folds between her outer and inner lips, the latter kissing my whole face.

She squeezed me again with her cunt, and I responded with five reps of stomach crunches.  She grunted as her pubis lurched and her thighs slammed together.

“Keep going,” she moaned insistently.

As my leg and back muscles burned against the increasing pressure, I began to regret not keeping up with my daily swimming.  I had started out with my toes pointed out to the side for additional resistance, but I soon developed a cramp and now my feet flailed passively as my ankles dug into the walls of her cunt.

The heat and humidity increased dramatically, but I was determined not to slacken my pace.  A shaft of light as Yvonne’s waistband lifted to admit a pair of fingers headed for her clit.  They avoided my head, but just barely.

As her diddling grew more intense, I imagined pulling in my arms and sliding inside her entirely.  I was pretty sure that drowning or being crushed to death inside Yvonne’s cunt would be a far more pleasant fate than what would happen in the all-too-likely event that I was caught spying on the board the next night.  But it would be horrible for Yvonne, so I held on and kept kicking against the tide while enduring the buffets of her fingertips.

Her breathing became more rapid as her Kegels clenched harder and the tendons in her thighs strained.  I was assaulted on all sides by flesh, heat, and fluids.  I could tell she was stifling her moans, channeling them into grunts.  Her fingers suddenly stiffened and stopped, and her muscles positively rippled around me with release.  Her thighs finally relaxed, and her long exhale evolved into a chuckle.

I pushed myself halfway out of Yvonne and laid on my back, my arms dangling outstretched.  She opened her waistband and looked down at me.

“Still alive down there?” she asked.

I waved my aching arms, both thumbs up.

“What a trooper!” she said.  “That was the—“  She abruptly looked up and let her waistband snap back.

I heard a giant male voice.  Rob.

“I have a client meeting in an hour,” said Rob, “and Jordan forgot to make copies of our proposed exhibits.”

“Which ones?” asked Yvonne.

“All of them.  Three copies each.  You don’t have much time.”

My world turned on its side and I was flipped upside down as Yvonne stood up.  Deciding that it would be much safer cocooned in her pussy than jostling in her panties between her thighs, I hugged her pillowy vulva with my arms and spread my legs against the walls of her vagina.

Yvonne walked briskly with several sudden lurches and stops, and I knew she was collecting the exhibits.  Then I could hear the sounds of the copy room, and Yvonne settled into a familiar stance with a regular pivot heralded by each copy cycle.

Then I heard various voices as co-workers migrated by and wished Yvonne a “Good morning,” supplemented by Yvonne as she abbreviated each encounter as necessary.  Hanging there in Yvonne’s cunt, the risk of discovery growing more and more distant, my skin and hers still coated with the scent of her satisfaction, my cock returned to life.  I thrust my pelvis “forward,” against the roof of her canal, and started rubbing my tiny cock into the slick membrane.  Yvonne clamped down with her Kegels, but she could no more stop my self-stimulation than Olivia could.

Despite having made my milky tribute to Yvonne’s tongue earlier, my tiny balls didn’t take very long to honor her cunt as well.  If my renewed activity in any way interrupted Yvonne’s rhythm at the copy machine, I was not in a position to notice.

After my exertions, the heat and sway of Yvonne’s crotch threatened to put me to sleep.  My nap was forestalled by someone standing next to Yvonne saying my name.

“Have you seen Tyler?” asked Janie.

Yvonne’s grip on me tightened as she reflexively tensed up.  “Who?” she muttered distractedly.

“You know, the human tampon.”

“He’d be more useful as a human dildo,” said Sondra, who sounded like she was standing on the other side of Yvonne.

“Your pussy would kill him,” said Janie.

“Yeah,” replied Sondra, “but she’d have a good time doing it.”

“How’s the MacKenzie database, Sondra?” asked Yvonne.  “I heard half the records got merged and you can’t separate them out.  If Richard finds out, he just might decide to turn you into a condom.”

I couldn’t hear her, but I was sure Janie sniggered at this.  Sondra must have retreated, because I didn’t hear anything else for the rest of Yvonne’s time at the copier.

After she delivered the exhibits to Rob, Yvonne walked briskly some more, including some stops and bending at the waist at least once.  Then an elevator ride, followed by another long walk.  Finally, a door latched and her pants came down.

She quickly extracted me and laid me on my side on a cold flat surface.  I curled up, shivering in my wet nakedness, blinking at the sudden bright light.  I slowly sat up and determined that I was sitting on the counter in the women’s counterpart to the eleventh-floor men’s single-occupant restroom.

“This takes me back,” said Yvonne, rummaging through her purse.  “I haven’t carried spare underwear in years.”

“I’m honored,” I said.  She paused to favor me with a warm smile, then stepped into the fresh panties and pulled her pants up.

She stopped the sink drain and partially filled it with warm water.  I slid down into the sink on my butt and rinsed myself off.  Yvonne dabbed my hair with hand soap.  I smelled strongly of amaretto, but it was definitely an improvement.

After I dried myself off with some very abrasive paper towel, Yvonne plucked me from the counter and set me on the floor next to where she had previously piled my clothes.

“Kahp-hasheena,” she said without prompting.

The chest pain was undiminished yet oh so welcome.  When my vision returned, I found Yvonne surveying my full-size body with deliberation.

“One of these days we’ll have to arrange for me to get a bigger piece of that,” she said, eyeing my dick.

I started getting dressed.  “We could have just come up here,” I said.  “It smells nicer than the men’s.”

“Where, on the floor?  No, thanks.  Some of the bashful bladders that use this place have good reason to be bashful.”

When I was finished dressing, I took her in my arms again.

“We’ll do it right next time,” I said.  “I promise.”

Her smile seemed a bit more forced this time.  “You’re crazy,” she said, shaking her head.

She extricated herself from my arms and peeked out the door.  “Coast is clear,” she said.

I slipped out, trying to appear casual as I walked into the main hallway.  No one spotted me.  Yvonne followed shortly thereafter and joined me at the elevator.  We dared not look each other in the eye for fear of busting out giggling.

My first stop was the lunchroom; Yvonne’s warning about hydration was no joke.  After chugging two glasses of water, I headed out.

On my way back to my office, I passed Sondra in the hall.  Just loud enough for her to hear, I called, “How’s it going, Trojan-girl?”

Her head snapped up, her eyes on fire.  “Drown in cum, twat-jam,” she hissed, accelerating by.

The rest of the day went downhill from there.  I tried to focus on my work, but I was ambushed by panicked thoughts of the upcoming board meeting, which in turn were dispelled by reverie of Yvonne, whose scent lingered despite my sink bath.

That night I drank half a bottle of Nyquil to get to sleep.

* * *

I got to work early on Friday, but I had to settle for a quick kiss from Yvonne before she insisted we finalize the plan.

I took a quick scouting tour of the top floor, and I was on my way back to the elevator when I ran into Zorah.

“Hey, Tyler,” she said with a wide smile, “Guess who just passed the state bar?”

“Uh, who?” I stammered.

“Me, silly.  I’ll be sworn in next month, and then they’ll make me an associate.  Olivia has already said she wants me on the Torres case.  Looks like we’ll be working late together.”

“I can’t wait,” I said without stopping.

“Start working on how long you can hold your breath,” she called after me.

I planned to meet Yvonne at 3:00, and it came faster than I expected.  I logged off my computer and brought my bag and coat into Yvonne’s office, closing the door behind me.

She stood up and rounded her desk, and I let my eyes roam all over her before she reached me and pulled my face to hers.

“Ready?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “but I’m sure I never will be.”

We shared a longer kiss than we had that morning, but I still wasn’t prepared when she pulled back and said, “Inshil-hatam.”

The whiff of rotting eggs was stronger than any previous shrinking, and I fell flailing through my growing clothes.  Yvonne found me quickly and lifted me out and up to her face.  I melted in the warmth of her giant eyes and smile, and I clung desperately to her fingers.

“You’re only getting to second base this time,” she said, slipping me through her collar and between her left bra cup and her warm breast.

It smelled wonderful, it felt wonderful, it was wonderful—which is why it couldn’t last.  My pectoral pouch dipped and swayed as Yvonne gathered my clothes and walked up to the top floor.  She stashed my clothes in a neglected supply closet, then reached under her shirt and fished me wriggling out of her bra.

Holding me close to her ear, she whispered, “Where are you gonna hide until tonight?”

I had found a disused shelf at the bottom of a printer stand near the supply closet.  It was enclosed on three sides, and the open side faced the wall.  It was easy to reach from the floor and it was empty of any supplies that anyone might want.  I didn’t want to leave Yvonne’s hand, however.

“I’ve changed my mind,” I said.  “Just take me home with you.  You’ll hardly know I’m there.”

She held me before her face and gave me a skeptical look.  “Oh, Jeff will love that,” she said.

“He wouldn’t have to know,” I said.  “I could just stay, you know, hidden.”

She held me higher, level with her eyes.  “You’re the only one that can do this,” she said, a warm smile spreading across her face.  “You’ve already made it through a lot, and I know you won’t let us down.”

Yvonne’s giant gaze was as fortifying as her bosom had been comforting.  I nodded and pointed at the printer stand.  “There’s an empty shelf at the bottom.”

She closed her eyes and brought my tiny head up to her giant lips.  The soft pink pillows enveloped my face and left her slippery affections behind.

She lowered herself and set my on the floor next to the printer stand.  Then she pulled a small bundle out of her pocket and set it down next to me.  It appeared to consist of some sort of doll’s clothes, along with a coil of string tied to a bent paper clip.

I looked up at Yvonne, who just smiled tightly.  “They’re always using things like that in The Borrowers and stuff, so, I thought. . . ” she trailed off, shrugging.

“It’s great!” I shouted.  “Thanks!”

She paused another moment, then said, “Talk to you tomorrow, Tyler.”

I waved, and she stood up and walked around the corner towards the elevator.  And just like that, I was on my own.

I grabbed the bundle, walked around to the back of the printer stand and heaved it up onto the shelf.  The clothes were for some action figure about twice my size, but Yvonne had altered them so I had a sort of short-sleeve Oxford and cutoff shorts.  Nothing for my feet, but that was asking a lot.

I pulled myself onto the shelf and waited for the business day to drag to an end.

The six senior partners and their executive assistants all had offices on the top floor.  In addition to the kitchens, restrooms, and copy/supply rooms we had on other floors, there was a large conference room with a panoramic view window for client meetings.  None of these, however, were my target.

The executive conference room lay at the end of a long, marble-floored hallway that was directly observed by at least two of the executive assistants and which ended at a pair of brass-plated double doors that no one I knew had ever touched.  The doors were of course covered by security cameras.

By about 8pm, the ambient sounds of people engaged in office work had died off, but I let my uncertainty paralyze me on that shelf for a long time.  It was almost 9pm before I worked up the nerve to drop down to the floor and creep to the threshold of the copy room and peer down the hallway.

I couldn’t see or hear anyone, and the lights were at their “after hours” minimum setting.  Hugging the wall, I started the long trek around the perimeter of the building towards the executive conference room.  I was halfway done with the circuit when I realized that had I been full-sized I would have tripped the motion sensor, bringing up the lights and betraying my presence to the security system.

I still hadn’t seen or heard anyone by the time I reached the double doors leading to the executive conference room.  There was no way for me to pass underneath the brass-plated doors, as they opened inward and extended below the level of the exterior corridor, closing flush against the lip of the threshold.

The long hallway was barren of any furniture or appointments that might have hidden me.  I walked back to where the marble hallway joined the carpeted perimeter track.  Opposite the marbled hall stood a potted hibiscus, and lying on the floor underneath, I was concealed by the base.

Cold and exhausted, I began to doze off.  I had no watch but I imagine at least a couple of hours passed before I felt vibrations in the floor and the hallway lighting flickered to full-strength.  Alone or in pairs, the giant board members thudded past me and turned down the marble hall, their steps echoing like thunder.  From my depressed perspective, their attire didn’t seem different from what they usually wore to the office.  Thirteenth and last, Olivia swanned by in a flowing wrap of reds and purples.

The appearance of my tormentor momentarily stunned me until I realized that Olivia would be the last through the brass doors.  I scrambled out from under the planter and prayed my tiny bare feet didn’t echo too loudly on the marble as I ran to catch up with Olivia.

Even though I was flat-out sprinting, Olivia passed through the doors well before I reached them.  By some mercy, however, the doors did not close behind her, and I easily dropped over the threshold into a dark antechamber.  Two dim wall lamps showed empty benches on either side of the vestibule and another pair of doors at the far end.  The second pair of doors were closed and solid oak, but there was sufficient clearance for me to slide underneath.

Crawling sideways on my stomach, I looked up into the next room and froze.  On either side of the oak doors stood Olivia and another partner, named Richard, both in the middle of stripping off all their clothes.  Apparently there were shelves and hangers next to the doors where the other partners had already stowed their clothes.  Staring up at Olivia as her titanic legs lifted out of her panties and then thudded down onto the stone floor, I was plunged into the familiar pit of awestruck terror and desire.

Tearing my gaze away, I looked up at the equally enormous Richard.  It was intimidatingly obvious what sorcerous enhancements he had sought.  I guess that’s what happens when people call you “Dick” your whole life.  As Olivia and Richard turned and joined the other partners, I pulled myself out from under the door and stood up.

The room was larger than the client conference room on the other side of the building.  The black stone floor was rough and unpolished.  The only illumination came from a cluster of ceiling spotlights focused on a hexagonal sunken area, in the middle of which sat a black stone cube.

I hugged the wall in the shadows, trying to keep from being stepped on by giant naked partners, while still observing details of the meeting.  Many of the partners had taken positions along the perimeter of the sunken area, some squatting or sitting on the floor and others still standing.  Any conversation was subdued.

I walked towards one side of the sunken area that was relatively unoccupied by naked giants.  I crept towards the edge of the lighted hex, trying to stay in the shadows, and peered down into the shallow pit.  There seemed to be some kind of writing or runes carved into the floor.  The characters included both straight lines and curls, but they didn’t belong to any alphabet I had ever seen.

My survey was interrupted by a loud grunt from something in the shadows on the far side of the sunken area.  Then came a series of snorts that couldn’t have been emitted by a human nose.  Any remaining doubts about the folly of my plan to spy on the board meeting rapidly dissolved.

I scurried back to the wall.  One of the partners thudded through shadows and walked toward the light, and even before she stepped down into the sunken area, I could tell from her curvy silhouette that it was Olivia.  She took a position at the vertex of two sides of the hexagon and folded her legs underneath her.

Lily, a senior partner with dazzling red hair, entered the lit area carrying a tall potted flower.  She set it on the stone block and when she stepped away I could see that it was a white orchid.  Then my heart leapt into my mouth when she walked towards the source of the inhuman snuffling sounds.

A startled squeal cut through the chamber as the immense woman clearly struggled with the equally massive creature.  Then they stumbled into the light as Lily hauled on a length of chain attached to the leather collar of a corpulently uncooperative pig.

Anyone looking at Lily’s slight frame would find it hard to believe that she could budge such a large swine, yet she steadily dragged the complaining animal to the stone block, where she looped the chain through a steel ring and then secured it with what looked like a bike lock.

My sense of foreboding deepened.  When all the other partners were kneeling around the block inside the sunken hexagon, Lily kindled a torch and walked along the wall, lighting other torches that had been installed in previously unseen sconces.  I was cowering underneath one such fixture, and I was mesmerized by the sight of Lily’s giant, naked, torchlit figure advancing and halting one massive foot in front of me as she reached up to light the torch above.  The shadows I had been hiding in were chased away by the torchlight, but no one looked in my direction.  Nevertheless, as soon as Lily had moved on, I darted into the black between the torches.

The pig clearly feared Lily, and it protested when she returned to the sunken hexagon and began to slowly pour a white granular substance onto the floor in a deliberate pattern.  Probably twenty minutes passed while Lily trickled out the powder, the partners remaining totally silent and still.  When she had returned to her starting point, Lily stepped back into the shadows and then returned to the light holding a large bowl that looked to be made of or plated with silver.  She also held a wicked-looking knife.

The pig squealed again, mimicking the sound emitted by my soul.  Lily began chanting rhythmically in a harsh language unknown but dismayingly familiar to me.  She stepped in front of Olivia and changed verses, then paused for Olivia to respond with a verse of her own.  When her response was complete, Olivia held out her hand to Lily.  Without hesitation, Lily grabbed Olivia’s wrist and slashed her hand with the knife.

Olivia’s arm shuddered from the impact but she neither flinched nor cried out.  Lily put the blade between her own teeth and knelt while she held the silver bowl under Olivia’s still-outstretched hand to catch her blood.  A staggeringly large volume flowed out of the wound.  Lily finally stood up and moved on to the next partner while Olivia brought her wound to her lips.  She was both facing away from me and strongly backlit, but I thought I saw a sparkle or a glow when she kissed her palm.  In any event, no more blood flowed from her hand.

Lily repeated this procedure with the other eleven partners.  As each partner made an offering of blood, they joined Lily in the otherworldly chanting.

Finally Lily looked down at the white granules on the floor as she carefully stepped over them to approach the stone block.  The pig strained to get away from Lily, but she ignored it and placed the bowl on top of the block.  Then she completed the ritual by cutting her own palm for the final offering.

After “kissing” her wound closed, Lily laid the knife down next to the bowl, then touched her finger to the surface of the blood and said “Ah-kash.”  A sickly greenish-yellow flame leapt up from the bowl, and heavy smoke started to swirl up into a sinuous cloud.

Lily turned and stepped back over the pattern of white substance.  When she rejoined the other partners, she waved her arm and the ceiling lights switched off, leaving the chamber illuminated only by the wall torches and the eerie green flames fueled by the bowl of blood.

At this point my brain pulled me aside and said it was time to leave.  What did you expect to find? I asked myself.  Even if I were full-size, I would be terrified by the scene before me.  And yet I didn’t flee, because that would mean resigning myself to living with these monsters forever.

In the increased shadows, I crept forward until I reached the lip of the shallow pit, just behind where Olivia was kneeling and swaying.  The drop to the floor of the sunken area wasn’t much more than twelve inches, but of course to me this was significant.

I found a cranny in the rough stone and fit the end of the paper-clip grapple that Yvonne gave me into the slight concavity.  At my scale, the stone was sufficiently porous that I could work the hook in even more.  I uncoiled the string, gave the hook a couple of tentative tugs, then let myself drop over the edge into the sunken hexagon.

Between me and the stone block towered the awesome nude figure of Olivia, her giant round ass nestled atop her heels.  Even then, in the most perilous circumstances, I found the appetite to lust after this mountainous woman who had cursed me.  So carefully had she tuned my libido that I feared only the ritual chanting kept her from hearing my thoughts of desire.

I shook my head to focus on the task at hand, hoping the light from the blood-flame was too weak to reveal my tiny figure as I approached the pattern of white substance on the floor.  I first detected the granules when I stepped on them with my bare feet.  To me they felt like very sharp gravel, and when I knelt down and grabbed a handful, I confirmed that they were in fact salt crystals.  Even in the dim flickering light I could determine that the salt had precisely filled the carved runes or signs that circled the stone block.

A thunderous bestial bark sounded immediately above me, and my legs collapsed both in shock and from the gust of foul air.  My heart was still racing when I realized that the pig had finally detected something that didn’t frighten it.

Squinting through the gloam, I could see that the pig’s chain kept it several feet away, but that wouldn’t prevent Lily or another partner from wondering what had spooked it.  Working quickly but not (I hoped)  frenetically, I started to dig the salt out of the engraved runes on the stone, scattering the white crystals onto the unmarked surface.  I kept going until I had created a path of empty runes all the way through the pattern to the inner circumference.  The pig continued its guttural exhortations, and I kept expecting to feel the vibration of a giant’s approaching footsteps, but all I heard was the partners’ constant rhythmic chanting.  I decided I had done all I could do.

I had to remind myself not to run as I crept back towards my climbing line.  I couldn’t help stealing a glance at the colossal Olivia, her dreadlocks and tits swaying in time to the chant.  Some self-destructive part of me suggested crawling between her knees and finding someplace warm, but I snapped my head down and kept moving toward my escape.

I scaled the twelve-inch cliff and collected my hook and line.  Just then the green flame in the bowl became brighter by a couple of orders of magnitude, and the volume of the partners’ chant increased to match it.

I abandoned stealth and simply took off running for the doors.  Disturbing shadows played on the wall in front of me.  I reached the doors and was about to lie down to slide back underneath when I heard a sound behind me that was both unearthly and yet somehow familiar.  I started to turn around, but then I felt a loud voice in my head shout, “No!” and my upper body flung itself on the floor.  I flattened my body and pulled myself into the relatively bright light of the antechamber.

I stood up and blinked rapidly, hoping to find that the brass doors were still open.  I was dismayed to see them shut, but my stomach turned to ice when I saw the pair of enormous feet of someone sitting on one of the benches to one side of the room, and I looked up to see the face of Zorah looking at me with growing delight.

“Well, well.  Olivia didn’t tell me you were invited,” she snorted.  “What do you think she’ll say when I show you to her?”

“No!” I cried.  “Zorah, please don’t!”

“I think you’re right,” she purred, bending quickly to snatch me up.  “Let’s go somewhere and. . .  revisit our professional relationship.”

Zorah reached up with her free hand and pulled down on a latch connected to spring-loaded bolts that spanned almost the full height of one brass-plated door and slid out of six-inch holes in the floor and ceiling, permitting the door to open inward.  She carried me back into the marble hallway and I heard the door close behind her and the bolts slide home.

Zorah held me up to her face and scrutinized me with undisguised predatory glee.  “What a cute outfit!” she fawned.  “Did your mommy Yvonne make it for you?”

I tried to hide my shock, but I clearly failed.

“What,” said Zorah, “you thought her little dollie fetish was some big secret?  Don’t worry; I’ll make sure Olivia hears all about her role in tonight’s expedition, and then I’ll have you all to myself.”

The pig in the executive conference room started squealing like a banshee.  Even through two sets of heavy doors, the sound was nerve-wracking.

“We have to leave now!” I shouted.  “Zorah, please!”

“Oh, I know all about what goes on up here,” sneered Zorah.  “The only one who has to worry is you.”

She opened her mouth slightly and her tongue delicately touched her upper incisors.  She raised her eyebrows and tightened her grip on my torso, forcing the air from my lungs.  She started slowly strolling down the hallway, but then the sounds from the pig were drowned out by a monstrous roar followed by several screams that might have been human.  I tried to tell Zorah to run, but I had no breath.

“Olivia will get rid of you after this stunt,” preened Zorah, invested in the moment, “but I’m sure I can convince her to let me keep you.”

A deafening boom, like the earth itself cracking open, shook the entire building.  The brass doors burst outward, shattering the hinges and threshold and cracking the marble floor.  Black and green smoke billowed into the hallway.  Zorah still had her back to the door, so I saw it first.

Or at least part of it; it filled the doorway.  I didn’t see any eyes, but it had a circular mouth like a lamprey, easily five feet across, opening and constricting with receding rows of teeth.  The body or appendage undulated like a giant worm, but it was supported by multiple hard legs like a centipede.  Two wicked-looking mandibles on either side of the mouth made an all-too-familiar clicking noise.

Zorah turned and screamed.  The thing’s mouth opened and a tentacle or a tongue shot forward ten feet and wrapped around Zorah’s neck.  Zorah grabbed at the slimy rope thing, dropping me instantly.  I bounced off her straining leg and hit the marble floor hard.  My shoulder and hip screamed in pain, but I pushed off from the floor and desperately rolled towards the wall trying to avoid Zorah’s frantic footfalls.

A nauseating slick flapping sound erupted from the thing’s gullet, and blind panic forced me to my feet.  Limping and occasionally stumbling, I ran pell-mell down the hallway, listening to the thing roar and gurgle while Zorah’s screams grew increasingly shrill and primal.  Then, horribly, Zorah’s screaming was abruptly muffled, and my throbbing hip gave out.  I slumped against the wall and I turned to look back down the hall to witness a sight I shall never forget as long as I live.

The thing hadn’t advanced very far, but Zorah had been dragged all the way back.  The tubular maw had engulfed her head, neck, and upper arms, and she was bent forward at the waist.  The thing’s mandibles closed and pierced her at the ribcage.  Then the whole monstrous worm—to me the size of Godzilla—arched upward, lifting Zorah off her feet.  Its slimy segmented body started convulsing, drawing Zorah further and further into its tract.  As its toothy pucker slid over her tits, belly, ass, and thighs, Zorah’s legs never stopped kicking.  I watched her flailing feet disappear into that putrid gorge, accompanied by a wet crunching sound.

And then I ran.

I will be forever haunted by the slurping and clicking noises that followed me down the hall, but the thing itself did not pursue me.  I don’t know if I was too small to see (I don’t think it had eyes), or if Zorah had sated its appetite (I doubt it).  Perhaps it only came to collect from those who had already sold their souls (i.e., lawyers).

I kept running, heedless of the pain in my legs and sides, ignoring the phlegm creeping up my throat.  My pace fell off after I rounded the corner, but I never stopped moving back towards my hiding place.  I didn’t see anyone else on my way back to the copy room, and I was so tired and sore that I almost pulled myself up onto the shelf where I could pass out.  But there was one last thing I had to try before I would give up and resign myself to Zorah’s fate.

My phone was still on the floor behind the printer where Yvonne had hidden it.  I felt like Tony Stark manipulating the giant touch screen with both hands.  I unlocked it and pulled up the audio recordings.  Here goes nothing, I thought, and started the playback.

“Kahp-hasheena,” came Yvonne’s voice out of the speaker.

I had hoped for the expected pain in my chest and the blurring of my vision, but in my fatigue and terror I had forgotten a) I was wearing doll clothes, and b) I was standing in a six-inch-wide space between the printer stand and the cupboard.  Accordingly, I was probably less injured when Zorah dropped me onto the marble floor than when I burst through Malibu Ken’s sport ensemble and returned to full-size in the copy room.

My first reflex after knocking over the printer stand was to lie perfectly still and listen to see if anyone or anything was coming to investigate the noise.  After I had listened as long as I dared, I rapidly dressed and then peeked around the corner.  I could see and smell that some smoke had drifted throughout the floor, and I concluded that the fire alarm must either be deactivated or malfunctioning.

Mindful of the security cameras around every corner, I pulled on the ski mask I had tucked in my bag that morning, then walked as quickly and as quietly as I could for the door to the stairway.  We were over twenty floors up, but they always say to use the stairs in case of a fire.

As I limped out of the stairway into the building lobby, I noted that Yvonne had sent me a text almost six hours previously:  “Text me when you get back.”

I walked outside into the chill night air.  I crossed the street and saw the green flames licking the windows of the top floor.  Still no sirens.

I texted Yvonne back:  “Good news.  I think we’re all out of a job.  Let’s do coffee.  Soon.”

* * *

The top three floors burned out completely before the fire department could put out the fire.  They had to use a special retardant designed for chemical fires.  They only found bodies for half the partners, but the executive assistants testified that all the partners had been expected to attend.  The news didn’t say whether they found the pig.

The firm’s insurance paid us all a very small severance, and most of us pounded the pavement until we got new jobs.  Happily, both Yvonne and I got jobs at the same firm.  Our new practice mainly deals with defending churches whose pastors have been accused of sexually assaulting child parishioners.  You know, honest work.

Unfortunately, our curses didn’t vanish when the old firm went up in smoke.  Yvonne still rises and sleeps on East Coast time, but she got the new firm to accommodate her schedule.  Sometimes I come in early, too, to keep her company.

Yvonne’s marriage to Jeff seems to be holding steady, but during our recent brief spell of unemployment, she managed to negotiate some greater flexibility in her personal schedule, such that I could spend a little more time with her without having to become her “dollie.”

I don’t think I’ll ever truly recover from the trauma of Olivia, Zorah, and my last night at the old firm.  Yvonne wants me to see a therapist, but how can I explain what happened to a stranger?  Spending time with Yvonne is therapeutic enough.

Of course, I suspect the real reason Yvonne wants me to “get over it” is so she can feel better about asking permission to shrink me.  I keep demurring to draw this out as long as possible, but the brutal fact is that she doesn’t need my permission.  All she has to do is say the word.  You better believe I made multiple backups of the audio recording she made for me on our last day at the old firm.

Our flirtation has continued and expanded, of course, since we got our new jobs.  She keeps saying she wants to get her hands on my full-size cock, but we’ve never managed to make it happen.  I’m nervously anticipating next month, however, when Jeff and his daughter will be back east for a week visiting his family.  Yvonne’s old friend Shelly is coming up to stay with her at the same time.

Allegedly, Shelly is very interested in making my acquaintance—she’s heard all about me.