It was Isabel Errant III's twenty-second birthday, and her father finally felt comfortable with handing her the title of Grand Controller- and, thus, rightful ownership of an estimated 93% of the planet, and all off-world colonies. As a gift, he had also imparted the Founder's Treasure Room.
Eight millenia ago, the Founder had been the single greatest genius humanity had ever been blessed with. This one man invented the Prismatic Beam, a focused beam of plasma which allowed for clean surgery, safe mining, and complete control over interstellar warfare. He created the Tesseract Chamber, which multiplied internal storage spaces by over 900 times. He gave devices permitting space travel, terraforming, and energy so clean and efficient it was said to violate the laws of physics. Within three years, every government on the planet was dispatched by his followers and united into a common front. Various islands still existed to store dissidents, but the standard of living was nowhere near that of the vast United Human Territories, and the fools were permitted their "safe havens".
Rumors had always existed that the Founder had created things he had never trusted humanity with- devices he knew would be abused by those who simply could not compare to him in benevolence. These rumors had also always been denied.
They were true, of course, and Isabel knew that much. She even knew the nature of some of them, and had had her favorite few maids stimulate her while she imagined what she would do with them.
Currently, not-yet-Grand-Controller Isabel III grinned at the prospect of finally seeing everything her infinitely blessed ancestor had set aside for his own eyes, and by extension hers.
The room had high, vaunted ceilings, decorated in the reds, greens, and silver tones that had been favored by her ancestor. Had Isabel decorated, there would be a considerable bit more black, but that was beside the point. Red suited her tastes and purposes perfectly.
The soon-to-be Grand Controller smiled widely as her eyes clapped on what she had anticipated most heavily- the Ultimate Mass Modification Device Mark Seven, or UMMD Mk 7.
She greedily ran her hands over the vaguely ovoid device. It pricked her with a needle that extended from inside it, and she winced.
***ANALYZING . . . Analysis complete. Accepted user detected. What may I do this afternoon, Madam?***
Isabel ran her fingers through her long bronze locks giddily. "Claim sixteen inmates from Roche Limit Maximum Security Prison and bring them to me. Reduce eight of them by a factor of twenty-four, five of them by a factor of forty-eight, and three by a factor of sixty."
***Understood, madam. Is there a specific distance from your person you would prefer? ***
Isabel grinned, overjoyed it had been this easily. "Within four feet from me," she replied, an edge of joy creeping into her voice.
***Understood, madam. Please wait seven seconds.***
Isabel nodded, and set the UMMD Mk 7 back on its pedestal. She kicked off her sandals in the meantime, enjoying the feeling of the cool emerald tile beneath her feet.
Exactly seven seconds later, Isabel's order came through- nine men and seven women, formerly among the toughest and most menacing criminals in the United Human Territories, now lay nude, tiny, and sprawled out at the feet of an ecstatic young woman.
"Mornin', little bitches," Isabel said evenly. She had been trained to hide every semblance of emotion until it was called for, and Isabel had nothing to be happy about yet. The UMMD might have scrambled their minds, and Isabel wanted the idiots at her feet completely competent for what she was to do to them.
As it turned out, she needn't have worried. "Who the fuck are you calling a little bitch you . . . little . . ." The roughly three-inch-tall man trailed off as his eyes roamed up the vast expanse of a girl that, given his criminal record, he would have raped and stuffed into a wood chipper were he his normal size.
Isabel gave a wry grin. "I don't believe that you're in the position to call me 'little', insect. In fact, in your position, you should be groveling at my feet and begging me not to conscript that little brother of yours after my coronation in three hours."
Isabel recognized this particular criminal- Larson Todd. His record had interested her when he came on the news- he specifically preyed on women who matched her own description- short, relatively busty brunettes. She was surprised to learn that he used the money from selling his victims' belongings, not for personal gain, but for a waiver card for his younger brother that would allow him to avoid ever seeing war. He had been exactly one dollar short when he was captured.
Larson froze. "N- no . . . y'wouldn't . . ."
Isabel laughed lightly, like an ancient noblewoman. "Would you like to find out, Larson? Or would you rather grovel now?" She lifted a tablet computer. "If I'm dissatisfied with how you do, or if you annoy me further, I promise you I will fill out his conscription order personally."
Blubbering like a fool all the while, Larson ran to Isabel's foot like a madman. Once there, he showered it with a bevy of kisses. "P- please . . . please leave my brother be," he said between kisses. "Please, I'm beggin' ya!"
"Lick," Isabel replied flatly. "Lick every crevice clean. Then I'll think about it."
Isabel couldn't help but smile at the mental image- and the real one had her giggling. Her finely-tuned hearing detected his muttered obscenities between each lick, but she decided to ignore him for the time being.
With her left foot occupied by the bug man, Isabel raised her right at the small bundle of criminals that thought they could avoid being played with by merely feigning sleep.
"You. Dumbasses. Get up, now, or I'll just make you stains on the tile for the automatic vacuum to clean," she said flatly.
Unsurprisingly, the whole group shot to their feet. One, however, took just a second too long to stand. The inch-high arrogant one stood, hands on hips, and looked annoyed more than anything else.
Quickly and without ceremony, she stamped him out, leaving a bright red stain on the floor.
"Anyone else ready to die?" Isabel asked, a smile on her face.
"Fuck you!" four of them said in near-unison.
Isabel shrugged, and four more pops of red appeared in two seconds flat.
The final mid-sized one had a look on her face that was . . . amorous, to say the least. If Isabel's Internet searches had not lied to her, she was also doing something called "masturbating".
Isabel smiled widely. She recognized this one, as well- a cannibalistic killer of opportunity who only went by "Umbra". She preyed on anyone she could get her hands on, and was only caught because she drunkenly bragged about her identity to a girl she occasionally slept with.
"Do you like what you see?" Isabel asked tauntingly, flaunting her body- she only wore her skintight Cy-suit at the moment, and thus her body was on open display to the bugs she had captured.
Umbra nodded quickly. "Hell yeah! I'd love to get inside that!"
Isabel pointedly ignored the other responses she got. "Well, Umbra, my foot's a little dirty. I've got a little scum on it. If you eat enough off, you'll get to see the other side of my Cy-suit." She raised her right foot, leaving only the heel resting on the ground.
"Done deal!" Umbra yelled, running to the gore-splattered ped with reckless abandon. Once there, she licked and nibbled the lightly wrinkled flesh, eating just about everything she could reach.
Isabel pulled her foot back, laying it flat on the ground. "Good enough, my little admirer. I admit, after seeing your pretty face on the news, I did have my share of wet dreams about you." The Grand Controller-to-be ignored the miniaturized whoops and catcalls she received from this comment. "In any case," she sultrily added, tapping three fingers at her collarbone to give her Cy-suit a cleavage window, "I did say you'd get to see the other side of my suit."
With that, she lifted Umbra between two fingers and deposited her in her cleavage. Tapping her collarbone again, the Cy-suit re-covered the flesh up to that point. Isabel grinned as the criminal struggled for air between her breasts. She was now significantly aroused, and was tempted to leave immediately and rush to her room for one of her maids to get her off before the ceremony. However, there were still ten living criminals.
"Ah, fuck it," she muttered. She abandoned her original plan, instead opting to murder nine more with her foot. The lucky survivor, the final remaining person, was the one she started off with- Larson.
"Hey, bugboy. Tell you what. Clean off my right foot- get all the blood and stuff off, preferably with your mouth- and I'll leave your brother alone," Isabel said impatiently. "But hurry up, 'cause I just realized I have somewhere to be."
The miniaturized man nodded, dashing to the bloody sole to lick it clean. Due to being properly motivated, he was done within a few minutes.
Isabel picked Larson up by his foot, and dangled him before her face. "Congratulations. You've spared your brother the horror of war." She flashed him a wicked grin. "Unfortunately, you didn't ask for anything for yourself. I happen to be hungry. Do the math."
The man screamed. "FUCK YOU, YOU TITANIC BITCH! GO FUCK YOURSELF!"
Isabel laughed lightly. "I don't need to, " she whispered. "My maids do that for me."
With that, she delayed herself no further, and dropped the criminal into her mouth, swallowing him whole. She relished in the feeling of a meal fighting her every step of the way, and tapped at her collarbone again to better chart his progress through her esophagus (and simultaneously keep Umbra alive just a few minutes longer- her tiny struggles for air felt fantastic).
Once satisfied with the knowledge that Larson rested in her stomach, she sealed her Cy-suit again, slipped on her sandals, and made her way to her room.
On the way, a servant had the nerve to stop her. "No one has seen you in almost an hour, Madam Errant. What have you been doing?"
Isabel flashed a cryptic grin as she walked. "Oh . . . just killing time."
Politicking bored Grand Controller Isabel, plain and simple.
Everything was always "help us with this" and "do that", and it all seemed to cost so much that fixing every problem was impossible- fixing any problem looked impossible.
Isabel, however, solid in her knowledge that she had the infinitely wise Founder's blood in her veins (and his best creations at her disposal), was confident that her choices were always for the best. It did leave endless stress, though.
Then why in the Territories was her father so dead-set on making the problem worse?
-----------
"Isabel, you know that you cannot shoulder this burden alone, and so I've called eligible bachelors to compete for your heart," Isabel's father, the previous Grand Controller, said softly.
"Yes," Isabel hissed, "but you know as well as I my . . . leanings. There are such things as Viper-pods, if an heir's what you're concerned about."
"Be that as it may," he replied in a calm whisper, "there are still billions out there who disapprove of homosexual relations. Do you really wish to alienate a portion of the population before your rule begins in earnest?"
"Why should I care?" Isabel angrily whispered. "There's no reasonable basis to disapprove of anything anymore, especially after we confirmed the Founder's suspicions as to the nature of the metaphysical!"
"Because," he replied gravely, "reason or not, most people do not have the Founder's infinite rationality. To keep the more base portions of the population in line, we must make sacrifices. Besides," he added with a wry grin, "you're the Grand Controller now. Provided you select a less opinionated man, you may sleep with who you choose. Or, if you're charismatic enough, you may pull off the single boldest move, just like your namesake."
My namesake . . . Ah. The first Grand Controller Isabel, the Founder's daughter, the Dragon Queen. She kept a harem of several husbands and wives, and everyone let her do it because no one could ever tell her no. Single biggest badass in UHT history.
With that, Grand Controller Isabel stepped onto the floor of the Grand Ballroom, where many of the most eligible bachelors in the vastness of the Territories were gathered to try to win the right to be her bitch- key word being try.
While Isabel did have a slight attraction to men (the Grayson scale implied that all people who count themselves as attracted one way or the other have at least one exception), she counted herself firmly on the pink end of the Grayson scale- maybe a P9.8. In any case, most of the men here were sorely mistaken if they thought their half-baked lines and horribly unsubtle flirtations would get them anywhere.
However, Isabel did have her eye on two. There was one complete doormat she'd met just on her way in (she'd nearly wiped her shoes on him, in fact), who was perfect for her designs. The other was strong, lithe, and just perfect physically. The first Isabel remembered the autocomm number of- she'd apparently need him later. The other, though, she memorized a name and address- the Grand Controller had grand designs for him.
---------
Isabel found herself spending more and more time in the Treasure Room, torturing tiny Umbra, and having the miniscule woman provide some minor service to justify her existence- usually stimulating her nipples did the trick.
As Isabel stepped into the room, in fact, the bug-sized cannibal bowed to her, already considerably aroused. "What do I do for you today, my Goddess?"
Oh, how Isabel loved that word. Goddess. So primal, so raw in its statement of power. She made herself a mental note to give Umbra a treat later- perhaps snagging another criminal for her lunch tomorrow.
"I won't be asking anything of you today, Umbra. You may go back to sleep," Isabe; replied offhandedly.
"Permission to masturbate to your presence, Goddess?" Umbra asked hopefully.
"Permission granted," Isabel said with a sigh. "Just make it quiet- I do have designs for the day."
After the bug-girl's squeak of thanks, Isabel accessed the UMMD Mk 7 again, willingly surrendering another drop of her blood to the fantastic machine.
Isabel cleared her throat. "Claim Douglas Devonport from 752 West Haven Street, reduce by a factor of twelve, set makeup to rubber. New location: my right hand."
***Understood, madam. Please wait seven seconds.***
Isabel smirked when Devonport arrived. The time difference meant that the poor boy was snoring away when he appeared in her palm. His six-inch-tall frame shivered at the cold he experienced from the combination of the AC and suddenly being composed of a substance that didn't retain heat well.
Isabel woke the man with a simple, cheery "Good morning!"
Isabel's smile grew wide while Devonport screamed. "What did you do? What the fuck?"
Isabel chuckled. "I shrank you, I teleported you to this room, and made you into rubber. Why do you ask?"
"R- rubber?" he asked confusedly.
"Yeah, rubber," Isabel replied, annoyed that she had to repeat herself. "and there is nothing you can do about it. So please don't attempt to fight me, or you'll piss me off, and I don't think you wish to test your new body's durability."
"People are gonna find out about this!" he yelled angrily.
"Pfft. Most people would consider me crazy even if I told them what I'm about to do to you. Now, hold still . . ."
The moment she told him to hold still, he bagan to thrash with all his might, though he couldn't accomplish much with his legs held tight by her fingers. Isabel was glad she'd foregone clothes on this trip to the Treasure Room- now she could do as she pleased without needing to put him down to strip.
After shaking her thoughts away, Isabel unceremoniously lowered Devonport to her exposed vagina, and thrust him in headfirst. The resultant sensation was nothing less than euphoric. This man had been someone important, he'd had hopes, dreams, and a promising future- one she'd replaced with a future of being a meaningless sex toy. That, more than the physical rush, was the reason she was doing this.
"How you holding up in there?" Isabel asked, despite knowing that, even if there were an answer, she wouldn't hear it. "Tell me 'stop' if you don't want me to shove you in deeper." After waiting a few seconds with the comical image of Devonport's legs kicking futilely outside her comparatively massive cunt, she applied her palm flat to his legs, shoving him in quickly.
With the combinarion of power rush and a wriggling person lodged in her most sensitive area, Isabel came quickly- but wasn't done yet. She picked up the UMMD again. "Reduce . . . last entered object . . . by 12," she panted.
Seven seconds later, six-inch Devonport was now too small for his struggles to matter in the scheme of things- half an inch tall. Isabel used her muscles to guide the frankly miniscule man to her exit, and grinned at his puny form.
"Reduce last entered object by a factor of 3," she said, waiting for the moment when he'd dwindle past where her vision would pick him up.
Deciding that making him a sixth of an innch tall was good enough for one day, Isable entrusted him to Umbra. After all, at his size, he was perfect for serving the little criminal now- a fitting reward for her unwavering loyalty over the past few weeks.
Isabel collected herself, showered off the mess, and left the Treasure Room with a massive load off her shoulders.