The scene before the White House was a cavalcade of chaotic cries and exclamations. For miles out figures could be seen standing before the iconic building bearing red signs with catchy phrases emblazoned along them. A horde of people compacted together and stretching out for the entirety of the White House lawn well into the Washington Monument and the streets beyond.

Rumored to be the largest procession to ever be gathered for such an event. Granted, it was the largest procession of women to ever be gathered. No matter, largest was largest. Sure, there were men here or there but they were few and far between and very obviously not the bulk of the mass of people. To even call them 1% would have been incredibly generous.

Before the pristine chalky building, a stage had been prepared. Complete with a podium, currently empty, as well banners declaring the jovial reason for such a gathering.

Inauguration Day

Yes, the fateful day was here at long last. After years of debate, scandal, and heated tensions the American people had spoken and made their voices heard. It was this fateful day that the 45th President of the United States was to be officially ushered into office.

The crowd was restless, having waited hours with nothing to show as of yet. It all still seemed too good to be true and yet here they all were. The campaign had seemed like such a wonderful dream but one glance to the various signs levied by the various people assured any doubts.

We are not Objects!

Down with the Patriarchy!

It’s Lady Liberty. Not Mr. Liberty!

Make America Big Again!

Such phrases had been the talking points for the preceding months as an underdog candidate took the world by storm. Her approach was uncouth. In fact, some might even say unworthy for someone trying to be President. However, her words resonated with her peoples and it had paid off in the end. Certainly, this would be the day that America would become the greatest country in the world once more.

“She’s here!”

“Look!”

Murmurs began to spread along the restless people as a long dark limousine pulled into view to the roaring chorus of cheers and applause. It came upon the impressive entourage of military uniform-clad soldiers and famed politicians, soon stopping somewhere out of view. The crowd grew silent once more. Those gathered on the stage turned and looked towards the back.

Time seemed to grow still for a moment as the country watched with anticipation, and in some cases fear. At first nobody could see it, but then came the first bit of blonde hair as more of the President Elect began to come into view. Behind her a brunette head also made its appearance and seemed to grow in stature with each step.

“Trent Piece! Trent Pierce!” The crowd gleefully cheered the names of the duo with nothing short of reverence.

Stepping down along the carpeted path set before her was none other than Dianne Trent, soon-to-be 45th President of the United States.

She carried herself with a presence and posture that radiated confidence. Dianne walked with a perfect yet relaxed posture, one that seemed to make her already imposing 6”2” figure even taller in comparison to the smaller politicians around her. Long flowing blonde hair billowed in the air behind her as her heels sank into the carpet and she strolled towards the podium, eyeing it for just a moment before calmly taking a position at its side.

Say what one would of her, Dianne made for an impressive face among the crowd of soldiers and elderly men. Despite possessing 45 years under her belt she didn’t look a day over 30 (Which considering the amount of money invested into her looks she damn well better not). A tall, busty body teased itself through the form-fitting confines of a black business dress that danced around her nylon-covered legs. Brilliant blue eyes gazed on ahead with the utmost confidence.

At her side her running mate stood equally as impressive. Being just as tall and perhaps even more developed than the Lady President, Michelle Pierce maintained a calm visage from her position behind her blonde partner. Unlike Dianne, her hair was meticulously straightened and restricted into a ponytail. Always the face of professionalism and business that one.

Such were the two women that took the nation by storm. Their stances were extreme. Their tactics ruthless and perceived by many to even be incompetent. However the results spoke for themselves, and now these two women stood on the victor’s stage.

With a sly smirk Dianne glanced over at a number of the politicians surrounding her, many of them shying away from her intimidating gaze. It was fairly obvious who was afraid of who here; and standing there right at the heart of the gathering of cowardice and masculinity was none other than her defeated opponent himself: Hal Colton. A picture perfect example of everything wrong with the system if ever there was one. Old. White. Male. Weak. A spineless coward like the rest of the system he represented. A representative of all the problems Dianne intended to fix.

Eventually the roars of the crowd died down once again and the general peace returned for a moment. Ceremonies weren’t set to begin for another ten minutes; but when those ten minutes came to pass nothing was more deafening than the cries of pure elation from what felt like every woman in the country.

From the swathe of politicians on stage one man stepped forward to the podium. Despite the obvious unease he must’ve felt to be delivering this address he carried himself with the cool, collected grace of a politician. A modest applause greeted him.

“Thank you.” He began to the dimmer of applause. “As the President, the Vice President, the President Elect, and the Vice President Elect stand here...Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to the inauguration of the 45th President of the United States of America.”

More applause, still rather lackluster.

“Today the branches of government come together to celebrate the passing of this nation’s torch…”

His words quickly bled into one another, weaving historical facts and quotes into elongated dribble that sounded pretty but ultimately amounted to padding. Another instance of the ineptitude of the current regime at play. The crowd may as well have been dead on their feet they were so utterly silent. Even Dianne, known for her bombastic voice, looked rather bored by the proceedings.

Half an hour passed before the words that would revitalize the crowds were uttered.

“And so, it is with great honor that I introduce, for the first time, the first female and 45th President of the United States...Dianne J. Trent!”

As if they had simultaneously awoken all at once, the crowd roared louder than it ever had before. An endless shriek of female voices that filled the air with an energy that wasn’t there moments before. Change was in the air and they could all feel it.

Dianne calmly walked and took the podium, standing proud as countless figures screamed their praise and adoration for her. A level of unanimous joy that had never before been seen at any Inauguration. All for her. Applause would die down only for more applause to begin, putting off the President’s words for several minutes as the world basked in this glorious moment.

“My fellow Americans…” Dianne began and the crowd fell silent. “And people of the world…” She glanced aside at the politicians who had opposed her for a moment. “Thank you.” More applause from the crowds before her. “We, the citizens of America, are now joined in a great national effort to rebuild and make our country great once again. For many, many years to come.”

As had defined her campaign, whenever Dianne spoke the world listened. Whenever she said something the people praised her. This was no exception. Any who weren’t praising her this day were simply a part of the problem.

“We will face challenges. We will face hardships, but we will get the job done.” She said with a bright and confident smile. “Every four years we gather on these steps for a transference of power. So that one generation can usher in the next; but today is a special occasion! For the first time in American history, a man is bestowing this nation’s ultimate honor onto me, a woman.” An especially loud applause erupted after that declaration. “From the system to me, and from me to you, the people.”

Now it was beginning. Any who knew Dianne and her speeches knew where this speech was heading. It was inevitable really. “For too long has the power of this once illustrious nation of ours been locked away within the White House! Within its large room filled with men. Too long have they denied the American people the services that they have been promised. Not anymore!”

Behind her many of those men she had spent her campaign defacing shifted uncomfortable in their seats. They knew Dianne was a radical. They knew her position and what she promised to do; but never in all of their lives could they have ever imagined things would turn out like this. With each artfully delivered word she riled the crowds of people even more. Not just at the White House, but across the nation.

“The establishment has cared only for itself! Not for the people. Their victories have not been your victories. So I beseeched the American people to ask who they wanted, and the people have spoken!” Her arms flew up at her sides in a grandiose gesture, the applause growing overwhelming. “Incompetent they called me! Sexist! A bigot! The corruption at the heart of our government tried to silence my message, but it was you America that stopped them!” Technically it was about 85% of all women in America and 5% of the men, but she naturally didn’t offer such specifics.

By her usual standards the statements were downright tame. Dianne had been known to allegedly say many things. Like all men were rapists (But some were okay). That the government was a corporate cesspool of misogyny that had turned a beautiful system in on itself. Too many things to keep up with really.

“It’s okay now, because today is your day America!” Dianne called with a clear gesture to the predominantly female crowd. “No longer will you fear your safety in walking the streets at night! No more will you be afraid of being judged for what you wear or how you talk. No more will criminals and rapists get away with violating this sacred country of ours.” She stopped, exhaling under her breath before looking up. “America was great once. We were born from men, fine men, and women, fine women. Both of whom worked together to make the greatest country in the world; but we’ve lost our way. Once we were the biggest exporter of goods in the world. Now we aren’t even 1%. We trade less than any other country in the world!” Not true, but the crowd sure didn’t seem to mind.

“Still, I love this country deeply, and I love its people. America was great once. It was the strongest, biggest country to ever exist in the history of the world, and I think it can be again. That’s why I decided enough is a enough! It’s time America!”

Everyone in the crowd knew what came next. An endless swathe of voices joined Dianne’s as she spoke the key phrase that had become her rallying cry. The words that had given her this great power.

“Make America Big Again!”

The cheers exploded into an uncontrollable celebration of the new Lady President; and as half the country cried tears of joy, the other half wept in sorrow.

 

 

Usually it took time for a sitting president to actually get to work on the things they promised the nation. Weeks. Months. Hell sometimes it took years with the clogged pipes of the political process in Washington. Usually that was because it took time for a head of state to get used to the nature of the office. It was a delicate position after all, being the de facto Leader of the Free World. Few would approach any such hallowed office with the intention of being a bull in a china shop. Especially if that china shop had a massive nuclear arsenal.

...Which was why day one of President Dianne Trent’s tenure in the Oval Office featured her rather photogenic face split in a big grin as she displayed an Executive Order before flashing cameras and stunned staff members. She placed it down on a desk that had possessed such distinguished figures as Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, and FDR sitting before it. She clicked a rather fine pen and scribbled a rather overly fancy looking signature upon it, enacting the order.

Through her campaign there had been plenty of people who defended the fiery and rather outspoken blonde by stating that she couldn’t mean *everything* she was saying. That would be crazy. She just needed to say all that to get into Office so she could stimulate the economy, drain the swamp out of Washington and make America into the biggest country on Earth.

However, the signing of that first executive order was the first sign that she was not only serious about her promises. She was active in getting them through. Naturally, she’d gotten Michelle to actually read it out loud to her earlier, but nobody needed to know that. The order read:

“Under Executive Order of the President of the United States of America, all biologically born male denizens of these United States are required to submit themselves to lose exactly one foot in height. Those found attempting to dodge this Order will be treated as federal offenders and prosecuted with the full force of the law.”

There was more legalese and jargon included under it but the biggest part was that first bit. The media naturally blew up and Americans woke the day after the inauguration of the 45th president of the United States to hear about the order over morning news. All over the country men watched the broadcast, ashy faced, disbelieving, a few shaking their heads as though this couldn’t actually be real life.

“A lot of people thought I’d come in and were, like, ‘oh, she won’t actually make men shorter to decrease violent crime. She’s just kidding around.’ I don’t kid, okay folks? I promise, I will fulfill every campaign promise I’ve made. Just watch me. The media, they’re a bunch of liars. Can’t trust what you see on the news these days. But you can trust me.” The blonde stood before a podium later that day, delivering a rather inarticulate speech in her usual style. Her blue eyes occasionally drifted in the direction of the teleprompter.

“The violent crime rate in this country. Is absolutely overwhelming. Its anarchy in some cities. The murder and rape rates are through the roof, folks.” She punctuated her point unnecessarily by lifting her hand just above her head. “I’ve heard its numbers as high as 3,000, maybe even 10,000. I’ve heard numbers as big as over 100,000 violent murders or rapes in the major cities alone. Thats crazy, its insanity. The biggest perpetrators? Men. Over 97%- 97%- of violent crimes are committed by men. Our daughters don’t feel safe on the streets.” Never mind where she was pulling these statistics from.

The blonde smiled. “This is just a measure to ensure we live in a safer, more civilized society. Besides.” She shrugged her shoulders a beseeching gesture. “What’s a foot? Am I right people? God bless you and God bless these United States.” There was a flurry of questions that the president’s press secretary was quick to intercept as the blonde stepped off the stage, heels clacking loudly as she walked.

So it was that every male citizen was legally required by federal order to submit themselves to be reduced in height by a foot. Medical centers were overwhelmed and federal centers were swamped as well as around half the population of the country was required to submit themselves to be willingly shrunken.

Naturally there was uproar. Human rights activists slammed the President’s Order as unconstitutional. Courts the country over were rushing to try and figure out how to repeal the order and the opposition was blindsided by the speed of President Dianne Trent’s action. People resisted, but most people were law abiding citizens. They didn’t want to go to jail. So the majority hung their heads and went with it, convincing themselves that while this was absolutely crazy it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

It was during this time that the President confirmed a new Court Justice, a spot that had been a hole for a goodly while. Her party naturally backed the woman. They were too busy trying to repeal a number of laws the previous president had enacted, all too content to push along the President’s proposals. They figured they had her under control. She wasn’t *that* crazy.

Not even a few days later was when the second order went out, stunning the nation again. This one was less crazy than the first but still very much in line with President Trent’s gender politics.

“Under Executive Order of the President of the United States of America, all men are banned from entering or leaving the country unless they are citizens of the United States. Offenders will be detained and deported effective immediately.”

This one took a spin off of her tough immigration stance. Now this one, while it had the opposition tearing their hair out and on a warpath it had her party’s supporters practically cheering. Immigration was a hardline issue for them after all. Admittedly it was a pretty gender specific ban but as the now one foot shorter speaker of the house put it:

“It's important to remember that the vast majority of potential terrorists entering this country are men. By cutting off the male traffic into the country the President is cutting off the vast majority of terror threats. It's important to note this is an all inclusive ban, it isn’t targeting a specific group.” The dark haired man spoke. Standing nearby was the President herself, her 6’2” form now positively amazonian compared to most men around. She had a rather content, almost smug smile on her face.

“Mr. Speaker! How long is the ban in place for?” Came a voice from the reporters.

“I’ve been told it will be up to 90 days, though it is open to extension in that time. It isn’t likely to be a permanent ban and it’s important to understand that. America is and always will be a country of inclusion.” The man answered.

“Mr. Speaker! What do you say to allegations that this is a grossly sexist policy, much like the Madame President’s first Executive Order?”

The man actually cast an almost uneasy looking glance back at President Trent in the wing. She cleared her throat and stepped up to the podium, her generous cleavage bobbing ever so as she stepped. The speaker stepped aside, well was more shoved out of the way by the much taller woman. “I’d say that this is not a sexist policy. My administration is committed to looking after the welfare of *all* American citizens. Men and Women. This country was founded by great men with great ideals after all. These are just measures to ensure the welfare and prosperity of our great nation.”

Naturally there were plenty that didn’t buy that. Protests were held at every airport, men picketing against the tyranny of their President. News outlets started to recover slightly from the lightning quick executive orders and reported on some of President Trent’s more odd statistics. The one sector of the country she was still overwhelmingly supported by? Women. They fought back almost zealously on social media and in counter protests. There were a few men among their number as well but they were largely in the minority.

Eventually a couple weeks passed and there were no orders from the White House. The president was fighting claims she was being unconstitutional all the way to the Supreme Court. A Supreme Court where she had the majority naturally. Protests started in other sectors and the opposition staunchly tried to block President Trent’s picks for key positions in her administration. Her most shocking move was firing all of her male Chiefs of Staff and promoting women in their place. Ones that were pretty favorably towards her. There was outcry on the opposition and indeed all through the country. However with this control over the military established firmly President Trent released Two Executive Orders on the same day.

“Under Executive Order of the President of the United States of America, all males on this sovereign ground are to be subjected to a Three Strikes System. The strikes will take away from one’s height if they are convicted of crimes or strongly enough suspected of criminal activity.”

“Under Executive Order of the President of the United States of America, all males on this sovereign ground are required to keep special ID’s on their person at all times. These ID’s will be directly linked to their size and are to be presented on request of law enforcement. Males will also require extensive screenings and background checks when applying for employment or education.”

The nation had fallen into shock at the orders. There were two very different reactions to the orders. The President’s base was heavily supportive of her decree, advocating strongly of it to decrease crime rates further. Her opposition, males all naturally, were outraged. Indeed there were riots in New York hours after the order was given. Riots which the President immediately used to her advantage.

“I have just been informed, that over 43 courageous and brave police officers have been killed in the line of duty in New York. Can we please have a moment of silence in their memory.” Everyone in the crowded press conference was silent for a long moment, though the tension was palpable.

Dianne lifted her bowed head and affected her most emotional looking face. She paused a few times, looking choked up. “It pains me to have to stand here today and know that lawlessness is thick in a place so near and dear to my heart. I have my businesses in New York City, I grew up in New York. What happens there hits me at my core.” The president paused.

“Its also reaffirmed that my actions were the correct course. Look at it. They’re wrecking the city folks. Is this how civilized, good people handle things when something they don’t like happens. You can protest without burning down businesses and looting. No, we need a strong law enforcement agency with access to proper tools to do their job. My predecessor was light on crime, I won’t be. Over 89% of our law enforcement agencies are underfunded. 89%! Well not on my watch folks. We’re going to have a big, beautiful police force across the country. I tell you right now we are going to Make America Big Again!” President Trent declared live on every major outlet.

It wasn’t long after that the national guard, now under new management, was deployed to crack down on the riots. After that the new laws went into effect, the Executive Orders being quickly translated to bills that were shoved through Congress through loopholes and obscure laws. They weren’t just Orders soon enough. They were laws. Federal laws that the nation was required to abide by.

So it was that the hard life of men in the United States grew harder still. With these new ID’s and required background checks it became difficult for men to secure employment. Women were seen as more appealing due to the lack of red tape and now being more physically built for common tasks. Colleges accepted less applications of men, some even rejecting them outright due to the legal issues they had to go through. The Three Strikes law however, while it did bring crime rates down at tad, was also heavily open to abuse as many discovered across the country. The first strike took away another foot. The second reduced the offender to two feet in height. The last strike, dwindled the offender to three inches in height. The common sense knowledge now. Three Strikes, and you’re out.

 

The initial reaction to the newly implemented laws was...mixed to say the least. On the one hand an overwhelmingly vast majority of women seemed all for the new regulations. “Preventative Measures” as Dianne later called them. On the other hand men understandably weren’t nearly as thrilled by the prospect of rights being taken away and extra hurdles to jump through for the most basic of things. There were no shortage of protests as millions flooded the streets of all the biggest cities in the country demanding that Dianne be judged for her crimes against masculinity.

For a time it seemed like an all out civil war was inevitable. The initial fervor was monumental and seemed to split the country right down a very fine line. Days went by however, and the outrage dimmed back to its usual levels before long. Each day brought with it more appalling news and criticism of the Trent presidency. Yet, despite it all a startling number of people still supported the extremist President. Supporters who either praised what she was doing or dismissed the negatives as harmless.

Regardless of what one might have felt or thought, life always had a way of moving on.

For Charles everything that was happening on TV was terrifying to be sure, but it also didn’t involve him. The laws were meant to punish the dregs of society. He, however, was a model citizen. A responsible, happily married man who did his 9 to 5 each day, paid his taxes, and just generally lived the suburban middle-class dream. Sure, losing a foot off of his height was a tad...extreme. So long as it didn’t affect his career though he could live with it. In fact, his wife was surprisingly into the idea of suddenly being taller than her spouse.

“I wonder what’s for dinner…” The man mused as he drove home. One incidental upside to all of this political chaos was that the highways weren’t nearly as backed anymore. Seeing as how most men couldn’t even reach their car’s accelerator now, there were a lot less vehicles on the roads these days.

Charles winced as the setting sun shined in his rearview, the light blinding him for a moment before he adjusted himself. Around him vehicles sped on by, most of which blazing past him. Speeding was hardly uncommon, but with the Three Strikes law it was much better to be safe than sorry. There were some rumors than men had been shrunken down for crimes as inconsequential as jay walking. So Charles wasn’t taking any risks with speeding if he could help it.

Upbeat pop music played loudly from his speakers, Charles lightly bobbing his head to the tune as he drove. Without breaking his gaze from the road his fingers motioned towards the console and began to cycle through stations.

“So tell me Madame President, how are you feeling about your Presidency now that you’ve had a few weeks to get acclimated?” A female voice crackled through the speakers loud enough to make Charles wince. His fingers promptly went for the volume button.

“Well Sherry…” Any person in the country would’ve recognized that voice. The confident, almost cocky tone belonging to the captivating blonde who’d taken America by storm. “Thanks for the question by the way. See, if you listened to the mainstream news media they’d tell you its a disaster. “Trent” they say, “Is an incompetent sexist pig not fit to be president.” They slander me. They really do, and you know why? Because I’m winning.”

“Here we go.” Charles rolled his eyes with a wry smirk.

“I’m winning so hard that they’re upset because they aren’t winning. Cause me winning is America winning, and they don’t want me winning. Cause then they don’t win. They tell everyone I’m doing a bad job. Lemme tell ya Sherry, I’m doing a great job. The best job, and I’m just getting started. When I’m done I’ll have won so much every man and woman’s gonna be on their knees begging me to stop winning.”

“Good grief.” The man laughed. What a farce it all was. He had to give the President credit, she was one hell of a comedian. No way people bought into this, right?

There was a long pause in the radio as Dianne’s words fully sank in. It wasn’t hard to imagine the dumbfounded look on Sherry’s face as she got that rant as an answer. “I see, and what do you say to the allegations regarding your Vice President and her ties t-”

BA-WOO!

The radio was suddenly cut off as an ear-piercing siren sounded off. A flash of light caught Charles’s eye once again, this time an alternating red and blue.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” His finger instantly shut off the radio as he watched his rearview uneasily.

A police car. Surely it wasn’t signalling for him right? He was doing nothing wrong. Not speeding, using his turn signals, seat belt. It had no reason to go for him. It had to be for someone else. Right? Wrong. It most certainly was. Anywhere he went that police cruiser was right behind him. Without much choice, Charles slowed to a stop and pulled aside to the shoulder lane, car shifting into park.

“Okay, just relax. This is just a misunderstanding. Has to be.” He assured himself. He’d broken no laws. Didn’t even have a single strike to his name. He’d be fine.

Still, even inside his little suburban bubble he’d seen the news. The headlines detailing how thousands of men were given strikes and shrunken down for the most mundane reasons. Stories about women who’d allegedly use their size advantage to shove around those smaller than them. Court cases that ended with men entering over four feet tall and leaving under one foot. Try as he might, the stories played out in his mind. A cold sweat broke out along his back. No, it wouldn’t happen to him. He wouldn’t be like any of those stories on the news. That was reserved for criminals.

He was forced to sit silently in his car for several minutes before a figure emerged from the police vehicle. From her size alone Charles immediately knew she was female. Then again, no self respecting officer was a man nowadays. Too short. She walked towards Charles, sunglasses obfuscating her visage as she stopped near his window.

Quickly rolling it down, Charles attempted to lean outside, looking more like an awkwardly moving teenager than a fully grown man. “Yes Officer?”

Much to his surprise, she was a very young woman. Couldn’t have been past her mid 20’s. Her slim figure spoke of her lack of time in the field. Even at a modest 5 feet tall she still stood well over Charles though. Enough so that he was forced to crane his head upward just to lock eyes with the dark glass covering her face.

“Do you know why I pulled you over Sir?” She asked while pulling the sunglasses back into her blonde hair. Blue eyes stared expectantly at him, offering no warmth whatsoever.

“N-No Ma’am.” Despite the woman being a good ten years younger than him Charles felt a very real fear grip him.

The Officer frowned. “May I see your ID and Registration Sir?”

Oh no. “W-What? But...What did I do?”

“Do you have them or do you not?” She asked impatiently.

“No No! I have them!” Charles quickly turned and scrambled for his glove compartment. Several sheets of paper were yanked from within as he fumbled through them, eventually offering a wrinkled sheet to the Officer. “Here!”

“And your ID?” She asked with an annoyed sigh. Charles wasted no time in offering that to the lady of the law as well. She looked over the two for a moment before nodding. “Be right back.”

Without offering anything else the blonde woman turned and walked back to her car. Charles’s eyes watched her from his mirror, noting with horror what was at the side of her swaying hips. Next to her side arm was a small black bag. One which, upon closer inspection, appeared to be squirming. He’d heard stories of the inventive ways that law enforcement used to keep and maintain Third Strike offenders, but the idea of actual human beings occupying that bag struck an irrational chord.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like for them. Stuck in a dark, humid room that constantly bounced with each step the hopelessly larger woman took. Constantly smacking against her hip or being compressed against her back whenever she sat. Colliding against other shrunken men for hours on end with no light or mercy to speak of. Then at the end of the day...He didn’t dare imagine that far.

Once more Charles was stuck waiting. Sweat permeated his brow as the minutes ticked by one after the next. What was she writing? What was his crime? Did it even matter? He was a man. Whatever it was she was writing down meant he could kiss his First Strike goodbye. The court system hadn’t exactly been kind to people the last few weeks.

At last, fifteen minutes went by and the Officer stepped out from her car once more. Now that he’d noticed it, Charles could hear faint cries from the satchel at her hip as she walked. Cries from people who’d been reduced to little more than insects. By the time she’d gotten back to his car the noises had grown annoying enough that she gave it a quick smack with her palm. It went quiet after that, but not after Charles was certain he heard something crunch.

The Officer offered Charles his paperwork back in addition to a yellow sheet of paper. “If you could sign on the dotted line Sir. Please note that signing is not an admission of guilt. Merely that you’re promising to make the intended court date.”

Charles had gotten a ticket before so he knew the runaround. He automatically signed his name with a trembling hand. Anything to make the imposing woman happy. “I-If you don’t mind me asking Ma’am, what is the problem?”

“Your tail light.” She replied, crossing her arms. “One of your brake lights is out. I’d get it taken care of quickly if I were you.”

Charles felt himself go numb. Was what really all it was? A light just happened to die on him so he nearly had a heart attack? Over a dead light? It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so terrifying. “Oh…”

Once she’d seen Charles’s signature the woman nodded and set her sunglasses back over her eyes. “Make sure to attend your court date. Be aware that you may pay your ticket in advance but that will qualify as an admission of guilt and result in a Strike. Drive safe.”

“O-Of course.”

With that the Officer walked back to her car, and Charles watched her vehicle drive away, soon moving out as well. With any luck the Judge would be lenient on his case. Otherwise his wife was going to get a lot taller.

 

The new laws affected everyone, both small and not so small. Which naturally meant men and women. The divide between both genders was wider that it had ever been and it was painfully clear which one society favored at the moment. In the span of a month or two, men had already become marginalized citizens of the United States, fearful of doing anything wrong lest their size be forfeit under the Three Strikes Law. Of course some people still broke the law, however there was certainly less of them. Turned out being shrunken as a punishment was a rather nice deterrent to wrongdoings.

 

Men were lucky if they could find employment and even then that employment came with massive strings attached. Due to vastly less strict laws on corporations, businesses could actually submit punitive strikes against their workers for poor performance or ‘disciplinary’ action. Women were naturally universally exempted from this and made up a much larger margin of the work place as a result. Abuse of the system was common and widespread, with numerous reports made on how flawed. Interviews with victims of harassment, both from co-workers and otherwise revealed a rather unfortunate trend among the male population.

 

Kyle had gotten lucky. Right before the background check measures that made employment frustratingly difficult to get, he’d managed to get a decent job. It was office and cubicle work granted, but it was work. Which was more than over half of men in the United States had access to at the moment. Once a modest 5’5”, the president’s executive order had knocked a foot off of that. Fortunately, he knew how to keep his head down at the water cooler and kept himself from underfoot from his taller colleagues. A few were sympathetic but most working here had voted for Dianne Trent.

 

Currently he was sitting in his heavily raised chair and clacking away at the keyboard, his cubicle neat and tidy with the barest of personalization. The young man finished his project for the day and stretched, joints popping slightly after having been sitting in one place for hours on end. It was going to feel good to get back to his apartment and just relax with the girlfriend over some dumb movie. The world continued to spin after all. Yeah the new president was a lying bitch but he figured it was just 4 years.

 

A knock came at the cubicle. He turned in his chair and sat a little straighter as his boss was standing there. The dark haired woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, the mid-thirties chief dressed in what could be described as business casual attire. Rather too plain faced for Kyle’s taste and possessed of a modest form, but easy on the eyes. She cleared her throat.

 

“Hey there, Kyle. Think we need to talk. Got a few minutes?” The woman asked, a genial smile on her face.

 

Talk could have many interpretations. Kyle kept his expression cool, collected and confident. “Sure, Jenna, what do you need?”

 

She lifted a cup of coffee to her lips and took a light sip of it. “So, the director is a little… concerned. Your last couple of reports had some errors on them. Nothing too major, but enough to give her some notice to your performance.” She said at length, managing to sound like an unwilling messenger.

 

Kyle leaned back in his chair. “Ah, I see. Well, I’ll make sure to keep a closer eye out for those, Jenna. Won’t be a problem again.”

 

“…Then she noticed you’d come in an hour late last week. Hey, I get it, traffic and such around here is awful. However she isn’t exactly understanding.”

 

The young man felt his blood run cold for a moment. “What are you saying?” He didn’t actually want to put words to the possibilities running through his head.

 

Jenna shuffled slightly. “Well, she was looking to terminate you. You know how it is these days. Harder to keep men in the workplace than women, liabilities etc. I managed to talk her down to one Strike since you do good work here. Wouldn’t want to lose you. I suspect it was just recent events affecting your performance. So I’m going to need your ID card.” She held out her hand expectantly for the shorter man.

 

Kyle didn’t actually process what he heard at first. It had sounded like Jenna had just said she’d given him a Strike. He stared at the hand offered out in an almost uncomprehending manner. Then he looked at the almost apologetic look on his boss’s face. It was clear she had her hands tied here and had been doing what she could to keep him on. A Strike though. Strikes happened to people in the news. They happened to people his friends told him about. They couldn’t be happening to him.

 

Still, what was his other option? Unemployment? Like the majority of men now faced? Not really an option. So it was Kyle reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out his ID and looked at it. Below his picture there were three circles. Once they got filled in with a special type of marker, there was no erasing it. He handed it out to Jenna with hesitating hands, fingers trembling and his heart fluttering in his chest.

 

His boss took the card and pulled a red marker from her pocket. It had some technical words talking about proper use, only for authorized personnel, prosecution for illegal use etc. However, what it really did was turn Jenna into the arbiter of his fate and wellbeing. With a simple click she leaned over and marked Kyle’s ID. It was the simplest thing for her. In fact he knew she had done it more than once, even giving some employees their third Strikes. The last strike it was said.

 

The effects were felt immediately by the young man. There was a strange, almost sickening tingling before he found himself reducing in stature down by another whole foot. His legs hung from his raised chair rather comically and Jenna towered over him. She dwarfed him easily, effortlessly. With just a simple click she’d made life vastly more difficult for Kyle. Just a part of her job. The dark haired woman smiled not unkindly.

 

“It’s only one Strike. I’m confident we won’t have to do that again. I have to say, it is an unpleasant part of the job. Especially the third strikers. Nasty business there since I have to fire them after that. I mean, not much one can do here at three inches. Maybe a foot massage? Shoe shining?” Jenna managed a chuckle at those bits that failed to comfort Kyle in the slightest.

 

She leaned against his desk, displaying just how small he had become compared to her. “Though I hear a few companies are doing that to keep up being equal opportunity employers. I’ll have to bring it up to the director. I mean, in this economy a job is a job you know. Plus I could use a good shine job on these.” Kyle glanced down at her black heels and suppressed a shudder.

 

“Gets depressing having to fire some good guys. I mean, think about it. Sure, it’s not exactly a desirable job or well paying probably but it’s better than being out on the street. You’re a smart guy, so I know you’d probably do it. I mean, and let’s be real here, Kyle. What else is a three inch guy gonna be able to do? Gotta broaden the service industry a bit if you ask me. Make men useful again. ...Not that I’m saying you're useless, Kyle, heavens no. One of my top employees. Just want you to know, you’d have some kind of job security if the worst happens okay?” Jenna said with that genial smile of hers plastered on her face.

 

Job security… as the office’s glorified bitch boy. Job security, licking at Jenna’s pedicure until he couldn’t taste anything else. Job security, by being made less than human. Kyle wasn’t sure whether he wanted to throw up or just scream at that possibility. One thing was for certain he was not getting another Strike. He managed a weak smile that didn’t convey his horror properly enough.

 

“Gah, speaking of that. Need to get to Jerry. Poor guy ended up losing company files when that virus hit his computer. Third offense for him. Hey, I bet we could move you into his office. Already built for smaller guys. So silver lining and all that. Have a good one, Kyle.” Jenna offered as she clomped away, ready to go tear away everything a man had left.

 

At the end of the day Kyle packed up his stuff and was on his way out of the office. People were indeed packing out the things from Jerry’s cubical. Supposedly he’d gotten on his knees and started begging Jenna not to do it. Gave her black heels a nice shine with his tongue before she’d dumped him outside like yesterday’s trash. Kyle shuddered, trying not to think too hard on it. As he got out to the parking lot he walked to his car… only to realize he couldn’t drive because he was too small. The man felt a swirling of emotions swirling inside him. Burning shame became most prominent when a few of his female coworkers across the way noted it and snickered at him.

 

Kyle sighed, dug in his pocket for his phone and hit one of the contacts. “Hey, babe. It’s me. Can you come by work and pick me up? There was an… accident.” Try as he might he couldn’t bring himself to say it over the phone.

 

It was a busy day in Washington. Though really it was always a busy day for a sitting president. There had been a public rally she’d had to attend naturally and she and her entourage of staffers and secret service agents were on their way back to her presidential limo. Dianne was dressed immaculately and sharply as always, her black dress suit both tasteful and managing to display her womanly form. Heels clacked loudly on the sidewalk, adding further height to her already impressive stature.

There was a ruckus up ahead, a few of her agents trying to clear something out of the way. Protests were nothing new with her administration. Before she had even taken office there had been mass protests all over the country. Once she had actually taken office and instituted sexist policy after sexist policy the protests had increased by a wide margin. Seemed like a day couldn’t go by without the media reporting on a protest of some sort.

This particular protest however certainly took the cake for oddity. Over a hundred three inch tall men crowded the sidewalk, holding signs in their hands and shouting in their squeaky little voices at the service agents trying to get them to clear the way. The signs had such inspired words on them as:

 

“All humans have rights!”

“Men’s Rights Matter!”

“Lyin’ Trent”

Three Strikes UNCONSTITUTIONAL!”

 

Dianne lifted a brow and walked up to the picket, her bodyguards- naturally all women by this point- gave her apologetic looks. “Sorry, Ma’am. If you could move to the other side of the street…” One suggested. After all the picket was just blocking the one sidewalk.

The president waved the apologies away and stood right up to the picket line past her bodyguards. The towering blonde was a true giant to the three inch tall protesters. Third Strikers all of them it looked like. She set her hand on her hip and looked down at them, frowning prominently as they waved their little signs at her and yelled at her. Some people. She tapped her heel clad foot before the crowd, creating little tremors. Her red painted nails caught the sunlight occasionally, immaculate as she accepted only the best.

“You know, if you all are looking to make people sympathetic to your cause, blocking sidewalks doesn’t garner much of that. People got busy days, would rather not have to worry about stepping on small men with attitude.” Dianne remarked.

“You monster, you’re the one that made us small!”

“Yeah, you tyrant!”

“Sexist bitch!”

“Give us back our size!”

Dianne rolled her eyes and crouched down, looming over the crowd. She pushed some of her blonde hair behind her ear. The sudden motion had the men in the front rows back up a few steps, the colossal woman’s shadow firmly over them. A few nervously glanced at her feet, being Third Strikers tended to make one paranoid about getting caught under foot. The rumors of unsavory things that happened to them held some degree of truth after all. Technically still protected by the law, but no one raised much fuss about them. They were three inches tall after all. Barely people anymore.

“Nah uh, you made you small. You get three strikes, three mistakes. Thats pretty generous. I mean, people tell me all the time. ‘Should make it one or two strikes’. But you know what I tell ‘em no. I’ve got faith in you people. Obviously good, smart people. Well not you guys, but men in general. I mean if you got three strikes you clearly aren’t good people, just saying.” Dianne shrugged.

“What a load of bullshit!”

“I never did anything wrong in my life!”

“The system’s corrupt!”

“Liar!”

That last one made the lady President’s brow twitch. “That’s rich coming from someone three inches tall! Looks like another victim of media brainwashing. Shouldn’t believe in all that fake news. Statistics show, the Three Strikes rule keeps violent crime down.” Where she was getting her statistics was anyones guess. Usually internet news outlets.

Dianne stood at her full height once more, tapping her foot impatiently at the crowd of nervous looking men. “Now are you all going to get out of the way? This is obstruction of public domain ya know. Not proving anything other than being bad people. I don’t run on Four Strikes.”

The men looked up at her towering form and started to waver it looked like. Say what one wanted about the Madame President, she cut a very imposing figure. Especially when one was actually action figure sized. They held strong however, the gathering of a hundred tiny men holding their ground heroically on the sidewalk and shouting their grievances up at President Trent, waving their little signs around. Then one made the mistake of throwing one of their signs at her smallest toe. It didn’t actually hurt mind you but it annoyed Dianne enough to force her hand, or rather foot.

“They just assaulted the President! I want them arrested.” She pointed to the crowd.

“Yes Ma’am!”

What followed was utter chaos. Female service agents walked forward, their eyes obscured by sunglasses and started grabbing men from the crowd. They walked into the crowd, forcing it to disperse unless people wanted to get crushed. And a few people certainly did. There were a few wet crunches as they stepped in, or when they grabbed some people too forcefully. The crowd immediately dispersed in every direction they could, dropping signs and running for their lives. Some had the poor idea of running out into the busy street, now roadkill under the tires of busy commuters.

Dianne huffed and started continuing on her walk. One unfortunate man got caught in her path and fell onto hit back as the shadow of her black heel looming over him. He screamed, his vision taken up by the underside of her shoe for a moment before there was a sickening wet crunch like she had just stepped in a cockroach. The blonde crinkled her nose at that. These were expensive shoes. Worth far more than these lot. Now she’d have to get someone to wash and clean the gore off of the sole.

The president scraped her shoe on the pavement as she walked, getting the worst of it off and leaving red streaks on the sidewalk. The service agents had started to stuff men into black bags, as many as they could grab, while some men slipped away. By the time all was said and done the sidewalk had a number of red stains by the time it was open for people to walk through. By the time normal people were able to walk in the place there were more than a few women cursing getting blood on their shoes as well, callously crushing the signs of those that had tried to stand up to President Trent.

Naturally, when the media picked that story up, they’d had a field day. Headlines like ‘President Bloodbath’, ‘President Steps on Freedom’, and ‘Blood on the Sidewalk’ were all running through the next few days. There were lawsuits made against the administration by the families of the protesters and the opposition was calling for President Trent’s resignation. Did the President respond to this in a calm, diplomatic and delicate manner? Anyone who knew anything about the President would have laughed at that idea.

“We are dealing with a corrupt, and lying Media here folks. That’s all there is too it. They can’t wait to run fake news. They don’t care if the story is wrong or not. Those people weren’t peaceful protesters. They assaulted me so my Secret Service, great people, just the best women out there, stepped in and did their jobs. Look, I’ve even got the proof here. See? Look at that!”

The madame President took her foot out of her heel and displayed the toe the sign had hit. She’d put a little bandaid on it and everything. “I mean can you believe it? This is what I’m talking about. This is what I’ve always been talking about. Violent crime, 99.99% of violent crimes are perpetrated by men. 99.99%! Can you believe it people? You’ve got the proof right here. Media won’t cover that though, because they don’t care about that, they just want to mislead you. Not me though, I tell it like it is. It hurt so bad I couldn’t walk after it, ask my agents, they had to carry me to the limo! But I came out here today because I had to speak to you all. Because I love my country.” She slipped her ‘injured’ foot back into her heel and walked back to the podium with a limp she hadn’t had getting on the stage.

“I can see I’ve been way too lenient with criminals AND with our media. It’s time to crack down people before we’re swimming in murders and rapes, which the fake news won’t report on. They like the status quo and they don’t like us to be winning.”

It wasn’t long after this interview that the next set of laws in the country were proposed and shoved through congress, the opposition and even dissidents within Dianne’s own party being powerless to stop them without a majority. They did manage to delay them for about a month but a month wasn’t enough as they landed on President Trent’s desk and were signed into law not even halfway through her first year in office.

One law restricted the media from spreading ‘Fake News’ about the president. Which boiled down to saying anything bad about the president counting as slander and libel which the organizations could be sued for by the administration. The next one was the “Prevention of Criminal Offenses Act.” It was perhaps the hardest piece of legislation pushed through congress yet.

It restricted second strike offenders from going anywhere without a legal female guardian to escort them. It also prevented men from owning or operating businesses, they also could only gather in crowds no more than ten people in size in one place. The Act also included a system by which women were required to report all offenses or suspected offenses to the newly created Criminal Detection Bureau. CDB officials had the job of collecting third strike offenders and removing such dangerous elements from society along with being a catchall agency that most intelligent men recognized as a sexist gestapo. They had access to copies of all ID’s of men, so even having one’s ID was no longer security from a strike. There was a clear shift now, the joke of a president had become very, very serious.

 

Within a few more months the country had undeniably changed, for the better or for the worst depending on which gender you happened to be. By the time a full year of Dianne’s Presidency had passed a whopping 3% of American men still stood over four feet tall. All others were usually two feet or under, with a vast, vast majority of those being three inches tall. The almost draconian laws that had been put into place were strictly enforced and left little room for men in Dianne’s America.

However, if one was a woman then they enjoyed no shortage of benefits. The utter dismissal of men in the American economy had created a huge opportunity that the country’s women almost universally took advantage of. By year’s end almost all jobs and industries were run by women, with a whopping 5% of the work force still being male. Even then, most of that 5% were menial jobs like servants or masseuses.

Any news media criticisms that would’ve been had about this were utterly silenced by the restrictive censorship laws now in place. Simply put, if you expected your news organization to survive you’d better pucker up to the White House. Of course there were those who stuck to their guns to the end. They now stood at about three inches tall in a prison somewhere, but at least they kept their integrity. One by one the various figures in news either converted or were closed down after extensive lawsuits. All save for one. Ironically, the one news program that many would’ve arguably called one of the biggest critics of Dianne Trent of them all.

“Hello everyone and welcome to This Week Today! I am your host, James Tolliver.”

Dianne had a self-satisfied smirk as she sat across the man announcing his show to the world, dressed in only the finest business skirt money could buy. Her being here was like the ultimate victory. A declaration that even her most vocal and adamant critics were nothing before her now.

In one chair she sat, towering as always at her impressive 6”2”. Beside her sat James, now a meager two feet tall. He had a properly sized chair at least, but when positioned beside Dianne it looked like little more than a baby’s highchair at the dinner table. A baby in a little suit. She chuckled at the mental image.

The man shifted uneasily as he looked at Dianne from the corner of his eye. Why he alone had been saved for last he didn’t know, but he knew how important it was to tread carefully. The woman he’d made fun of countless times before could cave his chest in with a single foot now.

“Tonight…” He gulped. “Tonight we have a very special guest. As I’m sure you all can see, allow me to welcome our 45th President. Ladies and Gentlemen, give an applause for the great and beautiful Dianne Trent!”

The audience was the sort who’d have booed Dianne off the stage in the past. Back when men could even afford tickets. Now the figures were nothing but towering zealots who cheered loudly for their progressive President. It was with a shudder that James realized he was the smallest person in a room of over 50.

Dianne, always ever the modest one, relaxed in her chair and let the praise wash over her. Times like these proved above all else that she was in the right. How else could she receive such adoration? Any doubts she might’ve had were washed away in the wave of mania. Not that Dianne had a single doubt mind you.

“Glad to be here James.” She grinned down at the man with thinly veiled amusement. “Finally found a chance to accept that invitation of yours for an interview.”

“Right.” James chuckled nervously. There was no invitation. In fact, he pretty clearly went on record saying he’d never want to be in the same room as Dianne Trent as long as he’d live.

“Well let’s go then.” The blonde impatiently said as she crossed her legs. One long, slender appendage slid over James’s body entirely, seeming to remind him just how small he was before it came over Dianne’s thigh. “No reason to keep the people waiting right?” Her eyes narrowed like a cat’s as she watched him near her feet.

The color faded from James’s face a bit when he saw Dianne’s foot. The black heel bobbed a mere two feet away over half as large as he was. A grim reminder of the fate of more than a few protesters if stories were to be believed. “Yes, well…” What a bind he’d found himself in. He had questions yes, but with the laws they way they were...No, he could do this. He just needed to be careful.

“How about this for a start? As you are no doubt aware, your campaign has been...shall we say...polarizing?” He began carefully, half expecting the foot to come and kick him for talking. “Do you have anything you’d like to say to your detractors? Perhaps to assure them that you aren’t as bad as they say you are…?”

Dianne kept her eyes squarely on James. Her oceanic gaze seemed to see right through him to the squared man trying not to quiver in his chair. Then she smirked and turned her radiant face to the camera. “Well James, funny you should ask that. See, I don’t have any detractors. What you are referring to is what I like to call “Media Propaganda”. It’s okay, happens to all of us. See, you can’t always believe what you see on TV. That’s why I got people, good people, who tell me my approval rating is the Highest in American History.” A couple woops came from the audience, earning a small chuckle from Dianne.

“They tell me it’s 100%. Now I’m sure there’s a bit of a margin for error there. Happens to all of us. We all make mistakes. Heck, you look like you made a couple yourself there short stuff.” There were a few snickers. “But still, even if it’s 95- Heck, 90. I’m still the most beloved President of all time!”

He’d thought it many times while listening to her speak, but James really was reminded how outright delusional Dianne was. He didn’t know if she genuinely believed what she was saying or was just incredibly stupid, but to hear her speak never failed to make him tense. James waited until the applause had stopped before proceeding. “Well, even if they do approve of you Madame President you do have your critics as I’m sure you are aware. What do you have to say about the allegations regarding your Vice President Michelle Pierce and her alleged history with radical femi-nazi groups?” He asked in the most neutral voice he could muster while being terribly afraid.

“Look.” Dianne began, lifting her hands up to gesture as she spoke. “You don’t know Michelle like I know her. She’s a great woman. Best woman. Heck, almost as great as me. I’m not afraid to say it. She’s a dear friend of mine, so I can say without a shadow of a doubt that she is not some crazy sexist radical. She loves men as much as I do. Some of our friends are men. Some of our relatives are men. This country was founded by men. We do not hate men! Know who hates men? Men!”

In her fervor Dianne suddenly stood, her massive feet coming dangerously close to James’s smaller chair as she loomed over him and spoke passionately to the all-female audiences. “People look at me. They look at me and go “Dianne, why do you hate men so much?” I don’t. No, what I hate is injustice. Men are rapists, and for too long they got away with their actions, and it’s thanks to me they’re finally held accountable for violating America. They didn’t think I’d do it. They dared me. Heck, they dared me during the election. They said I wouldn’t use our technology to shrink criminals. They said I didn’t have the guts. You know what I said to them? I said to them, that the shrunken criminals just got smaller.”

What followed was a standing ovation as the room in its entirety stood and cheered. Did what Dianne say make logical sense? No. Did it answer the question? Not really. Did people love it? Absolutely. The crowd was completely enamored with Dianne. A clear example of what the common woman thought of their President, and unfortunately, it seemed like their opinion was the only one that really mattered.

James cleared his throat and let the crowd do their thing yet again. He waited for Dianne to take a seat, but the blonde seemed content to stand. She turned around, hands on her wide hips as she smirked down at the two-foot tall man. “I see.” James couldn’t maintain eye contact for long and had to look away. The strain of looking so high up and around her busty chest as well as the intensity with which Dianne looked at him both effective deterrents. “Well, research shows that since your Presidency crime rates are at an all time high an-”

“No no no no no.” Dianne interrupted without any pretenses of letting him finish. “See, there you go again with that slander James. See, crime is actually lower than it's ever been before. Its always been this bad, just now people are actually getting punished for it. I mean look at you. You used to be a pretty tall guy right? Or at least less short?” She grinned. “Then you went and said all that slander and now look at ya. That’s not a rise in crime. That’s consequences. I think I speak for everyone when I say I’m personally happy to see some justice around here. Too long has the little woman been stepped on by the big man. Now it’s time for some women to do some stepping of their own.” As if to demonstrate, her heeled foot slammed directly in front of James, the force of it shaking his chair. “Nobody’s above the law.” She added with a flip of her flowing hair.

James was afraid. Truly, unabashedly afraid. Even so, the journalist within him just couldn’t take this sitting down. He hopped from his hair and stood before Dianne’s foot, looking up to the towering woman. Unfortunately her bust cut off his view, but that didn’t stop him from speaking plainly. “You can’t just marginalize an entire gender and sweep it under the rug like nothing happened! That doesn’t make -Gah!”

Once again James was interrupted. Not by Dianne’s words, but with her foot. Without warning the heel lashed out and kicked him, knocking the man back a dozen feet. Pain radiated from his entire torso. Something was definitely broken. “I-I think I need a doctor!” He cried.

Much to his horror, nobody seemed to call foul on what had clearly just happened. “Sorry, my foot slipped. You gotta remember to look out James. Big girl like me can’t always keep looking out for the little man.” Dianne sounded like she was suppressing the biggest laugh. The ground shook beneath James as she walked towards him, heels settling on either side of his body. Above she loomed larger than ever. “I think what you need is an attitude adjustment. You know what happens on the Third Strike James. I came here hoping to patch things up and move on, but it’s looking pretty clear to me that you’ve got no intentions of learning your lesson here.”

She reached within her breast pocket with a wide grin, procuring a small device from within. James didn’t need to see it to know it was special. “But hey, I’m a fair gal. Let’s let the people decide!” Dianne turned towards the audience. “What do you think America?”

Almost immediately the chant began, steadily growing louder and louder until the entire room shook.

“Shrink Him Shrink Him Shrink Him Shrink Him Shrink Him Shrink Him”

After a few seconds Dianne turned back to James with the biggest, smuggest grin. “Sorry James. Gotta give the people what they want.” She pressed something along the device and James felt it, the sinking feeling of shrinking even smaller.

“As you know Third Strike offenders can’t own businesses anymore, so I think this’ll be your last episode; but hey, at least you went out with a bang right?” Dianne shrugged. “Don’t worry, I know this great girl in New York. Wonderful babe, she’ll take great care of you.”

As the shrinking worked itself through James’s system he began to feel woozy. The injuries he’d gotten seemed to have finally gotten him. Everything began to spin around him, the chanting of the Trent supports morphing into a distorted noise before he finally just passed out.

It should come as no surprise that once Dianne Trent took office international relations with the vast majority of the civilized world crumbled fast. Turned out most countries weren’t fond of a ban being placed on men entering the United States. The long time allies of the US began to denounce the nation for its gross human rights abuses and the United Nations attempted to call the President to task for her fundamental violation of basic human dignity. Naturally, President Trent didn’t so much give them the time of day.

However there was one nation that, while the US had been on cold terms with for a long while, now had become lukewarm. Russia, or more specifically its leader, President Varya Praskov. The media had long spoken since before Trent was in office of the blonde’s supposed admiration for the authoritarian president. Well, back when the media was allowed to talk about anything bad about Dianne Trent. Probably because President Praskov was more eccentric than she was, posing half naked while hunting and riding a horse, demonstrating judo prowess with the Russian nation teams, and holding press conferences in a literal gold palace. She exemplified a strong leader. A strong woman.

So it was that just after a year in office, Dianne invited the Russian President over to discuss bettering the relations between the two countries. The international community was in an uproar as the President’s plane touched down at Reagan National Airport. Dianne was waiting to greet her with the whole nine yards. There was a band playing the Star Spangled Banner, the red carpet was literally rolled out and Trent herself was dressed in her finest dress suit. There was one thing that Varya Praskov probably noted the second she stepped out of her plane. In all of the crowd, not a single man was seen.

The Russian President was around Dianne’s age and, despite what she tried to have people believe, was actually of average height. Nowhere near Dianne’s towering form though her musculature made up for that. Her dark hair lacked any spots of grey though whether this was genuine or not was hard to say. Her face was sharp, hawk-like, not looking a day over 35 really. Her piercing blue eyes looked over the whole dog and pony show with neutrality. She was also dressed in a man’s suit, pants and tie which certainly added to her rather odd image.

She made her way down the plane’s steps, her own little entourage following after her. As she did the band finished their song and started playing the Russian National Anthem. If she noted any off key notes she didn’t show it. The dark haired woman did wince at the clumsy Russian from the vocalists. The lack of males there also hurt it.

The pair met finally at the end of the red carpet where both shook hands and greeted each other. The act was for the benefit of the flashing cameras of course. Dianne towered a full ten inches over her russian counterpart but actually winced at the strong grip of President Praskov, drawing a barely perceptible smug smirk from the shorter woman.

“Pleasure to meet you face to face, President Praskov. Welcome to the United States. I just know we’ll do tremendous things together. It’s going to be huge.” Dianne said.

The president’s smirk vanished as though it had never been there and she affected neutrality. Unlike Dianne’s eyes hers were less piercing and vastly more calculating. “We shall see what our two countries can offer one another. There are many grievances on both sides from past dealings. For now, it was a long flight.” Her english was naturally flawless though thick with accent.

So it was that the historic meeting between the leaders of two superpowers ended up being taken to the White House. There was a large and lavish dinner naturally. A mix of American and Russian cuisine. Praskov had to give Trent credit, she certainly knew how to send a message. One without any form of subtlety mind you, but subtlety wasn’t exactly a trademark of her administration.

The very next day Praskov was invited to a private meeting with the president in the Oval Office. Fairly forward but it got to the point. So far there had been a lot of bluster from the blonde, a lot of talk of cooperation between them but no real indication on what she had in mind. Or maybe big talk was all she had. Considering her media appearances and actions, like actually kicking a journalist live on TV, she was fond of grandstanding.

The Russian President sat across from the taller woman, no one else around. If the goal was to make her uncomfortable Praskov’s easy posture put a pin in that one. The woman was cold as ice. The two stared at each other for a while before Dianne broke the silence first, clearing her throat uncomfortably and slightly squirming in her seat. A petty victory.

“So Varya, mind if I call you Varya? Anyway, those sanctions against Russia have gotta go. Been a disaster. An absolute disaster on trade.” Dianne started.

Praskov nodded. “I would not have bothered coming if that wasn’t automatically on the table, Miss Trent.” She kept it formal, forcing Dianne to make the offers here.

The blonde sighed. “I’m not going to lie here. We got a buncha whiners and losers over in Europe that don’t like us. For what? Being strong women. Being hard on corrupt media control over politics. See they don’t like that, they’re afraid of us winning.”

More rhetoric. “Get to the point, woman, what do you want? Save the kinship talk for the masses. I am not dumb.”

The looks that chased themselves across Dianne’s face were priceless, like a form of mental constipation. Like many others Praskov had to wonder if she was just that dumb or a genius of acting. “Hey, hey, no need to be rude here. We’re on the same side here. Can’t let the media’s lies turn us against each other. Anyway, I’m looking to establish stronger trade relations with Russia. As well as joint military efforts in regions of common interest.”

In other words a formal alliance. The Russian president scratched her chin slightly, considering it. If the blonde was sincere then stronger ties with the United States could bring Russia closer to being truly great again. Once more the true superpower it had been before the collapse of the Soviet Union. Of course, it was important not to be subordinate in this situation. Praskov wouldn’t tolerate that. There was also one other matter.

“I would say the Russian people would be cautiously optimistic in allying ourselves with a country that shrinks its men. As well as a woman who reportedly likes to ‘grab them by the dick’.” She responded.

To Dianne’s credit she didn’t seem shocked by that statement. Instead she simply shrugged. “Since when is it illegal to crack down on crime? And see? There it is again, more of that fake news. That's why I’m doing this, have to make people actually pay for their crimes. Besides, it’s not like we’re killing them or anything. There’s still a legal process in place. America is still a civilized country. The best country. I mean, Russia is great. Some of my best friends are Russians. But America is the best. Because I’m here and I’m making us win.”

So it was clear she was actually that stupid. That was now firmly established. Still, an idiot could still be useful. She kept her skepticism on her face of those claims, drawing a sigh from Dianne. “Okay, okay. Here, I’ll show you. Not like our men have just disappeared.” She moved over to her desk. “Hey, Jenny, yeah send my husband in would ya? Thanks hon.”

Praskov frowned. “I thought this was a private meeting.” She said stiffly.

Dianne waved a hand. “Pffffft. Who’s he gonna tell?”

The russian president was about to protest further before the door cracked open and her eyes actually widened by a fraction. It was one thing to see it over TV or read about it in reports, it was another thing to actually see what had become of 99% of all men in the country. Mark Trent had always been something of a shorter man by all accounts, though at three inches tall short was something of an understatement. The man, probably fifteen years younger than Dianne if Varya was a guessing woman, looked around nervously as the door shut behind him.

“See? Still around. Worried over nothing, Varya.” Dianne chuckled.

The towering woman’s steps boomed loudly and shook the floor as she walked up to her husband. The well dressed man tugged at his collar and swallowed hard as he looked up at the blonde towering over him. She cast a long deep shadow upon him, the man looking nervously at her heels. A cold sweat broke out over him much as it did whenever his wife was anywhere near him. He could see she was with company though so he plastered on his fakest smile. Had to give a good face… or else.

“Hey there, honey. The kids okay?” She asked with a big grin, looking down at her miniscule husband over her breasts.

He opened his mouth to respond but she cut him off before he got out a peep. “Great, great. Fabulous. So great. Anyway, got someone I want ya to meet. This fine, stunning lady over here is President Varya Praskov. We were just talking about men in the country. Figured you could tell her how great things are still for men.”

The tiny man barely kept from trembling as the shadow of his wife’s hand fell over him, keeping his whimpers as dead as possible as Dianne’s soft fingers wrapped around his form. She could definitely feel the trembling though and the sweat on his form. Which was why, as she lifted him up she gave him a threatening look. One that promised punishment if he didn’t keep to the script 100%.

Clutching her pretty clearly terrified husband in her hand in a totally not threatening way the blonde walked back over to her guest and dumped him out on the table between them. The man sprawled out on the table pathetically, standing between two women infinitely larger than he was. Dianne relaxed, reclining back in her seat and crossing her legs. Her foot bobbed in the air, just close enough that it sent a nicely scary message to Mark. A trick of the light probably, but one could swear her toes curled slightly.

Mark swallowed hard and dabbed at his sweating forehead, the bronze skinned dark haired man turning to face the massive form of the president of Russia. The raven haired woman’s blue eyes were unsettling as they looked down at him curiously, like he was some kind of strange species of bug she’d never seen before. With Dianne’s presence palpable behind him he plastered a fake smile on his face.

“I-It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Praskov. You look stunning.” Mark managed to get out.

Varya smirked. “A pleasure to meet the First Gentleman. You look well for your size.” He in fact did not look well at all. He looked like a frightened mouse before a bear. Easy on the eyes though so she had an idea why Dianne married him.

“Doesn’t he though? Like I said, men are still citizens of the United States. All that talk of dehumanization is just media propaganda. Besides, heck, some of them like it. They tell me all the time, being small isn’t so bad. 60% of men, I’ve heard numbers as big as 75%, even 80% of men think the punishments are fair. 80%, Varya. Now you’ve got the 20% of losers and whiners out there but I can tell you my hubby isn’t one, isn’t that right, Mark?” Dianne had a smug smirk of her own.

“O-oh yeah! It-its really great. W-way more convenient than being normal sized ya know?” He squeaked out.

“Really? Seems like it would be difficult to do day to day things.” Varya noted.

“Well, my wife, she uh, is really patient with me and helps me around or gets her aides to do it when she’s busy running the country.” Mark cast a glance over his shoulder, praying he got it right for her satisfaction.

“Exactly. I’m first and foremost a family woman. I love my husband and all my kids, always make time for them when I can and make sure they are well taken care of. Plus men have found plenty of ways to thank women for going out of their way to help them. If anything, I’d say men and women are closer now than ever in our history.” Dianne beamed a photogenic smile.

Varya was amused now more than anything. “Oh? How do you thank your wife, Mr Trent?”

The man opened his mouth for another quivering response before Dianne laughed. “Looking for juicy bedroom blackmail? Here, I’ll show you.”

The Russian president was about to say that was unnecessary quick. Bloody Americans and taking things too literally. However the blonde reached down and pulled off her heels, tossing them onto the floor carelessly. She then set her stocking clad feet up on the table, each one towering over Mark hopelessly. He fell onto his ass as her heels thudded atop the table, toes wiggling and writhing above in the freedom from their shoes. Dianne reclined back further and relaxed.

“Go ahead Mark, why don’t you show Varya here how close men and women are in this day and age?” The president invited, licking her lips as she shifted her foot aside just enough that her blue eyes could pierce Mark.

The man quailed before the massive feet of his wife, looking up at them as they towered over him. He whimpered pathetically, staring up at the stocking clad toes looming over him from on high. Part of him wanted to refuse but he knew what the consequences were for defying his wife on anything or talking back. His mind ran through the almost PTSD levels of torment Dianne had inflicted upon him.

Cramped and stuffed into the sole of her heels, her toes sliding in above him as he was pressed down upon by the soft doughy flesh of her foot. Pushing up against the unyielding wall with tiny hands and crying out for help that no one would hear. The agonizing humiliation as she walked around, carrying about her job with him plastered against her soft sole. The salty taste and scent of her sweat that was now quite familiar to him flooding his senses. Then when the day was done, sliding out with her foot, adhered to the bottom of her sole by sweat and nearly unconscious. His eyes subtly glanced to her discarded heels now, as he all but fell over herself to rush to her feet.

“Y-Yes Honey! S-see? Everything is okay, I-I love Dianne.” He got out for the benefit of the Russian president.

His tiny hands pressed into the abrasive fabric of Dianne’s stocking, the scent of her sweat mixing with her perfume creating a salty sweet smell that lingered on his nose. He put his back into massaging and kneading at the Madame President’s foot, his fingers running along the fabric and pushing against it hard. He tried not to sob. This was where his marriage had landed him. At least he wasn’t Pierce’s husband. That was a hell he’d never wish on any man.

Dianne sighed and beamed a smile at the Russian President. “I love you too Mark. Oh, don’t forget to get under the stocking as well. You forgot last time. Need to get between those toes.” The blonde said.

Varya was frankly both amazed and halfway horrified that the blonde could turn a man into that. A whimpering, quivering wreck that massaged at her feet. Her eyes widened quite a bit when he actually started licking the bottom of Dianne’s feet. This- this blonde idiot with clearly no idea how to really run a country had the ability to reduce men to animals that licked at her feet. How? How did she do it?

The contemplation must have shown upon her face as Dianne grinned. “Want a bit of masculine American hospitality, Madame President?” The blonde inquired.

“Ah, I really don’t think-” When did she become the on the defensive here?

Dianne waved a hand. “Pshaw! Mark, give the Russian President a proper American welcome!” The blonde bellowed.

The tiny form of her husband froze at the order before hurrying with almost indecent haste to the other side of the table. Varya looked down at him, hesitating. Refusing would be a sign of weakness. The woman was quickly forced to revise her stance on the blonde sitting before her, she was quite clever. She had her trapped in a corner where her only real option was to accept her hospitality.

Wordlessly the dark haired woman reached down and pulled off her dress shoes, removing her socks as well before setting her feet up on the table. The pale pair of feet were notably smaller than Dianne’s however they still managed to tower over Mark’s inconsequential height. Her toes flexed and curled in the freedom of the air, getting a chance to breathe after a rather long day for her.

The woman couldn’t quite describe the emotions welling up in her as the tiny man at her feet pressed his hands against the bottom of her foot, or when he started dragging his little tongue along her bare flesh. The foremost one was surprising pleasure. It wasn’t easy for a woman in Russian politics. Getting where she had today was no mean feat, some had called it impossible. Having a man forced to service her, underfoot, it was quite something.

“See, that size also makes crimes so much harder for men to commit, know what I’m saying?” The blonde remarked. “People tell me I should make them smaller, I mean, we could just make them all ant sized but three inches is fair don’t ya think?”

Vayra had visions in mind of her political enemies at the size of ants and licked her lips. She was drawn from her thoughts as Dianne pressed one of her feet against hers, sandwiching her husband between them. She could feel him squirming, and a wetness at her feet indicated tears. The woman licked her lips and pressed slightly back against Dianne before meeting her blue eyes with her own.

“I think our relationship is open to negotiation.” Varya said, a taste of the power all she needed.

 

TICK-TOCK TICK-TOCK TICK-TOCK

Charles shifted uncomfortably along the couch. The silence of the room was stifling, broken only by the maddening clicks of the old clock draped along the wall. His eyes darted to it for perhaps the hundredth time. It had already been five minutes. Or rather, it had only been five minutes. Time seemed to have slowed to a standstill. How he wished the silence would be broken.

He wasn’t alone in the room. Far from it. Two others were there with him. One was his wife Emily. His muse, his flame. A youthful redhead with a dainty frame of modest height. The sort of girl who was always more cute than beautiful; although whenever Charles looked at her now he often felt a fear weighing heavily in his chest. Dainty as she was, she was a woman; and in Dianne Trent’s America that was all it took for her to be like a giant to him. Just sitting next to her was terrifying. The cushions of the couch sank under her weight and threatened to send him sliding down at any given moment if he wasn’t careful.

The same could be said of the woman on the exact opposite end of the room. A busty black woman with her hair kept into a tight ponytail as she scribbled something behind a desk. Charles had always heard good things about her, but as always with women the second thoughts nagged at him. Was kind of hard not to when he was the only person in the room who was three inches tall.

It had all begun with that ticket. That damned ticket. He made his appeal in court to an unsympathetic female judge and as a result he got his First Strike for it. Were that all it would’ve been fine, but with his reduced size came a...change in Emily. The woman he loved still was very much the same. However occasionally there was something in her eyes. A look that seemed to almost belittle him. Only coming out whenever he failed to reach up a cabinet or needed help doing something he could once do so easily. Humiliating, yes. But not particularly terrifying.

Then the Second Strike happened.

Failure to do his duties his boss said, but Charles knew better than that. He was one of the few outlying males in the company. A liability in the eyes of his corporate superiors. A Strike was a nice easy way to get to fire him without needing a reason.

With that size reduction came another change in his wife. The redheaded woman was careful around him at first. Yet, with each passing day her actions grew increasingly careless. Massive feet would stomp a touch too close for comfort. She would forget to help him onto the bed. Or would make the occasional odd request. It began to feel less like Charles was married and more like they were roommates. Or that he was a nuisance rather than anything.

Then of course, almost inevitably, came the Third Strike.

Once that happened the changes were too great to simply ignore anymore. Despite her words to the contrary, Emily just didn’t care about him anymore. She made no efforts to hold back anything for his sake. No attempts to make him proper meals or comfort him. Nothing of the sort. Instead, she had chores. Many, many degrading chores. Cleaning shoes. Doing laundry. Massaging her feet. Embarrassing himself to amuse her. Whereas before he felt like a nuisance, now Charles just felt like a slave in his own home. It certainly didn’t help he was legally bound to be at his wife’s side at all times now.

Anytime he dared to stand up for himself all it took was a glare from his wife and a stomp of her foot to have him cowering before her. After which she would always look down at him with a smug smirk before finally getting her way.

It had been weeks since that had begun and Charles just couldn’t take it anymore. Each day felt like he was losing himself and his wife more and more. Something needed to be done. So when he remembered a couples’ counselor and old friend told him about he knew just what to do. It wasn’t easy getting Emily to agree to it, but somehow he did it.

“Alright….Charles…” At long last after ten minutes of silence the woman across the desk looked up at the two. The petite woman and the bug-sized man sharing a couch with her. The counselor’s brow arched ever so slightly. Dr. Linda Donnelly was emblazoned along a piece of wood atop her desk. “Why don’t you tell us why we’re all here today?” Despite her incredible size compared to the man she offered only the friendliest professional smile.

Moment of truth. “Okay Doctor…” Charles gulped and turned towards his wife. The redhead towered overhead and looked down at him expectantly. A gaze that threatened something if he spoke out of turn, but the man knew he had to. “Emily, I love you; but ever since I got my Third Strike it feels like things have changed between us.”

“Kind of happens when my vibrator’s bigger than you.” The redhead flippantly remarked, rolling her eyes.

“Now Emily, let him finish.” Linda calmly chastised.

Charles gave the black woman a grateful smile. “I won’t lie Emily, you scare me a lot these days. Sometimes it feels like you look at me and you don’t see a man anymore. I don’t know what it is you see, but I’m pretty sure I don’t like it.” He stopped the second his wife’s eyes hardened, all his courage leaving him along with his breath.

“Thank you Charles.” Linda nodded and scribbled something along one of her sheets of paper. “Now do you have anything to say about that Emily? What’s your side of the story?”

The redhead looked over to the Doctor. “Well Linda, I still love my husband too.” Certainly news to him. “But...Well, he just hasn’t been the same since he got shrunken.”

Wait what? Charles blinked.

“Yeah, he’s gotten really lazy these days and all he ever does is run away or complain.” Emily went on.

“Now wait just a m-”

“Charles.” Linda’s voice overpowered him immediately.

Emily smirked at her husband. “Thank you.” She shifted in her seat and watched as the subtle movements of the cushion threw the man off balance, giggling once he finally fell over and tumbled towards her. “I mean sure, back when he was big and he had a job I get it. He earns the bread and I take care of the house. Makes sense, but now I make the bread. And what does he do?” She reached down to pick him up and held him near her face. “Nothing.”

The counselor nodded along as Emily spoke. Her calm, collected eyes revealed nothing of her thoughts. She merely took notes. “I see. Is this true Charles?”

“No!” Came the exasperated reply. “I love my wife and I do everything I can to help her!”

The grip around Charles’s body tightened subtly. “Oh? What about last week when I asked for a foot massage?” Emily’s eyes narrowed into thin slits.

“You wanted to wear me in your shoes while you went grocery shopping! And then you did anyway when I said no!”

“I wanted you to help take care of me after I spent all day buying stuff to make for dinner.” A dinner she did not share incidentally.

Meanwhile Linda was just writing away over there. “Calm down you two.” Her voice urged authoritatively, never even looking up. “Now then, based on what I’m hearing it sounds to me Charles like you aren’t quite doing your part around the house anymore. Marriage is a team effort. You need to do your part as well.”

Was this woman for real? His wife had just admitted to wearing him as an insole and it was somehow his fault?! “That’s absurd! Were you even listening to her?!”

“So now I’m absurd?” Emily’s hold on Charles tightened further until there was a faint crack. Then she tossed him carelessly back onto the cushion and leaned back.

Linda looked up at the pair and sighed. “I know this is hard for you to accept Charles. I’m sure to you you really are trying your best. You may even think you’re being marginalized, but you’re not. The fact of the matter is you’re three inches tall now. You can’t just expect to do what you used to do and all will be okay. You’ve got to adapt.”

“Thank you.” Emily said with a big smirk.

Charles, understandably, could not even begin to fathom what he was hearing. Was this some sort of bizarre psychological test? “She. Put. Me. In. Her. Shoe!”

“And did you thank her?” Linda fired back.

“What?”

“Did you. Thank her?”

Charles could only blink incredulously. “Why would I thank her for that?”

“I don’t know, for taking care of you? For not just crushing you like a bug? And believe me, I’ve considered it!” Emily chimed in.

Before things could escalate further Linda raised a hand to gesture them both to be quiet. “We have a pending term for this. It’s called Phantom Size. Basically, when someone loses their size they still think and act as though they still have it. As a grown man taller than you are of course such a thing sounds appalling, but as a three inch man I mean…” She shrugged. “It’s secure, cozy, and gives you a chance to make your wife happy and show gratitude to her for all she does. Did you ever think about it like that Charles?”

“No!” He made no effort to hide the complete disgust of this conversation any longer. She might’ve been a good counselor once, but after those laws she was a hack. “I think we’re done here Linda. Thank you.” Charles fumed. Of course Emily made no effort to help him down, and without her help he was trapped.

“You see what he does?” Emily sighed. “I swear Doc, I don’t know what to do anymore. At this rate I think I really will kill him.” Charles felt a chill at that.

“There’s no need for that.” Linda assured. “I’ve studied how to handle this.” Her eyes flicked back to the livid man atop the couch. “Charles, I would like you to turn towards Emily here and thank her. Okay?”

In response Charles crossed his arms indignantly. He was not playing along with this anymore.

Once that became abundantly clear Linda made a few more notes. “It’s even worse than I feared. Don’t worry Emily, there are treatments for this. With time we can-”

“I want something now.” Never had the woman sounded more certain of anything.

“Well, there are some...extreme measures I suppose…”

None of this sounded good to Charles mind you. Barely a few words into this topic and he spoke to interject, only to be ignored. Then he spoke louder and was ignored again. Then he shouted and Emily promptly shut him up by laying her palm over him, effortlessly pinning him.

“Extreme measures?”

“Yes, well…” Linda gave the redhead a serious look. “There are some behavioral lessons that some people believe work. Basically if he does something good you reward him, and if he does something bad you punish him. Simple, but the tricky part is how you implement that without hurting him.” She paused for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but there’s a pet store roughly a block from here. You probably passed it on the way, but they recently got special male collars. They’re designed to give a controlled shock if you press a button. It’s extreme but with the way Charles is…”

Emily looked over at her palm and pictured her husband wearing a collar, constantly getting shocked for stepping out of line. It was an image she was very okay with. “Sounds like a good punishment, but what about a reward?”

Linda frowned. “For now I think the priority should be on adjusting his attitude first. From there we can discuss and look into safe rewards for him together. Right now I’d say not to worry about it. Reward him with more tasks or the like. Teach him to enjoy it and see it as a good thing. I’ve heard studies say that frequent exposure to feet, shoes, breasts, anything can be soon tied into a positive thing by the mind. If you use the collar properly you should be able to help Charles understand his new lot in life.”

Emily nodded slowly. “I think I got it.” She smirked and pulled back one of her flats. Without any warning her protesting husband was thrust inside, trapped once the foot reentered. “I’ll give it a try Linda. Thank you.” She stood and nodded her head. “Do you mind if I see you again in a couple weeks?”

“Anytime.” Linda waved her hand dismissively and watched the redhead leave with her husband underfoot. “Now then…” With all that out of the way she scooted her seat back and looked down. There rested her own husband, a paltry three inch tall specimen caught between her legs throughout the day. Even now he licked away at the pleasure center that laid there. As he had for hours. Every day. “You’ve been a very good boy Dear. I think it’s time for a reward.”

Her fingers skillfully reached down and parted her lower lips before the man. “A few hours inside to play all you want.” She grinned as the broken shell of a man looked happily at her, uttering squeaks of gratitude before rushing to meet his lewd prize. Linda simply smirked and released her fingers. Those very same fingers went for a buzzer at her desk.

“Debbie, send in the next couple.”

With that she scooted back into her desk. Time to save another marriage.

 

TRENT MEETS WITH RUSSIAN PRESIDENT! SECURES TRADE AGREEMENT!

With vague disinterest Michelle noted the scrolling headline along her television screen. She didn’t need to listen to the details to figure how the meeting went. Dianne had a way of getting what she wanted. Which conveniently was also what Michelle wanted. So it all worked out in the end. Things were all proceeding even better than the Vice President could have hoped.

“Harder.” She grunted with a glance downwards. Down beside her feet a pathetic thing was desperately licking away at her toes. A collar wrapped around his neck and connected him to a toe ring along her second toe. “Honey.” Michelle added with a faint smirk.

Michelle’s husband was quite an attractive man; a trophy husband some might say. Although none would say that now. The last year had taken a deep toll on the man. Sweat and grime had his hair matted and his skin was bruised to the point most of it was some variation of blue or purple. Still, his three-inch high frame did indeed begin to lick harder to pleasure his all-powerful wife.

“Good boy.” Michelle said with the same affection one would offer a pet. She looked back to the TV, boredly cycling through channels. They’d be arriving soon, but the wait for them was rather drole.

“Miss Pierce?”

A voice broke the monotony of Michelle watching TV. Her green eyes flicked over to where a maid had just slipped into the room. A dainty little thing. Cute. Probably the reason she was hired. “Yes? What is it?” The brown-haired woman replied with a hint of impatience.

The maid bowed to her. “Your guests have arrived Ma’am. Shall I bring them in?”

Finally. “Yes of course.” She waved a hand to dismiss the woman.

“And-”

The maid yelped as Michelle’s eyes looked back at her, more glaring really. “Yes?”

“One of the male servants was caught stealing food again. W-What should I do with him?”

At that Michelle just smirked. “Punish him of course. He’s all yours.” She gave a meaningful look to the maid’s petite feet. “You deserve a bit of a break. Now go fetch my friends.”

“Y-Yes Ma’am!” The maid bowed once again with a happy smile as she hurried away. “Got me a toy~” She squealed happily outside of the room just out of view. Michelle fought back the urge to smile for her.

A minute or so later a number of figures entered through the door, all women naturally. A literal who’s who of all the biggest names in extremist feminism. Andrea Horkin, a women’s advocate who once suggested the castration of all men. Sharon Rock, a woman accused of being a female supremacist; and Sheila Monin, head of the feminist group B.O.W. All women whom in years prior society had deemed progressive to the point of being extremists. Although to Michelle they were simply her friends.  

“Come in.” Michelle smiled at the three woman, gesturing to the plush seats that filled her rather spacious guest room. “How’ve you all been?” There was a faint yelp near her feet as her toes unconsciously jerked and knocked her husband over.

“Better and better.” Sharon replied as she took a seat. The mature-looking blonde quickly adjusted her hair and dug into her purse for something. After a few moments she pulled her own three-inch tall husband and set him near her feet. Like Michelle’s, he wasted no time in kissing her feet once her shoes were removed.

“You all are so lucky to be married.” The rather plump Andrea sighed and took a seat all to herself, wasting no time in propping her worn feet along a foot rest. “Can’t find a good man to take care of me. Then again, can’t find a good man.” She snorted.

All the women in the room chuckled as Sheila silently took her spot beside Michelle. Unlike the others she didn’t get comfortable right away. “I’ve been doing quite well Michelle. I saw some more laws passed through Congress this morning. Congratulations.” The auburn-haired woman gave her youthful-looking friend a smile. One that highlighted the crows feet beginning to emerge at the sides of her eyes.

“All credit goes to our dear Madame President.” Michelle dismissively replied as she adjusted her brown hair. She was easily the youngest looking person in the room, but even so she kept up her meticulous appearance almost obsessively. “I simply relayed some of your gracious suggestions. She happened to agree.” The maid came rushing back in, a notable smile on her face, and a tray of drinks in hand. Each woman grabbed a fine glass of wine and she left with a bit of a pep in her step and something akin to a groan from under her foot.

Michelle held her glass up proudly. “Come next week the new minimum size for Third Strike Offenders will be one inch.” She chuckled.

“Still think it should be Two Strikes.” Andrea huffed.

“I’d settle for One personally.”  Sharon chimed in.

“Guilty ‘til proven innocent?” Sheila added much to everyone’s laughter. The women all savored a nice sip of their freshly delivered wine, everything silent save for the gasps and wheezes of the two overworked men attending to feet.

“Well at the rate everything is going…” Michelle broke the silence with a meaningful smile. “Got got a report at the White House. A hundred percent of all males in the country are two feet tall or smaller. Almost all jobs are run exclusively by us now. Well, save for Congress I suppose.” She took another meaningful sip. “Did I mention that the Primaries are coming up?”

“Gee, I wonder who’ll be elected?” Sharon mused as she peeked over her knee to her husband. Her smirk grew as her foot swung out and knocked him over, settling on his struggling form nicely.

“Can’t believe I ever had my doubts.” Andrea mused after watching the scene unfold. “Feels good to finally wake up in the morning and to be proud of this country. Men are finally in their rightful place.” She sipped her drink. “Just makes me a little annoyed mine keep having accidents.”

“You really must watch where you walk Andrea.” Michelle chuckled.

“More like they need to watch where my feet land.” She retorted.

“Well you can’t expect men to do too much. They are men after all.” Sheila reached down for one of her heels and slid it off, revealing a man embedded into her mature sole. With a few flicks of her foot he came off and landed along the floor with a thud. “You can have that one.” She said to Andrea.

“Your husband?”

“No no no. That’s my brother.” Sheila smirked and lifted her other heel up. “This is my husband.”

“An easy mistake when they’re both so small.” Sharon laughed.

The four women all enjoyed their merriments and each other’s company, none paying any mind to the newly freed man. He fell along the floor a disgruntled mess, his appearance mangled and his eyes bloodshot. Once he was a respected politician, but now he was little more than a servant. He looked around him nervously. All four women loomed like Gods. Living mountains who held complete and total power over his fate. Not even cared enough to look at him, too engrossed in their chatter about how inconsequential his gender was.

Although that wasn’t completely true. One did look at him. Andrea, the plump brunette who looked right at him like he was an especially vile creature. Her bare feet were on the floor awaiting him. The woman’s eyes were silently ordering him to keep coming. Like it was his duty. Moreover, like it was a privilege.  Unable to disobey his female masters, the man crawled his way towards Andrea and her worn feet. He knew what his job was, and he set into running her tongue along her sole slavishly. Seemingly satisfied, Andrea looked back up to her friends and resumed talking.

For over an hour this happened. The four women all talked happily about the new state of affairs. The wonderful changes Dianne Trent was ushering in. New changes to be implemented. Before long Sheila’s husband came out to join in the fun, assuring that all four women each had a man attending to their weary feet. Not that any one of them so much as took a second to address any of their male counterparts. A single look was all it took to get what they wanted from the smaller sex.

“It really is too good to be true isn’t it?” Michelle mused as she finished off her fourth glass of wine. Her cheeks were a nice rosy shade, just like her friends. Even the frightening brunette could have fun when behind closed doors.

“Getting harder to come up with ways to make things better.” Sheila admitted with a bit of a slur. “Crime’s down. Businesses are booming. Plenty of food, homes, money…” She sipped from her sixth glass of wine.

“Could start a church.” Said Andrea who was a real champ at nine glasses. “Make those little men worship their betters.” She sagged in her chair, visibly drunk.

“Sounds like someone’s had a bit too much to drink.” Michelle laughed and glanced down at the man on the verge of exhaustion at her feet. Admittedly it was a pretty appealing image to see herself on a pedestal and him bowing to her. Maybe in the bedroom later.

“No no, I’m serious!” Andrea always was defensive when she was drunk. “Make those tiny little fuckers worship the ground we walking on!”

Sharon, little miss lightweight at four glasses, laughed her pretty little blonde head silly. “And kiss our feet all day every day. Oh wait, they already do!” Her toes wrapped around her husband’s body and lifted him up along with her leg. There were a few pops from between her toes but all the women were much too drunk to notice or care. “Hear that Sweetie? You better get down on your knees and get to worshiping! Who’s your Goddess? Lemme hear it!”

The shrunken man cried out as his body was pinched between the two shapely toes of his wife, the blonde quite carelessly not holding back her immeasurable power over him. “Y-You are! You are!” He screamed as tears formed in his eyes.

“I think that’s enough wine for the night.” Michelle mused as she set her glass down. Just shifting to do that made the world spin around her. Yep, definitely drunk. “No churches. Least not yet.” She chuckled. “Got a few bills getting worked on right now.” She’d have said more, but even while utterly wasted she wasn’t quite that irresponsible.

CRA-CK

A sobering noise pierced all their ears in an instant. All the women in the room paused their festivities to turn. Surprisingly, the source didn’t come from Sharon and her wailing husband, but from Andrea.  Down by her feet they all could see the spurt of red from between her toes and the man rolling on the floor screaming and holding his arm. At least, what was left of it.

“Fuck, I broke another one!” She cursed.

“Definitely no more wine.” Sheila shook her head and looked down at her husband. At least he had the sense not to stick his arms between her toes. “You can keep him Andrea. I don’t need another broken sla-” She caught herself and cleared her throat. “Man.” She glanced down at the screaming form of her brother. “He may need a doctor though.”

“He’ll be fine.” Michelle snorted. “Men are tough right? Just tell him to suck it up. Like they told all of us.”

With that the room erupted into laughter again and the festivities continued. As they would for many hours before the women would all drunkenly find themselves into their respective beds; but not before a long, hellish night for their four respective male escorts.

 

Politics had very clearly shifted in the nation. Male politicians were towered over by their female counterparts. New congressional loopholes and regulations made it easy enough for the women to vote with the voice of their party. No one wanted to impeach Trent either, as then Pierce would take over. It was a case of the alternative being so ungodly terrifying that the smug blonde managed to keep power despite having half the country wanting her gone. Of course those half were men. So really they only counted as much as their height. Which was to say not at all.

 It was dangerous being in politics as a man, especially as a member of the opposition. Some women just didn’t watch where they stepped. Was a big dangerous world now after all. Things had been quiet politically, Dianne mostly just content to let the opposition squeak their protests to an America that loved her and loved the new America. The America that mattered anyway. Until, close to the primaries, scandal lit up the headlines.

 “Colten Rape Scandel!”

“She Said NO!”

“Hal Colten: Leader of Misogynist America”

 The one time presidential candidate with a laundry list of scandal attached to his name the whole election, one that had let the clearly sexist Dianne Trent take office, had been dragged into the limelight again. Allegations involving a young secretary during the campaign itself had risen up that had seen the politician put on trial. Naturally the nation was shocked, women were outraged across America and none moreso than Dianne Trent. In fact the very next day after the charges were leveled she held a press conference.

 “I cannot express my shock and horror enough, America. That a man, a trusted civil servant who swore to serve his country, would raise his hand against a woman. Its unthinkable people. What kind of country are we living in? Anarchy. One where women aren’t safe. I swear to you, right here, that I will not rest until I see justice done and the guilty party held responsible for his actions.” The woman said.

 “Madame President, what’s the current status of Miss Gates?”

 “I met with Miss Gates just yesterday after the news broke. Great woman, strong woman. Could see she was finally feeling up to coming out and speaking against the man that had so scarred her for life. My heart and prayers are with Miss Gates.” The president said, managing to look sympathetic.

 “Madame President, anything you’d like to say to Mr. Colten?”

 Dianne nodded and adjusted her mic, leaning forward. “You’re done. The nation is rising up and putting its foot down, we ain’t having it anymore. I promise you, America. We are going to pursue this with the *full* force of the law. We won’t rest until justice is done and until violent crime is down. Crime rates are as low as they’ve ever been! America is safer than it’s ever been ever in history! We can’t stop though, and we can’t show mercy to offenders. So you better watch out, Hal Colten and every other criminal out there. Because we’re coming for you.”

 Calling it a trial was a joke. The actual evidence against Hal Colten was beyond flimsy to be non-existent. However the history of the Colten name with scandal was so thick it made him seem a liar even when he was telling the truth. Dianne Trent appointed a special prosecutor to help with Miss Gate’s side. A prosecutor that was heavily on the Femi-Nazi wing of extremism in Dianne’s party. It also didn’t help that the attorney was a woman, as well as the jury, and the judge.

 “I did *not* have sexual relations with that woman! It’s preposterous. Absolutely ridiculous. I would never hurt another person like that and I would never ever cheat on my wife. This country has become insane! Not all men are rapists or violent criminals looking to hurt women, this administration has marginalized us though as a whole. Its against the constitution, and a violation of basic human rights.” The man gave an impassioned speech during an interview.

 The now very much Trent controlled media wasn’t impressed, dragging up past scandals that had nothing to do with this one as though it was a clear sign of guilt. The media then used it as a smear against all men in positions of political power still. The trial went all the way up to the Supreme Court, the historic case of Colten v. Gates. It was all the nation was watching, Gates tearful testimonies moving women the nation over. Was there any evidence? Of course not, but people felt like Colten was guilty. So clearly he was guilty.

 Which was ultimately the judgement of the court, to the shock of Hal Colten and men across the country. Since he was already three inches tall however prison seemed like the only thing that could work. So he was sent to prison… for one day exactly. Until a presidential pardon came down through the grapevine, shocking everyone on either side of the aisle in this unprecedented move of generosity.

 The Vice President stood before a press conference. Atop the podium, a few inches from Michelle’s hand was none other than Hal Colten, dressed in a fine suit for all to see. The brunette had a winning PR smile on her face. She drummed her fingers along the podium, the movement of the digits making the tiny man flinch.

 “Madame Vice President! What is your opinion on President Trent going easy on Mr. Colten ?”

 Michelle cleared her throat, unlike her running mate she was a very clear politician. “Easy? Hardly. Mr. Colten will be serving his time. That much has been decided in a court of law, the Supreme Court no less.”

 “But then why did the President pardon him?” Asked another reporter from the crowd.

 “In recent times our prison system has become bloated. We’ve got people spending their hard earned tax dollars to keep prisoners in their cells. They get three square meals, a roof over their heads and they just sit around being a drain on you, the office worker. Or you the secretary. Or you the journalist. They’re leeches frankly, criminals getting a free ride.” Michelle said. The Vice President lacked Dianne’s fiery rhetoric but she made up for it with cool practicality.

 “Well the President and I have been talking all through our tenure for ways to fix this. Today, a bill is being introduced called the Fair Punishment Act. That bill would widen up the use of prisoners in our prisons to actually be of use to society. Our prisoner population, 90% men, will be set forth on programs where they will *serve* the society they’ve wronged. They’re going to work to earn those hard earned tax dollars you, the people, spend on them. No more free rides in America. Mr. Colten here will be the first in the program.” Michelle stated, barely keeping the glee from her voice as she watched the little man’s face pale with terror.

 Once the press conference was over Michelle’s fingers wrapped around the form of the older man as she walked off stage, feeling triumph swelling in her heart. Once she was away from the cameras she sat down in a plush seat in the back and leaned back. She felt squirming in her hand and licked her lips. This was a new America. A better America. Where Women held all the power and men were nothing. The best example of that was an old man, a member of the old order, squirming in the palm of the brunette’s hand.

Michelle opened up her hand, looking at the man as she sprawled out on her open palm. Her icy uncaring gaze fell hard upon him, not feeling an ounce of pity for the man in her hand. She kicked off one of her heels and curled her toes in the open air. There was a squirming inside the heel of her other shoe, her husband still desperately licking away inside is humid, cramped prison like a good little pet. She curled her toes almost affectionately as she pinned the man in her hand with her cold gaze.

 “Dianne wanted first crack at you, Hal. But I don’t think she’ll raise too much of a fuss if I get my fun in breaking you in.” Michelle chuckled.

 “W-wait! Michelle, this is crazy-!”

 “No, no, no. See, we’re quite clear headed and sane. What is crazy is hundreds- no thousands of years of Women being slaves to Men. We see it in biblical verses. We watched it on TV growing up as little girls. We see it in history time and time again. The women exist to serve the men. Well no more, Hal. Dianne is changing all of that. *I* am changing all of that. It’s time we flip history on its head. Its time men were underfoot.”

 With that said she callously dropped the man into her shoe. There was a tiny pop before he let out a cry of pain. “M-my back!” He squeaked. Michelle rolled her eyes.

“Man up.” She said, hovering her bare foot over the writhing and pained form of the one time political opponent. Her toes wriggled eagerly, sole wrinkling slightly before she slid her foot in the heel slowly. There was a cry of horror before it was muffled by a mouthful of foot flesh. Michelle bit her lower lip, the brunette tapping her foot slightly and feeling a pulse of pleasure as the man writhed under her sole. Both of her heels were occupied now. He had fifty years to get acquainted and used to living under a woman’s foot. Be it hers, Dianne’s, or some aide or service agent. Assuming an accident didn’t happen. Women couldn’t always be watching where they stepped now could they?

 “Miss Pierce? The car is ready.”

Michelle sighed and stood, delighting in the squirms under her feet. Exactly where all men belonged, cramped in a tight space under the feet of the better sex. She then started walking, pressing her feet down upon the men under her feet with every step. She took the schedule her aide offered her and couldn’t wait to get back to the White House. Dianne, while not the brightest bulb in the shed, was so very delightfully smug in putting the lesser sex in their places.

 

The second year of Dianne Trent’s presidency came and went by even faster and more chaotic than the first. With law after law being pushed through the political process with reckless abandon men were marginalized and ostracized at every turn. To call them a working class would’ve been incredibly generous. No, they were slaves in everything but name. Despite all her boisterous claims Dianne had treated the Constitution as little more than dirt in her journey to make America big again.

Foreign relations had all but died as every country washed its hands of Sexist America. Save for Russia oddly enough. Critics abroad criticized America for becoming the monster it claimed to fight against. Of course such critics were immediately labeled liars in Dianne’s women-centric media.

The death knell finally came at the two year mark with the 2018 Primaries. America’s last chance to put up a fighting force to slow down the phenomenon that was Dianne Trent. Futile as it might have been, there were those that hoped that perhaps this would be it. That the system would finally work as intended and the American people would vote for those who would do the right thing and undo all this damage at long last.

They did not.

The poll results were overwhelmingly in favor of Dianne supporters. That is to say, women. Any male politician, even those who had served several terms, lost their elections outright. Not surprising, given how most men were either too busy being locked in a cell or inside someone’s shoe to show up to the polls. So it was that the last dregs of the old guard went away at last and Dianne had all but total control. Whatever it was the rambling blonde wanted, the government would most assuredly back her on it.

Ironically, it wasn’t Dianne who proposed the law that would officially and permanently end any illusion of males being worth anything in this regime. Rather, it came from a middle-aged nobody known as Jane Swift.

Jane stood before Congress a few weeks after the Primaries had passed. Her reason? Today she had a proposal for the government, one that those within the room on the edges of their seats. If rumors were to be believed, this would be the biggest step towards progress since the Three Strikes Act.

“You may begin.” The Speaker gestured to Jane from her podium.

“Thank you.” The raven-haired woman lowered her head gratefully, her mature face smirking ever so faintly as she gazed down at the sheets of paper she’d prepared.

“Ladies, it is sad to see the country these days. I know you all adore the changes over the last few years that have changed our country so, but when I turn on the news I cannot help but be disappointed. Yes, this is a prosperous time for us. For women, but what of our male brethren?” Her fist slammed down into her podium, the sound echoing across the Congress room floor. “Imprisonment! Uselessness! I look at them and I see wasted potential and a waste of resources. Every time I turn on the news I see the same stories. Males imprisoned. Violation charges. Men begging for the jobs they stole from us for so very long!”

“I think all Parties can agree, that the state of all our smaller counterparts is not only deplorable, but a grievance against our illustrious President, and this magnificent nation of ours. For months I have heard discussion in this room, discussion of hour to make these men productive to society once again. It is not my intent to solve this problem only for the criminals in our society, but for all men. Of all ages, and all races.” Not that there was much of a difference anymore. “As for me, having given this important subject much thought and after hearing the opinions of many of my sisters, I’ve come to believe that the answer has been in front of us all along.”

“It is true that men are often times helpless to assist with a majority of tasks; and that their job won’t be done particularly well or earn much income. The benefit to my plan is that it will give men the perfect job in our beautiful nation. Another benefit, will be that it will end once and for all the unjustified murder and torment of those beneath us. For too long I’ve wept at the idea of citizens of this great nation dying underfoot, having contributed nothing to society.”

The room was completely enraptured in what the woman was saying. Despite her clear inexperience and reading directly from the page, Jane’s words were potent and had them all on the edge of their seats.

“There are currently 110 Million men in this country. Over 95% of which are imprisoned. Of that number, I will subtract 20 million due to size related accidents. Even with an annual percentage of five million born each year that leaves us with roughly 90 million men to figure out what to do with. There have been murmurs of trying to sell them, but my contacts within the business world have assured me that men are indeed not worth their weight.”

A few snickers broke through the silence of the room.

“I have, however, been assured by a expert in Europe however, that the common American male can serve as a delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food. Whether it be stewed, roasted, or baked, men can be prepared for a meal.”

Perhaps most shockingly in regards to Jane’s absurd statement, even in the slew of crazy statements to overwhelm the last few years, was how not a single woman in the room batted their eyes at the idea. After all, men had basically been worthless for the past year anyway. Any worth they once had perished with their size. Besides, Jane’s proposal was sounding more and more intriguing.

“I do therefore propose for public consideration, the Male Use Act.” She paused to take a deep breath. “Of the 110 million men currently living in this country, I propose 40 million of them for eating purposes. Another 20 million for the sake of breeding. And that the remaining 50 million be sold to those who can afford them.”

“Now, as you all know, the 13th Amendment bans the trading and sale of United States Citizens. Which is why I also propose that once a man reaches under a certain size his rights as a citizen be revoked. Look at me, I am a woman. Were I small enough to fit in your hand would you consider me a person worthy of respect? No, you wouldn’t. Nor should they.”

“By my estimation I believe a properly trained male in good physical condition could be retailed at approximately 40 dollars. Perhaps if they are a rare breed 100. Granted, the grace period for us to adapt to eating them and training them to obey those who purchase them will be harsh. I cannot deny that. There is also the idea of their bodies to consider. Some may want to purchase their male meals while they are still alive, but for others am told that their skin and bones can be removed and applied to create no shortage of goods and medicines for the benefit of all.”

“So long as we manage the stock of men carefully, and never cross that 5 million a year birthrate, we should never fear of running out.” A few faces nodded along with Jane as she spoke, nobody being appalled by any of this.

“I have also been advised by a dear friend of mine that in the industries that may be toxic to one’s health, such as miners or factory workers, males can make a worthwhile substitute in the most dangerous of tasks. Assuring that we keep our beloved people out of danger as much as possible.”

“Now, I understand this is a radical proposal, but, I would now like to explain my reasoning for why this is a good step for America. First, as I have stated, it will put to use the countless sloths that populate our prisons and eating away at our resources. Second, it will assure that even the lower working class will have something important to own and enjoy after a harsh day. Third, while caring for men eats away ten billion dollars each year, the sale and application of those very same men will bring in an estimated 50 billion a year. Fourth, the Breeders will assure that, despite our size differences, our nation will go on strong. Fifth, this will add a new meal and cultural cornerstone with which we can demonstrate our great nation’s proud beliefs to the world. Sixth, this will be a boon for marriages. As now instead of needing to hunt for a spouse, one need only purchase one. Or two. Or however many they so desire. And seventh, it will be the largest step towards undoing the damage that men have done over the past centuries.”

“I can think of, and hope there is no objection to my offer here tonight. Because of the Male Use Act population control will be a fear of the past. I beseech all of Congress to please consider the Male Use Act, and, to quote our beloved President, Make America Big Again.”

As she finished up the room stood and roared with applause. A standing ovation to the brave woman who’d spoken from deep within her heart.

Needless to say, the proposal passed with unanimous accord.

 

 

 

Within recent years, to be called man, was to lack rights of any kind. Any man under a foot tall was no longer considered a United States citizen. After the proposal of the now famous Jane Swift the floodgates were finally open to turn what had been to de facto servitude to actual legal and ironclad slavery. Slavery being among the kindest thing that could happen to one. One could very well be made into food and served on a platter. To be a man was to be the dirt of society, not even really part of society, just the trash cast off from it.

 On the opposite end, if one was a woman, opportunities were endless. With the loss of males taking up jobs women swept in to replace them. Unemployment was the lowest it had been in decades. Society was booming as far as the people who mattered were concerned. Namely the big people. You could be the lowest rung on the ladder of women and you’d still be above the biggest man. It certainly kept unrest down and satisfaction at an all-time high. Yes indeed, Dianne Trent was the most beloved president in history.

 A little bell rang as Rachel walked inside the small strip mall establishment, heels clacking loudly as she stepped from concrete to tiled floor. After opening up a successful practice the brunette had found herself well off enough to blow money on appearances, so her friend had recommended this place. Sheer Art Nails. The air was thick with the smell of nail polish and other cosmetics. The salon was quaint but nice enough looking. She was greeted by a friendly receptionist who had her blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail.

 “Hi, welcome to Sheer Art Nails! Do you have an appointment?” She inquired.

 “Yes, should be under Fairchild, Rachel.” The woman responded.

 The thirty some odd brunette watched the blonde thumb through their appointments before the receptionist nodded. “Yep! Right there. Looks like you’re scheduled for the full treatment. Ever had a Three in One before?”

 Rachel lifted a brow. “Not that I recall. Usually just get a pedicure…” She noted.

 The blonde clapped her hands together. “Well! You’re getting more than just a pedicure with the full treatment. If you’ll come with me, Rachel we’ll get you set up!”

 The young woman had a pep to her step and attitude that was indicative of one that enjoyed what they did. Rachel sighed and followed after, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. She sat down in the indicated chair and noted there were a few other women sitting down with their feet in little plastic boxes. They looked as relaxed as could possibly be though Rachel couldn’t see inside the boxes. Her own was empty. Some new kind of lotion perhaps? The woman set her purse down next to her.

 “Right, so go ahead and take off those heels and the stocking and I’ll be right back with you, Rachel!” With that the young woman hopped off to the backroom.

 Rachel sighed and stripped off her heels, setting them next to the plastic box. She took off her stockings and balled them up before stuffing them inside the shoes. With that done she set her feet down in the plastic box, hoping that they washed them between customers. She flexed and curled her toes in the free air, wriggling them slightly. It had been a long day of court and she definitely needed this to unwind. She frowned as she felt something barely perceptible crunch under her big toe, like tiny pebble or something.

 “What the…” She was about to lean down when her receptionist returned.

 The blonde was carrying in her hands two very haggard and bruised looking six inch men. Rachel’s eyes widened as the blonde set them down inside the box, the men looking utterly exhausted. She was starting to get the idea here as the blonde pulled out a box of different types and colors of nail polish for Rachel’s viewing selection. “Right! So what are you looking for today?”

 “Uhhh… black. Also are those…”

“Yep! This here is the first part of your three in one. Starts with the six inchers. They give your feet a lovely massage after a long stressful day before doing the nails. Don’t let looks deceive you; they are great at their jobs! Aren’t you boys?” She pulled her foot from one of her flats, displaying a fresh pedicure of French tips. “See? It’s great! I can pretty much tell you once you have it; you never go back to regular pedicures.” She grinned brightly.

Rachel cleared her throat and looked down at the six inch tall men. One was probably half her age, the other one was right around it. She let a smirk cross her lips as she leaned back in her chair, lifting her aching feet up invitingly. “Well? You need an invitation?” She barked.

 The dark look the peppy blonde sent their way sent the two men scrambling to knead at the knots and stress in Rachel’s feet, their clear exhaustion overridden by self-preservation. The put their backs into it, tiny bodies straining against her feet inside the little box. The brunette sighed as she slumped back in her chair. Now this was a pedicure she could get used to. The two men groaned in discomfort, their muscles probably aching by this part of the day after attending to the feet of so many women.

Rachel curled her toes in pleasure; she had to give the men credit where it was due. They knew *just* where to hit her sore spots. Their tiny fingers glided and pressed and kneaded into soft doughy flesh, releasing any stress Rachel might have had coming in here. Her husband could take a few lessons from these two. They were true credits to their sex. She splayed her toes for a moment before opening her eyes.

 “Right, so nails. Come on, chop chop.” She ordered.

 The blonde took a bottle of black nail polish down as well as a file and presented them to the two men. The older one took the file and his shoulders slumped wearily as he got to work filing the nails of the brunette. His shoulders strained and he had an almost pained look on his face, on the brink of tears as he struggled to file down the nails of the woman. Once he might have been a successful man, now here he was filing down women’s toenails until he collapsed from exhaustion.

 After finishing both of her feet the younger one approached on his knees and started applying the nail polish. He actually started crying. Probably would have been fresh out of high school by now on the way to a bright future. Rachel didn’t particularly care either way. He was a man after all. Men were the lesser sex, thirty some odd years could tell her that. She frowned at him as he slipped a little.

 “Hey! Paint inside the nail, tiny! Lick that up!” She pointed to a barely perceptible spill on her big toe.

 The young man squeaked in fear and looked up at the blonde, who was glaring daggers at the young fool. “You heard her, lick it up. Now.” She growled.

The young man, still sobbing, ran his tongue along the stain of nail polish, gagging as he had to choke it down. Rachel snorted. “Useless men.” She dismissed, adding further to his humiliation.

 Eventually they both finished their work and the blonde picked them up. Rachel was about to stand before she motioned for her to sit down again. “Woah, hold on. That was only part one, Rachel. You wanna get what you paid for yeah?”

 The brunette lifted a brow. There was more? Still she humored the woman and sat back down, admiring her new pedicure with a smile. That had certainly been pleasant. She was going to have to teach her useless husband to do that. Eventually the blonde returned, this time carrying a plastic tin in her hands. She took off the lid and proceeded to dump its contents into the box with her feet still in it. What fell out were eight inch tall men, each one squeaking in pain and looking haggard. They lacked any form of basic human amenities like clothes.

 “Part two, the one inchers get down between your toes and give them a good cleaning.” She chuckled. “This one is my favorite part.”

 Rachel looked down, sure enough the tiny inch tall men scrambled to her massive toes. They squeezed up between the digits and started licking like their lives depended upon it. Knowing the fragility of inchers it probably did. She felt a little nipping and looked over to the blonde quizzically whole giggled.

 “We tend to keep the inchers and below starved, means they’re very eager for whatever meal they can get between our customers toes.” She informed.

 They did indeed seem ravenous, though their humiliation was obvious as they flocked like pigs to the trough to lick whatever grime or dead skin was clinging between her toes. More than a few sobbed and cried though Rachel leaned back and relaxed, letting out a groan of delight. It was such an odd feeling, the wiggling and licking and slight nipping between her toes but it was pleasant.

She curled her toes on reflex, earning a few squeaks below and a couple of cries of pain before she uncurled them. The tiny men rushed back between the pale digits, knowing they had to keep it up if they wanted to keep on living. Plus they had to eat. The grime and sweat between the toes was the only food they ever got. It was the only food they were worthy of being fed, the cast offs of their betters. For them it was hellish. For Rachel it was truly like a deep cleaning massage.

 “Eat up, piggies.” Rachel shared a chuckle with the blonde.

 When they finished Rachel inspected between her toes. “Not bad. So what’s the last one?” She inquired.

 The blonde grinned and collected her inchers, departing for a moment before returning with a little shaker bottle. Almost like a salt shaker. “Hold your feet up please.” She asked.

Rachel did so, bewildered, before the blonde calmly started shaking close over her toes with precision. What fell from them were actual micro sized men. They fell down under Rachel’s toe nails, men so tiny that the brunette hadn’t actually believed they could get that small. Some naturally missed their marks, bouncing off Rachel’s toes and sent screaming down to the plastic box floor below. Now Rachel knew what she’d crushed when she’d first set her feet down. She licked her lips as the blonde finished.

 “Step three, these mircos deep clean under the toenails, eating up all the toejam and dirt that gathered under there.” The blonde stated.

 Rachel could actually feel them under her toenails. Dozens and dozens of micro sized men crawling under her nails like germs. The wept as they got to their knees and started licking and nibbling at whatever they could fine. The faint dirt and toejam gathered under the brunette’s nails was the only food they’d seen in ages and they ate it up, weeping and crying as they did. They were trapped in the vast cavern of Rachel’s toenails. Less than bugs really, no more than little germs.

 Rachel wriggled her toes on reflex, the mere motion sending a number tumbling out from under her toenails and screaming down the vast unending cliff face that was her toes until they smacked down hard into the plastic ground below. Those that survived the fall? Fated to be squished under the feet of whatever woman that next came by looking for a pedicure. The survivors continued their tasks, the brunette smirking as she looked down at her toes.

 “And that’s a Three in One. Hope you enjoyed.” The blonde said.

 A quizzical look was shot her way. “Don’t you remove them?” She asked.

 “Why bother? They’ll fall out from under your nails naturally or just get washed away in your next shower or bath. Easy to apply, easy to remove! You can actually buy a bottle of them for like five hundred bucks on the net. Don’t tell anyone I told you that though.”

 The two women shared a laugh as below men toiled away beneath Rachel’s toenails, their final duty in life to eat the filth from under a woman’s nails.

 

“Alright Sweetie, have a good day at school.”

Martha watched with a content smirk as the younger brunette hurried out the front door, backpack strapped over her shoulders. Normally she’d have worried about her young little five year old walking to school. Not since Dianne Trent had become President at least. The streets were safer now. Admittedly, Martha was a bit skeptical of the female Commander and Chief at first, but the results really did speak for themselves. Certainly didn’t hurt that the woman got to feel the unimaginable satisfaction of her Ex-Husband popping under her foot after years of flagrant neglect.

Thoughts for later she supposed. For now she only had about seven hours to get the house cleaned, do some grocery shopping, laundry, prepare dinner, and pay the bills. Ideally she’d also like a moment to breathe somewhere in there. So without a moment to waste she was off.

Upon entering the living room she noted the familiar furniture with a discerning, motherly eye. The couch seemed fine but she could spot the dust beginning to form along the table as well as the TV stand. In the corner a stand with a flower pot stood adjacent to a black bookshelf that was filled with a mixture of books and knick knacks. Pictures hung from the walls around a mirror depicting various friends and family. If one squinted hard enough they could see the first stands of cobwebs in the corners or the room. To an outside perspective it looked perfectly clean, but to a mother it was appallingly filthy.

As she began to move Martha caught the flicker of herself in the mirror. At the proud age of 40 she still had a decent amount of youthfulness to her, or so she liked to tell herself. Wavy black hair rested along the shoulders of a woman who’d put on a couple extra bounds. She frowned as she glanced at her stomach, although an incidental upside to that at least was her chest seemed to swell a tad too.

“I need to start going to the gym.” The woman sighed and kept walking. She knew she wouldn’t. This thought process happened every time she saw her mature face in a mirror.

CR-UNCH

A familiar sound came from below, Martha barely feeling something under her bare sole. “Oh God.” She didn’t even have to look but she did anyway. Stuck to the bottom of her doughy foot was the crushed body of a man. About...two inches tall if she had to guesstimate. With an annoyed frown Martha scrapped the lowly creature’s bones and guts with a fingernail, pasting it all between her digits as she looked down.

“Now I’m gonna have to clean this up.” She sighed at the red stain defacing her fine wooden floors; not without catching a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye however. More men. Some slightly taller. Some vastly shorter. All pests. Seemed like Martha’s lovely little daughter accidentally let her pets out again. Perhaps her lunch too if some of the larger ones were a sign.

Normally Martha rather enjoyed a good bit of male slaughter. There was just something so right about it. Something that never got old and always felt immensely satisfying. Right now she just didn’t have time though. So she didn’t do her usual playful chase routine. Instead, she wasted no time at all in stamping down another man beneath her sole. Fortunately for her, she intended to mop down the floors anyway.

Realizing they’d been discovered, the various men all screamed and ran as far as their little legs would take them. People who’d once had families, lives, perhaps even lives in this very neighborhood. Now mere household pests when they weren’t in a proper container. They ran like the wind. Alas, even the largest among them couldn’t run further than a single footstep before Martha came upon them with booming stomps.

Martha’s tanned foot was relentless in administering death to the lowly creatures. “Why is it all you men know how to do is run away?” She grumbled, remember just a bit too much of her Ex. At least the deaths felt satisfying. Each human life was a pop beneath her foot. In some of the smaller cases it wasn’t even that much. Just a dozen or so kills executed in quick succession beneath the worn sole of the mother.

Once the last one had been crushed Martha lifted her foot, unable to stop a smug smirk once she saw the myriad of stains now there. “Serves you right.” She chuckled and wiped it off with a wave of her hand.

With that taken care of at last, Martha exited the room for a moment and returned with a mop and bucket. Without batting an eye she wetted her cleaning tool and slid it along the floor. Much to her pleasant surprise the stains were coming off the floor seamlessly. “Gotta remember to buy more of this brand.” She made a mental note and kept cleaning before more movement caught her eye.

“Ugh, missed one.” The raven-haired woman rolled her eyes and slid the mop forward. The man, at a towering three whole inches tall, fled as best he could from the mop, venturing beneath the living room couch. The sweeping, sponge of the mop was right behind him and rapidly gaining, sizzling with the cleansing chemicals that could melt his skin like acid. Provided the sponge didn’t just crush him outright.

Martha watched passively from on high as her mop caught up to the man and bowled him over. The soaking yellow sponge completely enveloped him, immediately crushing the bones in his body as the cleanser did the rest. His skin all but melted away beneath the mop, any blood promptly absorbed by the sponge as he quickly and painfully passed away.

“Good riddance.” Martha grimaced. For good measure she peeked beneath the couch; and what she saw made her gasp.

Men. Dozens of the little bastards. Maybe even a hundred. Maybe more if there were microbes among them. A colony of the vermin. Hiding away where they wouldn’t be seen. They all turned to the massive visage of the woman just outside, stunned. “I’m gonna have to have a long chat with that girl.” The towering female grumbled before pulling back. The men wisely took the chance to begin fleeing in various directions.

“How many times do I have to tell her not to let them go? Men aren’t people anymore. Doesn’t matter what her Daddy was. Sometimes that girl’s too nice I swear.” She muttered in an annoyed tone while stomping away. Sure, she could leave them be but the last time Martha wanted was male droppings on her pristine floors. Especially near her daughter. Who knew where those men had been?

Stomping them was tempting, but the number of them made it possible she could miss one. Same with the mop. Thankfully, it was time for a mother’s secret weapon.

After a minute Martha returned, dragging along a vacuum behind her. The great machine towered menacingly over the bugs along the floor as she calmly plugged it in and pulled out the tube at its side. Martha levied a dangerous look at the men before flicking the machine on. It whirred to life instantly, roaring louder than anything the men had ever heard in their lives. The sound was crippling and brought many to their knees clutching their head. Certainly made things easier.

Martha walked over, her powerful steps completely eclipsed entirely by the shriek of the vacuum. Without a moment’s hesitation the vacuum’s tube was pointed right at a man. Where she could watch happily as he was ripped from the ground by the great suction of her handy little machine. His peers all struggled to move away, unable to fight the invisible force even when it wasn’t directed at them. With the same cruel calm look in her eyes Martha sweeped the vacuum over them all.

One by one they were sucked inside. Nothing they did could stop it or save themselves, and Martha was a very thorough woman when it came to cleaning. No hiding place was safe. The closest a man came to escape was when he held onto the bottom of the couch so hard the vacuum ripped him in two. It’s alright, Martha didn’t stop until both halves were sucked up.

From there she took the chance to vacuum the rest of the room and gather up all the dust and dirt. Turned out another colony was behind the bookshelf. Not for long it was. Martha wasn’t tolerating any such vermin on her watch.

She never so much as spared a thought towards those now trapped within the vacuum. Buried underneath literal mountains of filth. Bits of dust and fluff that weighed virtually nothing but were now heavier than cars. There they were trapped, compressed in the thick, filth-ridden air with the dirt, grime, and corpses of their fellows. Where the vacuum was at its loudest and outright popped the ears of the men within.

Martha didn’t care. She just cleaned the room as she always did. Once the vacuuming was done it was time to wipe the TV stand and table, finish mopping the floors, dust the corners, and so on. What few men remained inside the vacuum could only watch from the glass pane as the immense woman carried out her routine. Eventually she returned to the vacuum and unhinged the dispenser that held them, never even glancing at them.

She entered the kitchen with the dispenser, ready to dump it in the trash and be done with it, when a thought hit her. If she just threw them away, any surviving men could escape. Worse yet, they’d make a hole in her trash bag and let the dirt out. Her mind instantly weighed her options before quickly settling on a solution.

Martha hurried to the door and slid on her favorite sandals. She reached the front yard, where she finally upended the canister and gave it a few good smacks along the back, watching as its contents fell into the grass below. Before even a moment passed she lifted her sandaled foot over the pile of dust and stomped as hard as she physically could. “Come back from that.” She sneered, twisting her foot a little.

At last, after stomping them out and wiping the dust from her sandal, Martha was done cleaning the living room. Next up was the kitchen, where the woman spotted a number of familiar figures by the kitchen sink.

“I’m going to kill that girl.” She groused before stomping on over. There just wasn’t any time for this. Even more hurriedly than she’d killed the last colony, her fingers carelessly brushed the men over into the sink. Did they survive the fall? Did they die? She didn’t care. Without wasting time she turned on the sink, ushering in a massive flood of water to those below. She watched as they got swept up in the tide and carried along helplessly.

Then her fingers hit a small switch just below the counter, triggering a grinding sound from the drain: the garbage disposal. “Can’t risk clogging the pipes.” The woman reasoned to herself with a nod, still watching passively as the handful of men were carried by the rushing water into the drain. Although unheard, she had no doubts they were screaming as the grinding blades of the garbage disposal tore them to bloody shreds. Only for the overpowering water to wash away any and all evidence they’d ever existed.

Once she was sure all of them were dead Martha turned it all off and sighed. One look at the floor revealed more men near the refrigerator. “She’s so grounded.” The mother pouted.

Looks like she was gonna have to be thorough with this room too.

 

 

 

Dianne let out a deep sigh as she gazed out the window of the Oval Office. It was a wondrous day. The sun was shining. The grass was fresh from being moved and looked simply divine; and reports were saying that the country had benefited more from the Male Use Act than had been estimates. National profits were up. Really everything was up. Just a little over halfway through her term and she’d already accomplished more than she could’ve hoped. As she stood in her office looking out, her chest puffed out with the deep satisfaction of knowing one simple thing.

She had won.

She’d won so hard, so utterly and undeniably that even all her numerous claims about winning seemed paltry by comparison. It seemed silly to think that men were ever equals to her now. Such a strong gender had been completely gutted and deprived of everything they’d once had in just a couple short years. She had to admit, at first she wasn’t really sure what she was doing, but now that the pieces had fallen into place so beautifully she knew that she’d done the right thing.

All her life she’d looked down upon men. Quite literally more often than not, but also metaphorically. She’d seen what they’d done to this precious country of hers. How they treated their citizens. Her critics had accused her of reducing men to pathetic little servile creatures, but the reality was they’d been like that for a long time now. All Dianne did was show the world the truth.

With a deep, content chuckle she turned around. Standing atop her desk was the man who very almost stopped her from achieving all of this, Hal Colton. His middle-aged form was trembling in her presence, the three-inch tall man utterly terrified of the looming blonde. After all, why shouldn’t he? She had complete control over his very existence now, and that delight in her smug smirk said she knew it too.

“How’s that paperwork coming along Hal?” Dianne asked playfully. She never was a fan of reading all those pesky documents. It was one of the few things her pet was quite good at.

The man shifted awkwardly and glanced over to a stack of sheets that stood ankle-high to him. “D-Done Madame President.” He squeaked out the title he was required to call Dianne at all times. Just to remind him who she was.

“Good boy. I knew you were worth all the money I spent on you.” He was free.

DUN BUM

Knocking came from the door and instantly took the blonde’s eyes away from the man. Not many people had the clearance to just come up and do that, although Dianne had a fair idea who it was. “Come in.” Sure enough, Michelle Pierce stepped in, documents in hand.

“Madame President, have you signed those documents I sent to you?” The stern-faced brunette asked, eyes only briefly glancing at the male atop the desk.

“Of course Michelle.” Dianne turned around and reached for the Oval Office curtains, shutting them.

“Excellent. I have a few more. With this we can effectively ban male immigration into the country at last.” Michelle lifted up the papers in her hand and walked towards the desk. Without warning the stack was placed where Hal stood, the man just barely getting out of the way to avoid being swatted into the wooden surface.

Dianne noted Hal’s struggle and chuckled under her breath. “Great, I’ll get those right to ya soon.” She walked across the room confidently, her impressive chest bouncing. “Hey Dianne…” She came to a stop beside the woman, the two of them each towering at over six feet tall. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you.”

Michelle paused and looked up from the desk to Dianne. Very rarely had those green eyes of hers looked surprised, but there it was. “Yes Madame President?” Her formality was as strong as ever though.

The blonde exhaled. This sort of thing never came easy to her. “We’ve been working together for a few years now. Gotta admit I was little unsure at first. No no, really. Surprising I know. Anywho I...Aw screw it. I’ll just come out and say it. Thanks.” Dianne grinned. “You’re the best damn Vice President this gal can ask for.”

Michelle’s surprise only intensified. Her stern visage softened considerably, almost looking cute as her lips parted in sheer shock. “T-Thank you Mada-”

“Call me Dianne.”

“-Dianne.” She chuckled. “I have to admit, you’ve turned out to be a surprisingly perfect President as well.” Michelle averted her eyes with a thin blush. “Anyway, I should be going. I have a meeting at five and-”

She was immediately silenced by a firm hand grasping her chest. Even Michelle, as terrifying as she was, when groped so suddenly let out a shrill yelp. Her eyes wandered from the hand to the grinning blonde currently caressing her so, utterly speechless.

“Or.” Dianne leaned forward until their faces were intimately close. Her breath teased along the soft lips of her beloved Vice President. Her eyes were undressing Michelle’s supple figure before looking back into the surprised woman’s emerald irises. “We could take a minute to celebrate a job well done. On the very desk we earned together.” Dianne said while licking her lips.

Against her better judgement, Michelle felt herself swoon. “H-Here? But what about…” She looked down to the three-inch tall man currently in awe of the two titans caressing each other.

“What about him?” Dianne replied confidently. She had a point. While Michelle was on the defensive she leaned further in and brought her face near the brunette woman’s neck. Her nose sniffed idly at her. “You’re wearing that perfume I like.” The blonde noted. “Nobody has to know Michelle. Just a bit of fun. That’s all.”

As ever, Dianne’s recklessness knew no bounds. Michelle could’ve listed dozens of politicians who’d lost their careers over scandals like this. Some Presidents even. Still...She was incredibly persuasive. Dianne Trent’s natural charm was an intoxicating thing. Without realizing it, Michelle had turned until her back was to the desk. Guided by Dianne, she found herself sitting atop it. Beneath her she could feel the pattering of feet vibrating through the desk. The fact that a lowly man was bearing witness to this somehow made it feel so much hotter.

“Relax Babe.” Dianne grinned as she cupped her friend’s legs under each arm and lifted. Michelle instinctively coiled the legs around the busty blonde. “Just leave it all to the President.” Her fingers were already working at the buttons of Michelle’s blouse and she made no efforts to stop her. First went the jacket. Then the blouse beneath, leaving only a jet black brassiere that restrained her generous bust. That wasn’t all however.

“Oh Michelle.” Dianne laughed. “You houndog.” Tucked away in the brown-haired woman’s bust were men. Dozens of them, damn near microscopic. Mites that pleasured her over the course of the day where nobody would see them. “How many do you have?” Dianne playfully asked. Of course the blonde had a few tending to her feet at the moment, but that was a separate matter.

“S-Shut up…” Michelle turned her head with rosy cheeks. Okay now that was cute.

Spurned by her intimidating Vice President’s sudden meekness, Dianne pushed further. In turn, Michelle fell back. Behind her Hal was forced to turn and run as the bare back of the towering woman began to close in. His three inch tall frame rushed as fast as it could in its weary state. All round him Michelle’s shadow grew darker as the woman grew closer. “U-rk!” He tripped and fell along the ankle-high stack of papers, busting his chin along the desk. “Wait!” With a bleeding face he rolled around and screamed to the two giants as Michelle’s soft back hovered mere inches away.

Neither woman heard him, and even if they had there wasn’t a chance that they were going to stop now. Michelle felt the pop against her shoulder blades. As well as a momentary annoyance that his blood would probably stain the papers he died on. Such thoughts were quickly shoved aside when she met Dianne’s lusty eyes.

The blonde lowered herself until she was laying atop the desk. Something fell off the side as it shook but neither paid that much attention. Dianne brought her face into Michelle’s neck again, this time the woman turning to offer it. Licking her lips, Dianne gave it a teasing lick followed by a little nibble. The nibbling very quickly evolved into proper bites.

Her hand worked at the brunette’s chest, one hand squeezing a breast without concern for those who were trapped atop it. The breast was a mountain that they were trapped on and Dianne’s fingers were towers that loomed menacingly in the sky, eclipsing all. She couldn’t even feel their bodies pop under her pads or hear their microbial screams. The ground beneath their feet shook and jiggled, heaving with every heated breath Michelle let out. Attempts to escape were cut short as the ground squished beneath them too much, or would bounce and send dozens of men flying into the air to their deaths. Those who were crushed under Dianne’s groping fingers were the lucky ones.

“You’re buying me new ones.” Michelle huffed in some attempt to save face, coming off pouty.

“I’ll buy ya all the pets you want.” Dianne retorted with another lick before trailing downwards. “Every man in the world.” She whispered. “Worshiping you. Worshiping us.”

“Mmm~” Michelle moaned. That sort of pillow talk did wonders. She envisioned it. A world of nothing but women. Where men were all their playthings. Begging her to let them worship her. Praying to her like she were an almighty god. “Ah!”

Dianne pinching her nipple caught her unawares. “Man, if you could see yourself now.” The blonde let out a crude chuckle and licked her lips. Up close her blue eyes loomed like the rising sun over Michelle’s breast, able to see every pathetic excuse for a man that populated the woman’s bosom.

Her luscious lips parted and let out a gentle breath akin to a hurricane to those smaller than her. She watched in amusement as they flew across what must’ve been miles of breast to them. Dianne’s mouth opened further still to reveal the wet maw within. Saliva strands vastly larger than any of the shrunken people dripped and broke apart from the roof of her mouth as her tongue reached out.

“What’re you…” Michelle shuddered and watched.

Dianne inched forward with that dripping tongue of hers, droplets of saliva ushering in a flood as she bent down and licked. Her tastebuds savored the Vice President’s delicious flavor, swallowing up dozens in their vast pinkness. One lick led to another, and then another. She could feel Michelle tensing beneath her.

Going further still, Dianne brought a land down low, sliding it up Michelle’s skirt until it pressed at the wet spot between her lips. The brunette let out a satisfying yelp. Unbeknownst to Dianne, more humans still rested just past that drenched bit of underwear. Microbial beings who were being drowned in Michelle’s pleasure and suffocated in her aroma. The pressing of Dianne’s fingers was merely the third death knell.

“D-Dianne!” Any pretenses of the usual stern woman were gone as Michelle gasped the blonde’s name.

Dianne just grinned and began to press even harder. Her free hand reached over to a little intercom and pushed a small button at its side. “Sheila, cancel the five o’clock. Something’s come up.” Without waiting for an answer she released the button and proceeded to reach for her blouse. Now she could just take her time and enjoy this.

God it felt good to win.

Four Years came and went in Trent’s America. Four years seemed like nothing in the span of a nation’s life, however in these four years more historic and progressive policies had been passed than ever before in American history. The nation had been changed forever. Something many people were glad to see. America had become a nation of Women, for Women, and by Women. It was all due to one particular woman, Dianne Trent. Her term had come up however, four years had passed.

When she ran for reelection however it was unopposed. After all, there was really no one to oppose her. The only people that might have wanted to oppose her were the least important elements of society. Though calling them part of society was almost laughable by this point. Men were a part of society like a fancy bracelet was; only the bracelet was worth far more. Men weren’t even a class. By this time every man in the nation was 3 inches or under, no longer a citizen or person in the eyes of the law.

The reelection speech was held at a very different crowd than her inauguration was. If there were men here, they were toiling at the feet of their women. Stuffed into cramped shoes and heels, coated in sweat and grime. There were food carts along the streets, women free to enjoy a number of new cuisines involving their male counterparts. Men stuffed into boiling hot portable ovens, cooked alive to be served on buns, some dipped in chocolate and served as the sweetest of treats for the younger folks. Then there were those men that had escaped captivity, the truly pitiable wretches, feasting on scraps and dwelling the shadows of women.

When the President took the podium her nation cheered. A nation of women. A nation that had ground out men into food, playthings, and breeding stock in the span of a few years. The president was surrounded by women where once there had been men at her side. She stood with a pair of men currently in her heels, licking her toes and whimpering on her big day. Which was nothing on Michelle who had taken to quite a few exotic fashions. On her earrings a pair of tiny men dangled, wailing as their forms at an eighth of an inch were mere jewelry. A stylish necklace dipped between her ample cleavage, a despondent looking man weeping there. Supposedly she had three half inch tall men in each shoe. Knowing her, Dianne wouldn’t be surprised.

The blonde meanwhile just opted for her first and second husband underfoot. Both years her junior. Both sobbing and coated in bruises and grime as they lapped at her doughy sole. She knew that there were hundreds of women like that in the crowd today. America was a land of opportunity after all. Where every woman had the right to have a man underfoot. Dianne waited until the cheers died down, drinking in the praise all around her. Her ego swelled nicely. As if it could get any bigger.

“America has been made Big Again!” She started. The resulting roar of the crowd before her and the stomping of feet shook the capitol and ended with hundreds of male deaths, splattered underfoot and in shoe. Dianne waited for the roar to die down before continuing on.

“America has been made Big Again, because of you, the people! You stood up! You put your feet down and said ‘no more’! Now look at us! A big, proud nation! A strong nation! Because of you, folks, I mean, seriously you all are beautiful, let’s hear some cheers for you all!” Dianne called, the capitol roaring again in ways it had never roared before. The blonde woman lifted her hands to dimmer down the almost crazed praise and chanting.

She looked out into the sea of faces for a long few moments before continuing. “We aren’t done yet folks. Not by a long shot. In four years, we’ve turned America into the Biggest and the Best nation on this earth. The world agrees. Russia, our good friends, great people, have started following in our footsteps. I hear tell China is facing upheaval. The cowards in their so called ‘progressive’ countries call us monsters! They are calling you all wrong! They are what is wrong with the world, run by those brainwashed by the lies of a corrupt Media. Women in the Middle East, oppressed by medieval regimes and by tyrannical *Men*! No more I say!”

The crowd cheered. People took vindictive bites of their male inclusive food, others sneered at their broken slaves. It wasn’t just the nation watching this after all, it was the whole world. Everyone’s gaze was fixed upon President Trent as she delivered her fiery victory speech in this new America she had created. She stood before the White House, the same house 44 men had ruled from. The only men to do so now.

“We’re done being silent. We’re done being the trodden upon sex. For centuries we’ve endured indignity after indignity, not cared for by societies ruled by men. Well now it’s our time in history. Now it’s our time to shape the world how we want it to be. A world where our daughters can grow up safely and inherit. No more! You voted for 4 more years nation. And you are going to get 4 more years!” Dianne shouted to more applause.

“We’re done making America Big Again! It’s time to Make The World Big Again!” Dianne declared. The applause and cheers that met this final declaration was heard the world over. The chanting of the crowd was heard in every country. A chapter in American history had just been closed, only to open up a new chapter in World History.