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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No air conditioning, huh?” I chortled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy fucking shit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The urge was too strong. 

“Deal,” I uttered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no turning back, now.