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Author's Chapter Notes:
hope you enjoy this story.
Be warned!! the context is both serious and rather violent.Not a ligh-hearted one... But i wanted to explore a darker side of the fanatsy.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


Reversal



Leaning on the shovel, I allow myself a minute break. Sweat is running down my face. I need to do more exercise, really. The night is warm, and through the fleeting clouds, I can see the stars, my silent witnesses. The hole at my feet is nearly deep enough now. A few more minutes maybe. I inhale the smoke, letting it invade my lungs, let the numbness drag on my mind. It’s a good night for me.
The body is lying next to the hole, covered in a simple plastic sheet. I don’t do it to cover the evidence from my eyes. It’s just simpler to drag it on the ground. It’s less than an hour that I have killed him, and it seems I have already forgotten his name. Dave? Steve?. My mind is not too clear sometimes, especially when my task is at hand. Looking at the corpse I take a puff from my cigarette. Poor bugger. He shouldn’t have accepted my offer. Anyway, I better finish the job, while the body is still warm. They get real stiff real fast, and then, it’s no longer that easy.
When the deed is done, and the earth well trampled, I wipe my brow, clean my hand a bit on the towel, and head back to the car, the shovel on my shoulder. It will a great night tonight, I can feel it.

Dave – that’s his name – came to visit the region with his wife Suzan. I met the couple earlier on tonight at the Inn. I had spotted them as soon as they entered the place, all smiles and alert, their backpacks nearly dwarfing them. In truth, I mostly noticed her. She was so gorgeous looking, there’s no male in the place who did not. Her long blond hair were flowing over her pink sweatshirt, real long actually, nearly touching a pair of picture perfect breasts , the kind I learnt to imagine when I fantasize about a real Lara Croft. She was also the perfect image of health, a beautiful tanned complexion (probably from her holidays here, but with a touching natural tone to it), inviting full lips (no lipstick there, no affectation, I liked that) and perfect teeth, white and shapely, the way you see them in ads for toothpaste. She had a gentle smile, as she looked around, and her playful blue eyes were glowing with a quiet gaiety. In fact there was a soothing quality to her face that only highlighted further how beautiful she was. And to make things worse for us poor onlookers, she was wearing a black short that stuck nicely to the top of her long thighs. She was tall enough, nearly as tall as her boy-friend ( I learnt after that they were married) and the walking boots made her even taller of course. I now know that she’s 25 . So, that was it, I knew then that I had to do it again, even though I normally do not approach couples.

I’m a chatty person, pleasant to talk to, and getting to know people is not much a problem for me. In the course of the evening I managed to start a conversation about the mountains around, and mentioned I owned a little Bed and Breakfast not far from here (this is not true of course, I rent the place). And one drink after another and another, I invited them the happy couple back to my place, with the lure of a good breakfast and a reasonable price.

I’m a chatty person but I can’t be bothered to chat to my preys once I’ve caught them. Things went fast. The gun, the fear, the killing. Poor Dave hardly had time to react. I’m no sadist. But Suzan was somewhat upset all right. Preys often are.

Suzan really is beautiful. Especially now, naked on the bed, in all her glory. I’d known it’d be worth it. She hardly moves. Of course, she can’t really, strapped to bed as she is. It is essential. she cannot. Things could be dangerous otherwise. I look at her, at her magnificent breasts, the gentle plane of her stomach, her long thighs. And I look at her lovely face. Although just now , this face shows nothing but hatred and fear. It’s a pity. It drains the loveliness out of bit. But never mind that. I’m a tourist really, in search f landscapes, not a social animal hungry for conversation.

I begin shrinking. Suzan looks at me stunned, as I sit on the bed, slowly dwindling away, like melting snow. She has the look they all have. Disbelief, horror, and the wondering face of someone who thinks it’s maybe a bad dream after all. But it’s no dream. I am a “shrinker”, if the term ever exists. I found out about it a long time ago. It’s a natural process for me. And one that allows me to indulge in a very private fantasy.

My legs no longer touch the floor and are now lying on the bed. I stand up and move away from the edge of the bed. Suzan cannot move much sure, but the little bouncing she does still becomes more and more tremendous to me. She shouts something , under the gag I put in her mouth. (I sometime let them speak, but at a certain size, the sounds become too loud for comfort and make little sense). Her hips are now level with my eyes, and her body stretches in front of me, an inviting hill of tanned flesh. I’m in my element now.

I walk to the strap holding her shoulders and climb on top of it. I follow its length till I come to Suzan left shoulder and with a slight hesitation I step on the soft skin. Its warmth and gentle yield under my soles begin to arouse me. I’m now about one and a half inch. My little trek can start. Above me the huge face of young woman is staring at me. Her enormous eyes are open wide, her lovely blue eyes. I feel tremors under my feet, but the straps are well tight. I know my stuff, and have also learn my lesson. I walk casually toward her throat, a beautifully sculpted pillar of skin, alive and agitated. I reach the base of it and lie down on my back, looking at the rosy cliff, and the overhanging jaw above me.

I’m bouncing up and own, as Suzan gagging or swallowing moves her throat under me. But I find it pleasant to be there, arms behind my head, like a tourist on a beach. Gazing at the twin hills of her breasts, her head my parasol. I listened to the noises in the great body under me, her sniffling, swallowing, her breathing. It’s very soothing to me. After a few minutes I notice that my back is all wet, part from my contact with the warm skin, but mostly due to Suzan sweating, in her struggle against the straps holding her down. I decide to move before a little pool of sweat starts gathering at the base of her throat I climb up the short distance between her two breasts, all the time feeling her hot breath against my back. When I get to her chest, I stop and choose to ascend the left breast. I do not climb it on foot. I indulge myself in crawling gently up, feeling the pliant and bouncy skin of her breast under my body. I go slowly, observing the landscape lower behind me. The I reach the top and lean my back at last against her nipple. I feel it trembling, and tremors shook my fleshy support. I am looking now at the expanse of her stomach, below me, like an inviting plain. I could fit easily tin the depression of the navel. The plain is of a beautiful soft tanned color, darker then the breast I’m standing on just now. Obviously Suzan is not adept of topless bathing.

As I rub my back against gently against the nipple I feel the texture of my fleshy wall slightly changing. I love it when my prey actually starts being aroused by my contact. Yep, I can feel the nipple is getting harder and when I move away a few step, I distinctly see it is now somewhat taller than when I reached it. I go around it and face my prisoner.
Her beautiful face is glaring at me, her eyes filled with certain confusion, as she no doubt fights against the sensations I aroused in her by touching her nipple. Hate and lust, what a cocktail. I have seen this happen many times. Under my the ground is moving up and down like a sea under a heavy swell, as vast lungs are filling in, filling out. But now the rhythm is getting slightly more chaotic, I have to be more careful to stand. I begin to smile.
How could it describe the feeling? Here I am, a mere speck of flesh, insignificant, totally at the mercy of any element in my oversized world, something anyone could swat away, or crush without noticing. A little human bug really. And yet in control of creature thousands of times larger than myself. I am master of my living domain, of my breathing landscape. The strength in one finger of this gorgeous girl could destroy me instantly. She could swallow me whole and hardly notice, but now, she’s mine, she can strain and fight and use the monstrous power of her body all she likes, there is nothing she can do against her minuscule captor. The power she exerts against the straps is , to my point of view, unconceivable. And to think that I have captured such a beast. There is something Faustian and totally exhilarating in the control of a creature so inherently dangerous as this young woman is to me. This is my high, this is my time. This reversal process, the dominance of the insignificant against the all -mighty, this has become my raison d’ętre, ever since I discovered the shrinking. The feeling is even stronger now as I believe Suzan is the most beautiful woman I have ever captured. I loose myself in the sight of her perfect lips, her large blue eyes, and the vastness of her sleek and curvy body.
The rage of my victims used to worry me at first, and once, I nearly got killed by a girl who manage to make me fall along her hips and tried to crush me under her. If it hadn’t been for the strong restraint of the hip straps, she might have succeeded. But I know how to be careful now, and keep away from the edges of the body. I am now walking across Suzan’s belly, feeling the contractions of her abdominal muscles under my feet. I go down the gentle slop of navel, and once inside, I leaned my back against the slope facing Suzan’s face. I now look at her from a very strange point of view, half buried in her flesh, under the burning gaze of the giantess. I smile to her, and I know she can see it, as she tries to shoot something at me and pull on the restraints. Under me, huge bowel movements take place, in the vast labyrinth of her intestines. Rivers of digested food are running below me, in the depths of her belly. I feel this huge internal world palpitating against my whole body, separated from it by a sleek layer of sweet scented skin.
I stay there nearly an hour, and decide to climb out and have a little tour in my favorite forest. In a few seconds of leisurely walk I reach the luscious bush of pubic hair. They’re about my size, so I shrink a bit further, so they start looking a bit more like trees to me. And then I go exploring. At first I can touch her skin and wonder between the hair, but quickly I have to try and get on top of it, as the bush is becoming more intricate. So, here I am crawling on the pubic hair of my own private giantess. Surely not a very gracious looking walk, but I’m here to indulge. I decide what is good or bad, and why should I care for the opinion of my prey?
I reach the slope leading to the wondrous cavern of her sex, my feet deep in the complex crisscross of the pubic hair. I am now on top of a mountain, overlooking a deep valley of silken sheet, surrounded on both sides by the mountainous and fleshy range of the longest and well formed thighs I have ever seen. Even now, I feel dizzy at the sight of these legs. A sweaty and familiar smell floats in the air, coming from below me. I will go there, in time, but the descent is somewhat athletic, and I made myself too small to really enjoy it. I would only lose my way, in the fleshy folds. No, I prefer to start growing a bit and wait till I have a more appropriate size. This will take a while, as growing is for me a much much slower process than shrinking, as can be expected. So I jump off the bush of hair and start walking towards the hip and the long round left thigh.
I have all the time in the world. No one will discover the missing couple tonight, and though I’m aware the police is desperately looking for me, after the trail of bodies I have left, I have, I guess, two days before getting away to safety. So I’ll take it easy for the moment, just enjoying the view. Later, when she sleeps, I will go and pay a visit to her face, loose myself in the warm bed of her lips. This is all under control.

…………………

I wake up on her stomach after a short nap. Something is wrong. I am taller than I anticipated at this stage, nearly three and a half inches, judging by the navel in front of me. Did I sleep that long? But as I turn round to face Suzan, I flinch. The young woman is removing her hands from the straps, her wrists and hands passing through the loops with hardly any effort. This is impossible! I have checked those thoroughly. There was no gap, no weaknesses in those manacles. Then I realize: I’m not taller than I planned; she’s the one who’s smaller, easing her hands out of the device.
She rips the gag off her mouth , wipes away the saliva from her chin and then looks at me, a furious glare in her giant blue eyes. She whisper slowly: “YOU SICK MURDEROUS SON OF A BITCH” . I shiver with fright, and start running down her body. My mind is a mud of panic. A second later, the shadow of an enormous hand covers me.

…………………..

Suzan watches as the tiny man gently sleeps on her belly. A consuming hatred is burning in her heart. She’s never felt that way before, but then again no one had ever killed her loved one in front of her eyes.

She had realized fast enough that she was probably in the den of the serial killer they talked about all last year. She knew these people existed, but you ‘re never supposed to meet them, right? These things happen to other people, unlucky people. She had believed also she was dead for sure, when she was tied to the bed, her mind still reeling from Dave’s murder. She knew she was not going to go out alive from this place. Despair was the only emotion then. Until she saw him shrink…
She had believed all her life that there must be others like her. She couldn’t possibly be the only one. But she’d never heard of it, never met anyone like her. And then he did it. He shrank much faster than she’d ever been able to. This display of control had stunned her. For her, shrinking was a slow process, a natural gesture surely, but not something she could hurry as he was apparently able to do. Then again, the man was older then her, probably had more experience. And it would not help him. She watched him doing his little tour, absorbed in his self-indulgence. She felt his tiny body exploring her own, his little warmth against her left nipple. She watched him take a fancy to lose himself in her pubic hair. But she did not care any longer. She had realized that if fate had played a nasty trick to her when they met the psycho, it was also playing an ironic one for the killer. She had started to shrink, very slowly, so as not to alert him. She was confident he would not be able to grow as fast, but she was not going to take any chances.
As she felt the straps loosen gently around her diminishing wrists, and felt the weight of man increase on her belly, she started to lose her fear, for the cards had turned dramatically in her favor. She no longer was in his power. He was all hers.

Suzan moves her hand slowly out of the straps. She can see the little man wake up and start to turn towards her. She can see the shock and fear settling on this face. She rips off the gag that restrained her. And extends her hand. She plucks the man off her belly between her thumb and forefinger. His little legs are flaying uselessly, as she brings him towards her face. She wants to see his fear. She wants him to know what’s going to happen to him. She controls the rage that tells her to crush him right here right now.

She rises from the bed, the screaming man between her fingers, and walks to the kitchen. As she walks, she feels herself growing again slowly. She grabs a heavy glass and drops the man inside. He’s still hardly one inch tall and the glass is inescapable to him. Now what? She grabs her panties and put them back on. Should she look for Dave? That seems beyond her strength. Wherever the psycho put his body should not be very far, he wasn’t gone too long. Remembering his death throws her in a fit of tears. No, she should wait for the police. A phone. She should call the police. What about the man? Does she leave him to them? That would be the right thing to do. She comes back to the glass. Inside the tiny figure is clawing at the transparent bluish walls that imprison him. She can hear little squeaks, he’s probably shouting something. She does not care.

No way she’s letting the bastard get away with what he’s done. This is personal. This is between her and him. She looks around, opens the fridge, the cupboard. She’s not hungry, but for him she’ll make an effort, she decides suddenly. She comes back to the kitchen table with a bag of hotdog buns, some mustard. She goes and bring the glass back with her ,as she sits at the table. She applies some mustard to the bun. OUR LITTLE NIGHT TOGETHER HAS WORKED UP MY APPETITE, MY SWEET LOVER she tells him. She takes the glass and pours its content onto the bun. With a little plop, the man lands in the mustard covered bread. He tries to stand up, clawing at his eyes. With a careful finger, she flattens him back into the yellow goo. His screams are distinct now. He knows. She looks at at the struggling shape, all covered in mustard, clawing at the tip of her finger. She brings her face real close to him, she can see his expression quite clearly now. He’s in despair, the same despair she had felt a few hours back. She draws no satisfaction from that, just a sense that she’s doing the right thing. For herself and for the women this monster had abused and killed. She knows already she’ll regret this later, but now everything seems to fit perfectly with the course of events.
Suzan brings her lips close to the little body and opens wide. The little man has a good look inside her mouth, washed in her hot breath, then she slowly lick her lips.
She gets up, ignoring him and goes to the sink with the glass. She washes, as its inhabitant had wet himself with fear. She fills the glass with water and come back to the table. The little man is now longer in the bun. She sees him on the edge of the table, a little yellow trail of mustard behind him. He’s looking at her, then at the floor, a hundred of his meters below. He’s obviously contemplating an other fate for himself than being eaten by his own prey. He jumps. In a swift movement, she throws herself forward and catches the falling figure in her outstretched hand. TSSS, TSSS, NO CHEATING YOUR FATE, LITTLE MAN. And she drops him back in the bun.. She settles comfortably in the chair, sniff a few times , and slowly closes the bun over the little man. As she lifts the bun to her lips, she can hardly feel a faint struggle under the bread. She opens wide and takes a big bite.

Chewing on the morsel, she looks at the hotdog in her hand. She did not touch him. She can see one of his feet protruding just at the limit of the bite, moving feebly. She swallows as loud as she can. MMMMM . She turns the bun around and bites down again sideways. She munches away, this time obversing his arms flaying from the ripped off read. She can’t resist, and opens the bun: the man is gasping, his face contorted in a desperate plea. She closes again and bites down on the other side of his body. The bun is now reduced to a bitezize morsel neatly encasing the killer. She lessens her grip on it (two fingers are enough really) And see the head of the man emerging, He’s trying to squeeze through. She lets him try that. He’s actually able to extract his upper torso out of the bread now, like a man extracting himself of hole in the ground.
An idea strikes her and she goes to the mirror in the hall way. She brings the morsel in front of it. The little man freezes as he sees himself , all covered in yellow mustard, sticking out of the half chewed bread. Then she turns him around and slowly bring him to her open mouth. His screams get louder as the start echoing inside her mouth. She drops the morsel on her tongue and closes her mouth. Looking at her own lips in the mirror, she proceeds in tossing the bread in her mouth, slowly separating the tiny body inside from the bun. She cannot bring herself to bite on him. She sucks a bit of air. She carefully swallows what she thinks is the bun. Something is left on her tongue, something writhing. She opens wide and looks in the mirror. The sight is unbelievable, but to her, used as she is to the shrinking, it is not as striking as she thought it would be. The tiny man is struggling on the dirty tongue, covered in her saliva, among un-swallowed goo from the last bite. He’s on on his knees now, looking out, with a stricken expression. All can see now is his prey’s face, this gorgeous face with the large blue eyes, her pretty mouth open wide, and himself, hardly recognizable, on his knees, in the middle of the wet, tremulous tongue. Behind him, a dark chasm of wet flesh is visible in the mirror. And her eyes are looking at him. Their gazes meet for a few seconds.
Suzan is dumbfounded. What has she done? She’s never hurt anyone in her life. She feels that she’s not strong enough for this. The police should take care of this. Not her. She breathes slowly, through her open mouth, looks at herself. She closes her mouth. And swallows. The little man passes through her gullet screaming, and she feels him dropping in her throat, disappearing inside her. She sighs, and goes to the phone. The call takes a minute, the police is on its way.

Susan sits on the bed, looks at the empty straps on either sides, then stares at her own belly. “Try and shrink your way out of this one, sicko.” She whispers to herself.

……………………

Inside the young woman stomach, that’s exactly what the killer is attempting to do…..



The end ?

Nostromo, March 25th, 2006



















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