Politicking bored Grand Controller Isabel, plain and simple.

Everything was always "help us with this" and "do that", and it all seemed to cost so much that fixing every problem was impossible- fixing any problem looked impossible.

Isabel, however, solid in her knowledge that she had the infinitely wise Founder's blood in her veins (and his best creations at her disposal), was confident that her choices were always for the best. It did leave endless stress, though.

Then why in the Territories was her father so dead-set on making the problem worse?

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"Isabel, you know that you cannot shoulder this burden alone, and so I've called eligible bachelors to compete for your heart," Isabel's father, the previous Grand Controller, said softly.

"Yes," Isabel hissed, "but you know as well as I my . . . leanings. There are such things as Viper-pods, if an heir's what you're concerned about."

"Be that as it may," he replied in a calm whisper, "there are still billions out there who disapprove of homosexual relations. Do you really wish to alienate a portion of the population before your rule begins in earnest?"

"Why should I care?" Isabel angrily whispered. "There's no reasonable basis to disapprove of anything anymore, especially after we confirmed the Founder's suspicions as to the nature of the metaphysical!"

"Because," he replied gravely, "reason or not, most people do not have the Founder's infinite rationality. To keep the more base portions of the population in line, we must make sacrifices. Besides," he added with a wry grin, "you're the Grand Controller now. Provided you select a less opinionated man, you may sleep with who you choose. Or, if you're charismatic enough, you may pull off the single boldest move, just like your namesake."

My namesake . . . Ah. The first Grand Controller Isabel, the Founder's daughter, the Dragon Queen. She kept a harem of several husbands and wives, and everyone let her do it because no one could ever tell her no. Single biggest badass in UHT history.

With that, Grand Controller Isabel stepped onto the floor of the Grand Ballroom, where many of the most eligible bachelors in the vastness of the Territories were gathered to try to win the right to be her bitch- key word being try.

While Isabel did have a slight attraction to men (the Grayson scale implied that all people who count themselves as attracted one way or the other have at least one exception), she counted herself firmly on the pink end of the Grayson scale- maybe a P9.8. In any case, most of the men here were sorely mistaken if they thought their half-baked lines and horribly unsubtle flirtations would get them anywhere.

However, Isabel did have her eye on two. There was one complete doormat she'd met just on her way in (she'd nearly wiped her shoes on him, in fact), who was perfect for her designs. The other was strong, lithe, and just perfect physically. The first Isabel remembered the autocomm number of- she'd apparently need him later. The other, though, she memorized a name and address- the Grand Controller had grand designs for him.

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Isabel found herself spending more and more time in the Treasure Room, torturing tiny Umbra, and having the miniscule woman provide some minor service to justify her existence- usually stimulating her nipples did the trick.

As Isabel stepped into the room, in fact, the bug-sized cannibal bowed to her, already considerably aroused. "What do I do for you today, my Goddess?"

Oh, how Isabel loved that word. Goddess. So primal, so raw in its statement of power. She made herself a mental note to give Umbra a treat later- perhaps snagging another criminal for her lunch tomorrow.

"I won't be asking anything of you today, Umbra. You may go back to sleep," Isabe; replied offhandedly.

"Permission to masturbate to your presence, Goddess?" Umbra asked hopefully.

"Permission granted," Isabel said with a sigh. "Just make it quiet- I do have designs for the day."

After the bug-girl's squeak of thanks, Isabel accessed the UMMD Mk 7 again, willingly surrendering another drop of her blood to the fantastic machine.

Isabel cleared her throat. "Claim Douglas Devonport from 752 West Haven Street, reduce by a factor of twelve, set makeup to rubber. New location: my right hand."

***Understood, madam. Please wait seven seconds.***

Isabel smirked when Devonport arrived. The time difference meant that the poor boy was snoring away when he appeared in her palm. His six-inch-tall frame shivered at the cold he experienced from the combination of the AC and suddenly being composed of a substance that didn't retain heat well.

Isabel woke the man with a simple, cheery "Good morning!"

Isabel's smile grew wide while Devonport screamed. "What did you do? What the fuck?"

Isabel chuckled. "I shrank you, I teleported you to this room, and made you into rubber. Why do you ask?"

"R- rubber?" he asked confusedly.

"Yeah, rubber," Isabel replied, annoyed that she had to repeat herself. "and there is nothing you can do about it. So please don't attempt to fight me, or you'll piss me off, and I don't think you wish to test your new body's durability."

"People are gonna find out about this!" he yelled angrily.

"Pfft. Most people would consider me crazy even if I told them what I'm about to do to you. Now, hold still . . ."

The moment she told him to hold still, he bagan to thrash with all his might, though he couldn't accomplish much with his legs held tight by her fingers. Isabel was glad she'd foregone clothes on this trip to the Treasure Room- now she could do as she pleased without needing to put him down to strip.

After shaking her thoughts away, Isabel unceremoniously lowered Devonport to her exposed vagina, and thrust him in headfirst. The resultant sensation was nothing less than euphoric. This man had been someone important, he'd had hopes, dreams, and a promising future- one she'd replaced with a future of being a meaningless sex toy. That, more than the physical rush, was the reason she was doing this.

"How you holding up in there?" Isabel asked, despite knowing that, even if there were an answer, she wouldn't hear it. "Tell me 'stop' if you don't want me to shove you in deeper." After waiting a few seconds with the comical image of Devonport's legs kicking futilely outside her comparatively massive cunt, she applied her palm flat to his legs, shoving him in quickly.

With the combinarion of power rush and a wriggling person lodged in her most sensitive area, Isabel came quickly- but wasn't done yet. She picked up the UMMD again. "Reduce . . . last entered object . . . by 12," she panted.

Seven seconds later, six-inch Devonport was now too small for his struggles to matter in the scheme of things- half an inch tall. Isabel used her muscles to guide the frankly miniscule man to her exit, and grinned at his puny form.

"Reduce last entered object by a factor of 3," she said, waiting for the moment when he'd dwindle past where her vision would pick him up.

Deciding that making him a sixth of an innch tall was good enough for one day, Isable entrusted him to Umbra. After all, at his size, he was perfect for serving the little criminal now- a fitting reward for her unwavering loyalty over the past few weeks.

Isabel collected herself, showered off the mess, and left the Treasure Room with a massive load off her shoulders.