What a fucking vacation this had been. No sunburn, I'd been hit on quite a lot at the beach, the food was fantastic, and even my hotel room had been perfect the entire time. If only I could be here every day of the year . . . I'd probably wind up a spoiled little princess bitch!

But now, at the end of the week, my vacation had gotten even better. They'd finally finished processing my last four batches of tinies, all at once, and had successfully forwarded them all to the hotel, before I'd left.

Through a process I honestly can't claim to understand (something something diluted solutions of something or other), science had managed to perfect a way to create miniature people by processing a woman's egg cells, and they could be modified with batches of weakened sperm so you weren't making miniature armies of clones of yourself. Not only that, the process that let them do it was a way to skip your period entirely! No cramps, no bleeding, no muss, no fuss. Naturally, I visited a clinic every month to get that month's eggs scooped and some tiny toys for later. However, they'd been so backed up on orders that I was several months behind . . .

 But now, here in paradise, my usual monthly fun was quadrupled.

Four months ago, I'd requested the microscopic package, and I'd requested it again last month; puny things barely identifiable as human if you used powerful lenses, small enough to be eaten by bugs, really. As I cracked the lids, the many millions of voices cried out in unison, only barely audible due to their sheer number, but even then I'd be hard-pressed to hear a damned thing if I were even breathing the slightest bit too hard. Both times, I'd made sure they wouldn't just be clones; I wanted my own colony of helpless mites, which was occasionally mixed with some of my friends' micros so that they could breed a world in which I was Goddess . . . I set those boxes aside for now.

Three months ago, I'd wanted the "living doll" package, composed of four eight-inch toys. With these, I couldn't remember if I'd been lazy or cheap, but they were all direct clones of myself, speed-aged to be in their early twenties . . . I honestly wished my tits were still as firm as those of the quartet of slumbering clones. Still, I wouldn't play with the whole box at once . . . I gently picked one of the four up, a girl with an adorably tomboyish pageboy (did I really look that good with short hair?) and a visible tattoo of a "4" prominently displayed on her tight little ass. The speed-aging process had still let her live her own life, just in a world where a year went by in a day out here. . . this was what I'd have looked like had I preferred jogging to movies in my teenage years, and dear lord I apparently would have been a sexy athlete- tight ass, gravity-defying tits, thighs that looked like powerful pistons . . . I bit my lip, setting Quattro (as I'd dubbed her) aside and sealing up the box again. 

The last box, from two months ago, was what I'd been most disappointed to have to wait for . . . the "bugs", as many called them. About thirty two-inch people, a delightful mix of guys and girls that all carried obvious influence from my genetics, and I'd requested they be mentally programmed with a kink I myself held- a food fetish. All of them, the box assured, would be intensely aroused by being covered in something sticky and delicious to be licked off of them. It would be written deep into the folds of their tiny minds, unable to be truly changed . . . some would be overwhelmed by it more than others, but the sexuality of these thirty bugs would be ruled by sticky snacks and playful tongues.

Perfect snack food.

Now that the box was open, I tapped the side of it with a grin to awaken them all at once, waving two little bottles at the stirring tinies; one filled with honey, the other with sour apple gel. "You will address me as Goddess," I purred softly, "and only the most eager worshippers among you will be drenched in one of these, and sucked clean," I murmured sultrily. 

After a moment's confusion, the crowd quickly rushed to the wall of the provided hibernation box, bowing desperately and pleading for a chance to be pleasured by my tongue, too naive to consider what I got out of it. Grinning, I plucked up those at the front of the little swarm, mashed against the side of the box by their eager brethren, and lifted those four into a single pale palm before shutting the box to return the remaining twenty-six to dreamless slumber. "So," I grinned, placing them on the table with an arrogant chuckle, "I'll put the bottles down . . . let you pick what treat I'm getting off your skin," I explained, placing the honey and sour gel on either side of a placemat. "Just stand under the bottle of whatever you want to be covered in."

The two guys immediately stepped over to the honey, whereas the girls seemed to prefer the sour candy.

Plucking up a tiny man delicately, I popped the cap on the honey and drizzled it over his form, making him wait patiently . . . I honestly could only giggle softly as I watched him stiffen up in excitement from being coated from head to toe in delicious golden honey, and heard the remaining three  snacks whimper jealously from their positions on the table. Out of my periphery, I saw one of the girls idly reconsider her choice, eyeing the spot where the bottle of honey had been standing . . . it was adorable how needy they were, how desperate I'd made them with the slightest offer of my maw.

Giggling arrogantly, I gave the honey-coated man in my palm an idle eyeing before raising him to my plush lips, dragging my wet tongue along the crimson-painted circumference . . . and dropped him onto my tongue, which I slipped back into my mouth with impatient greed. I gave my palm an idle lick and set the honey back down, before swishing my treat around, working my jaw to get every last bit . . . licking, sucking, teasing, wet saliva replacing sensually sticky honey bit by bit . . . until, just when I'd gotten him clean, a little extra salt joined my snack.

I let out a dominant purr . . . and swallowed,  feeling weakly scrambling hands tickle down  every last inch of my throat, down all  the way into my stomach. 

The immediate reaction from my tabletop toys was fear, and they began to rush about in a panic before I cleared my throat to offer an explanation they'd accept: "I just like the way you tickle on the way down," I purred in a sultry, seductive tone that recaptured the scrambling snacks' attention, "but I have no intention of keeping you in my stomach permanently. Once I've swallowed all four of you, I'll gulp down one end of a string," I lied in that same commanding contralto, "and the four of you can climb out . . . mostly as easy as you went in," I laughed, and as a show of trust, the remaining three on the table laughed along with me . . .

Good god, I never got over how gullible they made the bugs specifically. Anything you told them, they believed unflinchingly. The mites had enough good sense to regard people as dangerous gods, and the dolls were infamously intelligent . . . but the bugs were always so easy to fool. 

Plucking up one of the little ladies now, I laid her out in my palm and drizzled the neon green candy gel over her in bands . . . her little coos of excitement got me going, and I felt the need to attend to my own arousal . . . but not yet. I couldn't yet. Quattro wasn't awake yet . . .

I only had to clear my throat for my snack to be to flip onto her back, in a position where I could see the more . . . . shall we say appreciable . . . parts of her nude body more clearly as I coated every inch of it in sour candy. I bit my lip excitedly; I apparently had good genes. Every last one of the bugs I ordered was surprisingly attractive, and while I couldn't say it was all me . . . I was the only common denominator. 

Once she'd hedonistically rubbed the sour gel into her skin like delicious lotion, I plopped the bug-girl into my maw with the same slow, tongue-teasing play. Lick . . . lick . . . suck . . . slurp. Those tiny breasts slid pleasantly along my tongue, although the one thing I hated about eating the girls was that they took forever to release, and their little thighs gripping my tongue as they finished themselves was a sensation I'd never get used to. Eventually, however, she came . . . and went. 

Gulp.

With a satisfied sigh, I licked the dripped sour candy off my palm as I felt the tiny girl squirming pleasantly through my esophagus, before sending that down, too.

Back to the honey-coated boys, I had grown impatient with my own process thanks to having two fluttering snacks deep in my stomach. Again I glanced over at Quattro; the tiny clone rolled over in her sleep. I just drenched the little bug boy in my palm in a rough squeeze of the honey bottle, watching with a smirk as his tiny cock stood at attention instantaneously, practically bouncing to a fully erect position. 

Saving the slow process of carefully wetting my lips again, I just sucked him in like a noodle and proceeded to slowly batter him with the wet muscle he was now trapped with, sucking harder . . . I was surprised when I tasted his cum before he'd been completely cleaned, but I continued in this aggressive manner nonetheless . . . a second orgasm in my mouth, a third, and I understood. "Masochistic little toy . . ." I murmured around him, allowing my teeth to bruise his little body as I sucked yet harder . . . and, the instant he was clean, I consigned him to his fate in my stomach. His gratitude was shown through vigorous pounding on my throat, a flutter that sent sparks shooting through me.

I half-drowned the remaining bug girl in apple gel as I noticed little Quattro waking up, and popped the messily-drenched little thing into my maw like popcorn. I walked back over to where I'd put the boxes, scooping up the drowsy little thing in my clean hand as my tongue played with the two-inch girl in pure excitement, her tiny moans reverberating against my jaws.

I swallowed and licked my messier hand clean as tiny Quattro woke, and she looked at me fearfully. She understood, on some level, that she wasn't going back to the life she'd known, the family and friends the lab had cooked up for her. She didn't trust me, but refused to put herself in more danger by screaming. She trembled, definitely, a little eight-inch athlete staring at me in fear, but she didn't scream, didn't run. 

Quattro silently demanded an explanation. 

I decided to provide. 

"I know you don't trust me. To be fair, you were created to be my plaything," I purred softly, gently, restraining the twitch of surprised fear by holding her tight body in my fist. "However, I have no intention of breaking you, my lovely little toy. Do as I ask, and you'll be rewarded within reason." I had delivered my ultimatum, and I watched her deliberate it carefully. 

Brown eyes mirrored one another, small staring directly into big and vice versa. "I want . . . clothes. And a girlfriend."

"That can be arranged," I nodded, thinking about a friend of mine who typically used her dolls to feed her on the couch when she watched Netflix; I could arrange a trade of one of mine for one of hers without difficulty. She owed me anyway. Those dolls were all relatively broken, kept on a tight leash and fearful for their lives- one would appreciate the opportunity to be Quattro's little bitch. "If I provide these things within the next month, can you promise obedience?"

"If all my basic needs are met, I won't fight you," Quattro nodded slowly, warily. "What will I be doing?" 

I sat into the comfortable kitchen chair, and set my lovely athletic doll between my bared legs. "Kiss and rub my thighs, my mound, my pussy. For now, you'll just be servicing me while I . . . snack a bit," I grinned, looking at a village of mites in my palm, a section of their primitive civilization replaced by a lake of my saliva in their box.

Little Quattro was startled as she looked at my pulsating lower lips, drooling desire onto the plastic she stood on. "It looks . . . like mine," she murmured, her hands sinking into the soft flesh of my cunt, her lips attentively pressing to my clitoral hood to urge the nub to come out.

"It's because you're a clone of me," I explained idly as thousands of microscopic lives hit my tongue. "All the same genes . . . just different life experiences." The little things were too tiny to feel individually, but together I felt what I knew was a whole goddamned lot of mites starting to drown in my salivating maw.

When her hands left my pussy and sank into my thighs, I let out a note of confusion . . . that is, before she forced her legs inside me and kicked them about in a way that made me practically swoon. "Then this ought to feel heavenly," she grunted in exertion. 

God, what a fucking vacation!