“I’ll work out next week. I have to get through this stack by tomorrow at 7,” Ryan said, gesturing to the stack of ungraded papers between him and his frustrated friend.

“Next week will never come,” she told him. “You’re working too hard, and haven’t done a damn thing for your body in weeks.” She looked down at the papers spread across the coffeeshop table and frowned. 

It had been a long time since he was as physically fit as his favorite partner-in-crime. He tore his eyes away from her shapely breasts in her contoured blue sports top just in time to meet her gaze and give her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. I shower, eat, and sleep. I even hydrate.” He raised his glass of cold brew coffee—black and bitter, like his soul—and took a long drink.

“Not nearly often enough, Professor,” she said. “How is it that I’m in law school, and I still manage to take better care of myself than you do?” 

He gave her an exasperated look. “That’s not fair. I can’t read on the treadmill like you do. And you’re the only person depending on your work. If I don’t do this, I’ve got five auditoriums full of people who—”

“Who can deal. I get it, I really do. But it’s not the end of the world if you make time to take care of yourself. You do good at work, why don’t you do some good for yourself?”

“I do well at work,” he corrected her. He looked away, feeling even more tired and hopeless than he had when she had walked into the café. “Elle. Stop. Just let it go.”

“No.” She produced an envelope from behind her back. “I’m sorry, Professor, but it’s time for me to take matters into my own hands.” 

He rolled his eyes at her corny line, but stopped when she pulled out the contract, the pendant, and the collar. His face went pale.

“Signed consent from your past self when you took this job,” she said with equal parts satisfaction and frustration. “That if you didn’t take care of yourself—really make any kind of effort whatsoever—then I had your permission and full blessing to make use of this.” She spun the little leather-studded collar on her finger and gave him a look fit for a queen who’s tired of being disobeyed. 

His eyes swept the café to see if anyone had noticed, but the place was nearly empty. They hadn’t played like this since their undergrad days, back when they’d been friends with benefits. They’d gone to some dark places with this power, and had mutually agreed to put it away before they got fully addicted to it. Seeing it again now made his heart rate spike.

Elle slipped the pendant over her head and allowed it to nestle at the top of her cleavage. Then she placed the collar on the stack of essays he had halfheartedly been forcing himself to read. He touched the leather and felt a thrill of emotion and sensation emanating from it with pure magic. His awareness of his friend sharpened and he could feel an echo of empathy in her frustration and the desire to move and use up the energy pent up in her body. He felt a pang of envy. How could she stay so motivated, even with all her own stress? How he missed feeling that energy in his own body, the potential for movement and strength. He pulled his hand away and the sensations faded back to overwork and sedentary exhaustion.

“Put. It. On.” She crossed her arms. “I can already tell how much you want this. Christ, man. Can you even feel how much you’re holding bottled up inside? Your body is practically screaming to run or hide or explode. I’m going to force you to deal with this, damn it. No more running.”

He stared at the collar, then at the ungraded work. He closed his eyes and tried to call up the fading sensation of vitality in his friend’s body. He couldn’t.

“You’ll keep me safe,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “And it’s just until tonight. After that it’s going back in that envelope unless there’s an actual emergency.” He opened his eyes and glared at her.

“Sweetheart, if you could see you, you’d know this was a goddamn emergency.” But her gaze softened and grew serious. “And you know you’ll always be safe with me. Impervious to all harm.”

“You’re angry at me,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “You’re going to keep that in check, right?”

She nodded, her face serious. “It’s true, this will let me vent my own frustration. I want to fix things for you, and that’s... not my job.” She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “But I’m your friend, and one thing I can do as your friend is make it safe for you to feel all of the shit you haven’t had the bandwidth to process.”

“And if I say no?”

She smiled and nodded. “You can always say no. I’m always gonna be your friend, no matter what we do or don’t do together.”

Ryan relaxed a little. He took a sip of cold brew and considered her. “And if I say yes?”

“Then I’ll keep you safe, even from my own frustration. Do you trust me?”

She reached out a hand, palm up. He sighed, smiled wryly, and took her hand in a handshake to seal the deal. She returned his smile. 

“Do you still remember the safeword?” she asked.

Slowly and deliberately, he reached out to touch the collar again. His fist closed around the leather and squeezed three times. 

Elle nodded, her eyes half-closed as she shivered from the bond re-forming between them.

His hands shook as he lifted the collar to his throat and clicked it in place. 

—

Elle’s satisfaction and relief came through their bond first, then her arousal. Clearest and most alarming to Ryan was a sense of something almost red-hot. They had played rough before, but he hadn’t ever felt this level of anger from her, as if she wanted to pick him up and shake him, or squeeze him into a mold of her making. He couldn’t read her thoughts, but there was a “fuck it” kind of feeling that felt dangerously close to “consent be damned.” Ryan was suddenly very glad they were in a public place.

He knew his fear would turn her on more, and sure enough, she bit her lip and closed her eyes, giving a soft sigh of pleasure. “God, I missed this,” she said. But when her eyes opened again, her gaze was clear, purposeful, and her emotions had been reigned in under control. 

Protectiveness radiated in their bond, then the kind of you’re-not-alone love that builds between friends who have shared years of darkness and shame and secrets. Through the bond, he could feel her eyes burning with tears at that intensity. Part of him wished he could cry with her.  

He marveled at her control as she pulled all of this back behind whatever curtain existed in her mind. Her face and lips flushed red and she let out a huff of exertion. Soon he lost almost all sense of her through their bond, beyond the connection itself. The intimacy became a leash between their bodies and minds. She was there with him, but they both knew who was in control. 

They smiled at each other, but the imbalance of power was especially telling. His smile felt tremulous and afraid. Hers, dominant and eager.

She leaned in close until her lips brushed his ear and he could have raised a hand to touch her breast or toned stomach, if he’d dared. “You start shrinking now,” she said. “You should probably pack up your things if you don’t want to lose track of these papers… or your pants.” She sat back, laughing as he jumped into action. 

Papers, pens, phone, books, worksheets, he shoved them all in his bag without hesitation or any plan to keep them organized. He was on his feet and aiming for the door in less than half a minute, but he could already feel that his bag was absurdly heavy and his shoes too large for his feet. He tripped, and fell.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just a clumsy lil’ guy,” Elle said to the few people in the cafe. She strode up behind Ryan and scooped up his bag easily, grinning down at him and his embarrassment. He prayed that nobody here recognized him as he scrambled to his feet and walked right out of his now enormous shoes. Elle scooped those up, too, as if he were a helpless idiot. Terrified of being seen, he ran for the door and was horrified to see that he almost couldn’t reach the handle to push it open. He heaved against the door and dashed out to Elle’s car, his hands pulling his now-enormous clothes around his dwindling body. She smirked as she followed and opened the door for him. He climbed inside, his face burning with embarrassment and anger.

She set his shoes and bag on the floor of the car, shut the door, and then walked to her side of the car. As soon as she opened the door he started cussing at her. “The fuck was that? I could have been recognized! Elle, that could’ve been really, really bad!” He expected her to climb in and cuss him back, but instead she stayed on her feet, bent over, and reached across the car seat towards him. Fear clenched his throat shut and he pushed himself back on instinct. 

That’s when he realized he’d shrunk out of his clothes without even realizing how far it had gone. He tangled in his shirt and underwear and gave an undignified yelp as Elle’s massive hand closed around his waist and lifted. 

“You’re fine,” she said dismissively, clearly savoring his fear and helplessness. “Nobody saw anything more than a clumsy kid in baggy clothes making an idiot of himself. That cute barista even laughed.”

She plucked his boxers from his legs and tossed them to the floor of the car, then lay him flat on the driver’s seat as easily as if he’d been a Barbie doll. He stared up at the distorted view of the steering wheel, then back at Elle.

“Sit still, Ryan.” She climbed into the car and settled her weight onto the lower half of his body. Her leggings were soft, but her toned thighs were as massive as two heavy duty pickup trucks. His legs and feet were pinned beneath the crushing weight of her ass, and his chest and torso struggled for breath under the warmth of her vulva. Only his shoulders and face were free. As he looked up her body from this absurd angle, he realized he couldn’t see her face.

“You’re allowed to stare at my tits now,” she said to him, giving her shoulders a shake so that they jiggled suggestively. Their size was so outlandish that it was like watching boulders shimmy together along a sheer cliff face. 

He heard the car door slam and watched her push her keys into the ignition. She laughed, then pulled them out again. When she pushed them into the ignition she gave a moan, then worked the keys in and out repetitively with a laugh. Finally she turned the car on and sat there for a moment, caressing her breasts, stomach, and thighs. 

“Oh! I nearly forgot.” She lifted up off his body and he felt air rush into his lungs for a brief blissful moment. Her thumb and forefinger closed on his arm and raised it gently up, as if he were asking a question in class. She sat back down again and the brief moment of breath whooshed out of him once more. “There. Now you can activate your safeword if you need to. Not that it’s a word. And not that it’s strictly necessary, since I can feel when you’re freaking out. But we both know working through your fear is going to be one of the best parts of this process.” He could hear the satisfied smile in her voice as she said this and rocked her hips from side to side. 

He focused on his frustration, not wanting to give her any more of his fear. She was so huge, though, and it was hard not to flinch as she smacked her thigh. “Oh, getting angry, are you?” She rolled her hips with more intensity on top of him. Even through the soft blue leggings, he could feel the pillowy shapes of her vulva lips lifting and smushing down on him repeatedly.

“That’s a good idea, you pathetic little thing. I’ll drive us to the gym like an actual adult, and you just get yourself good and worked up. Don’t forget to remember who got you into this situation in the first place. Whose fault it is that you needed a woman to come rescue you. Big strong man who can’t be bothered to behave like one.”

Ryan knew that Elle was only playing. He knew that she saw taunting his masculinity as an effective way to dominate him sexually. He knew that he was safe, and that the power in the collar at his throat would keep him from suffocating or sustaining any real damage. He knew that Elle was safe. She respected him. She did.

But as she shifted the car into reverse and began backing out of the parking space, she kept up her litany against him, and some of it hit a little close to home. Even if she was teasing, there was part of his brain that couldn’t help but suffer with the shame of it. So heavy, all this truth. Maybe it was just that he hadn’t played this way in so long, and maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t see her face. But he reached a point where he couldn’t accept the weight of her or her words any longer, and something snapped. He struggled. He fought, one-armed and angry, and shouted cuss words up at her.

“Mmm, does the doll-sized man want to fight me? How cute,” Elle said, clearly not giving a fuck. “It’s not very smart of you, is it? Distracting the giant woman who’s driving the car. Don’t be stupid, Ryan.” He struggled harder, hating her for a moment. “Fine, you insecure little prick. Keep fighting, and you’ll keep shrinking.” She turned up the music on the radio and began singing along. 

He couldn’t make himself stop fighting. The collar, the heat, the inability to budge her thighs and ass and pussy. It got worse, as promised. Heavier, hotter, closer. He knew he was getting smaller, but couldn’t tell how much smaller until his face disappeared beneath the warm, slightly sweaty fabric covering her vulva. 

Distantly, she sang along to the radio as if she didn’t have a care in the world. As if she wasn’t swamped with work, and keeping him from dealing with his own work like a responsible damn adult. Who the fuck made her the arbiter of right and wrong? Who was she, to judge what was and wasn’t healthy for him? Just because she was smart and sexy and managed to stay physically fit while studying for the bar exam, fuck her and her superhuman stupidity! He wasn’t her. He couldn’t do what she could do. Arrogant bitch probably wasn't far from a breakdown of her own damn making, either. And being trapped under her body like a sex toy wasn’t going to change a fucking thing. He’d have even less time to deal with the work when he finally got back to his correct size. Whenever that would be.

He thrashed, screaming in rage. 

When the car finally came to a halt and the motor no longer vibrated through the padding of the car seat, Ryan felt a twinge of fear encroaching on his fury. How small had he made himself, by continuing to fight? The smallest he could remember going in years past was an inch tall. 

Two immense, warm shapes pushed in around him and pinched against his body. His heart sank as he tried to grapple with the inevitable. Movement, disorientation, light. 

“Dear Professor,” she said. “What have you done to yourself?”

He lay on the wide cushion of her fingerprint, shocked at his own insignificance. Her index finger was larger than a King sized mattress. The ridges of her skin felt like quilted lines on a blanket. He gaped up at the giantess looming over him and tried to make sense of it, tried to see his friend in the billboard face above him. 

The eyes of the titanic woman above him narrowed. "Hey. Look at me."

Amusement tinged with annoyance trickled in through the bond he shared with Elle and he realized she was opening up the bond on purpose to help him orient himself. He managed to summon a small burst of shaky gratitude before the bond closed him off from her again. 

“That’s better,” she murmured. “While it’s not my fault that you’re an idiot man obsessed with your own outrage, I have to admit it’s no fun if you’re too confused to understand what’s happening, or who’s doing it to you.”

Somehow he found it in himself to glare at her. He doubted she could read his expression, but she could feel it. He flipped her off.

“Just for that, your first task will be to lick the sweat off my nipples.” Her finger moved suddenly and he clung to the ridges of her fingerprint by instinct. He watched her other hand pull open her shirt and matching blue sports bra, revealing a breast the size of a blimp. “Enjoy the ride while I’m on the treadmill, you sick little pervert.”

Her finger lowered him into the confines of the bra, into a warmth entirely different than the heat from her crotch. It was almost comforting. Almost.

There came a point where a braver man would have jumped from her fingertip to the nipple as she hovered her digit above her areola. But he balked at the distance. She had no idea how far of a drop that was to him. It felt like she was expecting him to jump off the roof of a one, possibly two-story building. Fear lurched in his stomach as he heard the sound of skin on skin and looked over his shoulder to see a thumb larger than a two-ton pickup truck barreling down on him. She was going to slide him off the edge! 

“I promise you’ll bounce, wimp.” Before he had the chance to talk himself into the jump, her thumb had shoved into him like an avalanche carrying him off the cliff. He screamed into the open air and had time to almost, but not quite, panic. 

He had never jumped stomach-first into a trampoline, but the give of her soft pink-brown skin felt like a cartoonish version of just that. He landed in the space above the nipple and was shocked at both how far into the flesh his body pressed, and how far back it launched him into the air. The laughter of his friend resonated through her flesh as he came to a rest on the smooth slope of areola. He began sliding down with each chuckle that moved with her breath.

“That nipple had better be spotless by the time I hit the shower, Professor.” And with that, she let the stadium-sized fabric of the bra snap tightly above him. He actually shouted at the concussive slap of the wave of nylon. The light was dim, but he could see the shape of the nipple, a half round sculpture rising up before him. Should he get to his feet and try to climb to it now? He was hit with the rushing sensation of her rising into the air and distantly he heard the slam of a car door, the jingle of keys.

His whole world lurched and fell. Lurched and fell. Not merely up and down, but in a swaying, organic, almost elliptical pattern. Up and down and around, up and down and around. She came to a stop and he heard the beep of her signing into the gym. She didn’t bother with the locker room, but went straight to a treadmill and cranked it up. Within minutes he was riding a bucking bronco, clinging to the tit flesh as it tried to throw him. 

The air inside the bra was already hot and close. Soon it became thick and humid as beads of sweat began to form on the soft skin under his hands and knees. He found himself slipping closer to the nipple with each downward motion. Desperate, he tried to lean into the motions, like a sailor trying to stay on deck of a ship tossed in enormous waves. If he could make it to the nipple, he could maybe wedge himself into the space between the tit and feel some measure of safety—or maybe at least a break from the absurd rodeo.

He’d been clinging tightly to her pliable skin and it took more desperation than bravery to make him open his hands and let go. He timed it on an upswing and, his whole body slick with beads of sweat, he slipped right off her tit. It couldn’t have been far, but he felt as if he’d been launched right up into the air. His back hit the tight weave of the fabric and knocked the wind right out of him, then sent him plummeting back down to the moving target below. His ass and the backs of his thighs smacked into the soft, huge nipple and he tumbled backwards. As he dragged hot steamy air into his lungs while scrabbling for purchase on the slippery skin, he was grateful that this indignity was hidden beneath the fabric. She could feel his fear and embarrassment, but at least she couldn’t see it. Besides, the laughter would make this so much harder.

He ended up wedged on his side between the nipple and the fabric. He was still being launched up and down and around, but it was more stable now. He counted her breaths to catch his own. 

“Did I say you could take a nap?” The immense voice was barely panting. “Start licking, or start shrinking.”

Eyes wide, he maneuvered his body with some difficulty so that he might be able to put his mouth on the nipple. But the up and down and around motion was strong and he fumbled, slipping down a little down to the underside of the breast. Fuck! His legs were pinned. 

The nipple was the size of a bean bag chair. Instantly, it doubled in size.

Or, he shrank to half a millimeter. A drop of sweat trickled off it as he stared in mute horror, and hit him straight in the face with a wet, musky splat. He coughed, and as he struggled in the up, down, around sway to free his legs and climb the weave of the fabric, it hit him again.

Everything doubled in size. Panic, panic. Would she even be able to feel him at a quarter millimeter? He scrambled up the nylon threads like a net on a pirate ship, and pulled with all his might. He reached the nipple just as he shrank again—the injustice of this hit him harder than the sweat drop had, and he let out a sob of frustration as he clung to a wrinkle of her skin. 

At one-eighth of a millimeter, he finally set his mouth at the base of her towering nipple and began licking. Sweat tasted the same at this new size. Salty, wet, musky, with a hint of something he couldn’t put his finger on. It was almost sweet. He coughed and forced himself to go back to licking immediately, lest she take it as an excuse to shrink him again. 

It didn’t make sense for her to be able to feel his tongue and mouth sucking on the hot, bouncing flesh. Yet somehow, her nipple was getting hard. He was so small now that he could see the cracks and crinkles of her skin, the little wet rivers of moisture coursing underneath him, mingling with the small hairs on his body as he pressed into her slick skin and smothering heat and blood-pumping immensity.

He licked until his tongue was numb. He drank so much of her sweat that he felt dizzy drunk. It took him a long moment to realize that the endless swaying had somehow come to an end. His aching arms and neck twitched with exhaustion. He considered leaning back against the fabric but the panicked thought of shrinking to half his current size drove him to continue. Lick. Lick. Lick. It was his mission in life, keeping this nipple hard and clean. He could do this all night.

“Well done, my dear Professor.” Her voice was distorted, it was so huge. The bond between them opened enough to admit a heady rush of approval and pleasure. It nearly melted him on the spot, but he doggedly forced himself to keep licking. After all, she hadn't told him to stop. 

Endorphins rushed into him as her pleasure increased. He had impressed her! She was so huge to him now, so gargantuan, that he couldn’t even really wrap his head around the concept of her anymore. And then, to have impressed someone that large! It felt like a huge achievement. 

He had completely forgotten in his struggle before, but here in this heady, hot experience, an older part of his mind remembered the healing powers of praise with this collar. He panted, grinning as he felt strength return to his arms and hands and suffusing his body with energy.  

Praise. What wouldn’t he do to win her praise? If it could make him feel like this...

“You liked that workout, did you?” With only a second’s warning, a fingertip the size of an office building descended into the confines of the bra, crashed into him, and slicked around the sweaty slope of the breast. The drops of sweat pulled him into the huge groove of her fingerprint and adhered him there, as thoroughly as if it was glue holding him in place. He struggled for a second, but remembered the praise of her. This mountain of a woman. How good it had felt, to please her. He ran a hand over his face, wiping her sweat and his own from his eyes, until he could see the world swooping around him. 

An eye. An eye larger than anything he could conceive. He cowered into the groove of her fingertip, shocked and caught in a surreal mental loop of extreme disbelief and intense desire to please her. She was so much more than a mountain. The world beyond her was meaningless, and she was the only landscape that mattered to him any more.

“Confusion. Fear. Desire. Eagerness. Interesting mix, little one.” The immense eye pulled away but remained near, watching. “Let’s make a wager, shall we? I’ll bet that you can’t get me off at that size. If you win, you get to orgasm too, and I’ll return you to normal size. I’ll even praise you… praise you so much that your whole body will feel sexier and healthier and happier than you have in years.” 

He found himself nodding and radiating a sense of “yes” with enthusiasm. She laughed. “I admire your eagerness. Alright, it’s a bet. I’m going to go do some stretching on that yoga mat. You have ten minutes.” 

He plunged down, down, down, into the wide dark chasm of her workout leggings, down into the heavy musk of her trimmed bush, as wide as a jungle seen from a helicopter at nighttime.

She deposited him in that jungle, on the slope that led down to the big, beautiful folds of her vulva. 

Only then did he realize that she didn’t explain what she’d win in their wager if he couldn’t get her off. 

Surely… Surely she wouldn’t keep him like this?

Ten minutes. He took a deep breath. The air was redolent with her musk. Humid, cloying, thick with sweat and the scent of her body wash, something with vanilla that must have seemed subtle to a human nose and was nearly overpowering at this size.

No time to dwell on it. The clit was still so far away! Even had she put him right on his goal, what were the odds he could get her off in ten measly minutes? 

He bolted across the forest. His feet pressed against the strange oily, bouncy surface of her skin, as if across an alien landscape. Sloping downward? Yes! But just when he thought he had finally caught his bearings, the mountain of a woman moved.

Disoriented, he flung his arms out and managed to cling to a thick rope of pubic hair. He held for all he was worth, aching and straining. His world shifted, and the sky above terrified him. It made no sense until he reminded himself it was the fabric of her leggings rushing closer. She must have lowered herself to the yoga mat, that was it. The fabric getting closer meant that she was stretching. That’s all. He laughed a little at his overreaction, but was glad he’d managed to stay close to his goal. 

He gritted his teeth as the fabric pushed closer, flattening him and his curly rope of pubic hair against the floor of the forest below. A low humming noise permeated the humid air. He realized she was moaning, or perhaps groaning into the stretch. 

He groaned in his own turn, as he climbed down from his perch and made his way as quickly as possible to the place he thought must be his goal. He felt like an explorer, or maybe some unlucky—or strangely lucky?—contestant on a strange reality TV show, wending his way through the moving thicket of her pubis mons. 

He was out of breath by the time he beheld the enormous swollen red dome of her clitoris. Like some throbbing ruby the size of a stadium. He didn’t give himself the time to think about how impossible his task was, but forced himself forward. Climbing. Footholds in the clitoral hood, handholds slippery with her arousal and sweat. Up and up, aching and straining once more. The thought of her praise pushed him onward. What wouldn’t he do for that praise? Those healing words, lifting the pain from his tired muscles and wheezing lungs. But more than that, he thought, throwing his whole body against her clit, it was a true desire to please her. To be known to her as the reason for a moment of ecstasy. Even a moment. He fought hard, pummeling her clit with his fists and throwing himself at her with all his strength. Harder, harder! He had to try, had to make something happen here and now, for her!

He collapsed against the base of her clit, barely even caring when a rivulet of her juices cascaded down her skin and carried him out of reach. He coughed in the musky floral scent, almost tangy, almost salty. 

A roundness larger than the clitoris appeared as if by magic. Ridges. He slipped right into the ridges and was momentarily shocked to see another round shape pummeling into him from the opposite side. Fingers. Thumb and forefinger. He clung to the ridges of the fingertip the way he’d clung to the pubic hair. But with more anger this time. “Not enough time!” He shouted up at the body, this enormity that was still somehow a human he could direct his anger toward. 

“Not fair!” He shouted up at the eye, which loomed into view like a spaceship. “You make me too tiny to do a damn thing, then expect too much of me!”

“Aww, how cute,” she said. Her voice was distorted by size, but he could hear the amusement and it made him angrier than ever. “What makes you think you weren’t successful?”

Hope flared in him. And, surprisingly, arousal. The thought he might have actually gotten off a goddess with his own two hands—

“Don’t get your hopes up too much, pipsqueak,” she said, bringing him up short with a laugh. “I’m sure you did your best.” 

Her thumb came down on him, trapping him in place against her finger. Dim orange light radiated at all sides as he felt a lurch, then swaying similar to a rollercoaster, or the ride on her breasts. He clung to the ridges, tried to cling to his sanity, his anger, even the sense of humiliation. Panic creeped in at the edges of his awareness.

A small touch of reassurance traveled down their bond, like a tug on a leash, like the feel of a riding crop on his backside. Firm. A gesture of power, but also an anchor. She was here. She could feel him. 

The swaying lessened in intensity, and his stomach caught up with him. Maybe she held him closer to her body? He heard the distant clanging of metal and wondered if they were in the locker room. 

The light and pressure changed around him, opening to the cooler air. He braced himself, opening his eyes a crack. Why did everything at this size look so alien? 

He'd guessed correctly. Long metal lines rose like strange angular mountains, but he could almost make his mind believe they were lockers. Closer, a gym bag rose like a different kind of mountain peak, obscuring his view of the rest of the space. Or rather, obscuring him from anyone else that might walk by. He wasn't sure if he found that reassuring or ominous. 

A shocking snap sounded above him, percussive, like a strange firework. He looked up and saw Elle snapping the fingers of her other hand above him. "Up here, pipsqueak."

Elle. He tried to take her all in, and failed. She was huge and beautiful and powerful and she was talking. He tried to understand.

“You lost the bet, fair and square. I find it hilarious that you agreed before asking what I’d get if I won! Well. Don’t worry your little head over not being man enough to get me off, even though I practically put you on my goddamn clit. You’re going to get me off. Hard. Know how I know that?”

She moved him with a downward lurch, into view of something pink. 

He squinted, but couldn’t make out the strange cylindrical shape that loomed above him. All too soon, her fingertip pressed him against it. The pliable warmth of her fingertip spread around him, then lifted. He marveled for a moment at the way this silicone—that’s the only thing it could be—felt velvety soft at any size. 

Silicone.

Oh, God. 

A sex toy? Laying on its side?

He didn’t even think. He leapt to his feet and ran.

His feet slid in strange ways on the texture of the strange, pink silicone, and he slid several times before getting the hang of it. But it wasn’t a conscious adjustment. Nothing was conscious right now. There was only his body full to the brim with adrenaline and the certainty he needed to outrun something far above him. Something growing closer.

A kind of ledge appeared in the distance. Sloping downward? He pelted forward with huge strides, not even caring where he was going or what he would do when he got there. 

The pink ground under his feet slammed up into him without warning, knocking the wind out of him. As he gasped and struggled to fill his lungs, the angle of the ground shifted at right angles and he began sliding down the edge. Up? Down? What was this kinky thing, anyway? 

Something hard, ridged, and impressively huge smacked into him from behind. A fingernail? Good God, he was small! The ridge of her nail launched him up, up, up the slope of the toy and to a domed surface where he clung, panting and filling his lungs gratefully. “There, now. Deep breath. What a good little pervert you are, managing to hang on so valiantly like that.” 

His eyes widened as new energy flooded into him. Praise. Her words of praise filled his insignificant form with warmth and calming purpose. He came to his feet, looking around for her fingertip—he was here to please her—

A crystalline orb crashed down in front of him, massive and disorienting like a glass sphere the size of a building. In a surreal way, the surface of it shattered into ripples and before he could fathom what he was seeing, it splashed into droplets of thousands of other little crystalline orbs. He screamed as one pummeled straight at his chest and knocked him backwards. But instead of the pain of impact, he was confused to find a thick, viscous liquid coating his chest hair and dripping down his stomach. 

The same strange splattering sound came from nearby and he looked up just in time to catch a faceful of more viscous liquid, carrying him in a tidal wave back the way he’d come. He just barely kept his head above the surface. Though the magic would keep him safe without breathing, he desperately wanted to keep filling his lungs with air as long as possible.

He cried out and was humbled to realize that his own voice would never be heard under the reverberating laughter above. 

Only then did he manage to force himself to look up. 

The pucker of her ass hovered in his sky, looming like a Star Destroyer.

Beyond her enormity, the locker room looked deserted. Did it matter? There would be no way for him to ask anyone else for help, because who would ever notice a speck like him? A speck. A goddamn speck on a goddamn sex toy, so tiny he couldn’t even swim his way out of a droplet of lube. 

The humiliation of this left him trembling and aroused. His hand moved to touch his cock as he didn’t need to tread “water” in this gel-like substance. The slick feeling of his own skin under his hand was completely unique. He played with lube sometimes, but never had he been completely suspended in it. He ran his hands over himself and stared up at her with equal parts fear, horror, and painfully intense arousal.

“That’s right. I’m beautiful, aren’t I?” came the voice of the deity far above him. Massive hands stroked down her lower back and buttocks. “That silly little burst of fear wasn’t very manly, was it? I’m glad you’re changing tactics and owning up to what a little pervert you are. Really taking the time to appreciate your destination.” She smacked herself once, twice. “Such a big, big, beautiful ass.”

Never had he been so completely humbled that touching himself felt like literally the only option left to him. What else could he do? A speck stroking himself, suspended in a droplet of lube meant to make this huge sex toy more enjoyable. 

She teased him, lowering herself and then lifting up, lowering so close that he braced himself for impact, then lifted herself up again. He held his breath as she teased, surprising himself by wishing she would come closer. At another size, another version of him would dearly love to press the tip of his cock against that tight hole and push himself inside. He stroked himself now and knew at this size she would never feel his proud, aching cock as it, and all the rest of him, entered her. 

As if she was waiting for the signal of his desire, pulsing deep and shamefully within him, Elle sank down onto the sex toy and stopped teasing him. 

The puckered skin of her ass lowered down like some bizarre circus trick, tensing and widening, opening ever so slightly, then closing again. The droplet that held him prisoner made contact first, lifting him and pulling him up against her for a surreal moment. His hands touched her skin, like making first contact with an alien presence. Lube coated them both, glistening in the dim light. Then her unstoppable ass came crashing down into him. Lube squirted in every direction under her hot, smothering flesh. It was like being hit with the weight of a skyscraper, across the length of his body. 

His hands scrambled for purchase in the wrinkles of skin and he gave an almighty wrench of strength to pull himself up and away from the domed tip of the sex toy as it dove within the leviathan. Like a torpedo the size of a minnow being swallowed by a whale. Only the minnow was bigger than a jet to him, and the whale seemed larger than a continent. Larger than a planet. None of this made any sense. He decided to stop grappling with the idea of it, and instead just try and survive the reality of it.

His hands were too slick to hold him here, and he found himself sliding along the outside of her skin. But surely, better than inside? Relief at his daring escape was brief. Some wild part of him throbbed with a discordant desire to serve her that way. Within.  

The wrinkle that he clung to constricted, then widened. The sex toy grew wider and wider and the puckered opening of her ass grew broader and smoother to admit the greater girth. Then the wrinkle smoothed out completely and he found himself in an uncontrollable lube droplet slide down her skin toward the immense silicone sex toy. He had time to wonder if he was still, somehow, shrinking.

Moans far above, as he cried out in the terrifying plunge down her skin to the toy. He tumbled, slipping, and hit the velvety smooth silicone with a wet smack of his back and buttocks. He stared upward with throbbing, erotic terror as the avalanche of flesh descended upon him.

Heat. Pressure. Intense, crushing power. Wet, constricting desire. 

His cock strained with rigidity, pinned between his thigh and the wall of her skin, the muscle of it moving with soul-crushing strength as he slid up and deep inside her. Every part of his front—his face, chest, arms, hips, cock, thighs, shins, and feet, felt massaged all at once by this intimate thrust. But it was his cock that cried out most. The discordant desire in him gushed forth in this darkness, as his body screamed at him to fuck, please God, fuck something. He tried to tell his body to shut up—he was the one being fucked—

The grinding glacier slowness stopped. Then, with a magnitude of force he could not fathom, it shifted, reversing. He was being pulled in the opposite direction now. His body caught between the toy and the wall of her ass, cushioned only by the smear of lube that still somehow coated him. She reversed again. Then again. He no longer knew which way was in and which was out. 

Red, warm light glowed in arm’s reach and he strained for it, pushing, pulling, as the toy adjusted again. Light. Air. Blessed light and breath. 

He gasped in a full breath, working his head and shoulders free. He looked out and tried to understand the huge shapes of what must be her fingers and the pink silicone handle of the toy. The wrinkly, once again puckered skin of her asshole tightened down around the pillar of the sex toy. The fingers wiggled the handle of the plug, then tapped it, as if settling it in place. Such a simple gesture. Such an earthquake of reaction to him. Ripples of crushing pressure stretched her asshole around him. He cried out, in pleasure or in fear, he wasn’t sure.

It was almost slow motion as her panties came up over the enormous globes of her ass. Light dimmed again as her leggings covered those. 

She jumped. A goddess, jumping up and down, jiggling her butt, then taking huge swaying steps. She stopped. 

“You’re going to get me off whether you like it or not, dear professor,” her voice carried down to him with an almost dream-like quality. He wondered if she could tell he was only half-inside her now, or if she was talking to herself. “I do hope you like it, though. You’ve earned it. Such a good little toy. Almost as good as the one you’re about to ride to my climax!”

That’s when she must have hit the button—because of course this thing had to be a vibrator, too—and his whole world devolved into rhythmic, pulsating, sensual vibrations. His cock practically screamed at him, sensation straight to oblivion. 

Helpless, horny beyond anything he could comprehend, he floated in the humiliating pressure and heat between the rim of her asshole and the handle of a butt plug vibrating with more strength than he could ever possess in multiple lifetimes. 

She was walking now. Faster. Bigger strides. The kind of strides that sent him weightless into the air, vibrating on body-numbing highs, then pummeled him with a heavy footstep in the very next instant. Was he shrinking again? Smaller, smaller, his cock straining harder and harder against the pleasure of being so totally trapped and used this way, his body thrusting even as the toy worked back and forth, in and out with each gargantuan step. Throbbing, shrinking, straining, thrusting, throbbing, shrinking—shrinking—still, he shrank—smaller with each step now, the harder she used him the more he wanted to lose himself within her completely, to truly become her toy, to please her, to not just beg for her praise but to become the very thing, the very essence of her pleasure—

His jism spurted out into the mess of screaming hot sweat and lubricant, his own sobs of buzzing-numb ecstasy and climax lost entirely within her enormity—

The sudden absence of deafening, brain-dissolving vibration gave him the closest thing he’d ever felt to an out-of-body experience. He floated. He wondered if he had somehow possibly become the pleasure that felt woven into his existence right now. 

Now, right now. Where was now? What was he? Who was he? 

He couldn’t feel much anymore. Couldn’t remember much, either. He felt like a dimension of existence unto himself. He had pleased, had felt pleasure. Had become the pleasure. What else was there? 

He closed his eyes in the dark and floated.

—

Soft, pillowy warmth. He turned and moved—no, he hadn’t moved, it was the bed that had moved. Was still moving. His eyes opened to light and a confusion of shapes. Motion. Upward motion. His hands gripped into the ridges of the bed cover, certain this was some kind of dream. Rushing up and up, like waking up on a roller coaster with no way to brace himself or demand to stop. His stomach lurched until he leaned up and into the feeling. Then he was soaring.

Lighter than air, he flew into a rush of emotion as a round black opening tightened near him and looked right at him. He couldn’t understand how the blackness was looking at him, until he took in the fact that it was constricted by an iris. Pupil, iris. Eye. 

Once he could see the eye, it was as if a magic illusion painting shuffled all the pieces of the world back together. 

Her. His friend. Elle. Each word that came into his brain unlocked whole universes of meaning. She had done this to him. His whole body trembled, coming awake with a rage that astounded him. His eyes felt somehow as wide as her own. He stared up at her and shuddered and remembered.

The rage subsided like a crashing wave hitting the rocky shoreline, finding substance, and retreating. The substance was his memory of pleasure. He had loved it. By all that was holy, he had loved every moment of everything she had done to him. He choked on it, the promise of tears stinging at his eyes but producing no tears. As if his body had been wrung completely dry of sweat and tears and cum and logic and humanity. 

But here he was. He felt almost like a person again. He had been pleasure itself, for a long, blissful moment. Now what was he? He felt so small. So impossibly, mind-breakingly small. 

“Ryan,” she said. A warm voice. So comforting, soft, but all encompassing. He was small, but she was here. 

Just as the effect of her voice faded, something more intimate opened to him. She was here. Her emotions tiptoed in beside his mind, cautious at first and then with more power. Pride, happiness, power, a kind of empathic joy. Afterglow. Pleasure. Amusement. 

It was her kindness that brought him back to himself. As if part of her was speaking to part of him, holding him steady like a friend who’d gotten a little too drunk to make his legs work. Go easy on yourself, the feeling seemed to say. Be gentle. Be kind. 

“It’s okay, Ryan. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m going to rinse you off, okay? We’re someplace private.”

Water cascaded from some unknowable place high, high above him. A torrent. Maybe it was a few drops? He couldn’t know, but braced himself and tried to focus on being grateful for the water carrying away everything that had coated him. He coughed and wiped his face, then ran a hand through his hair and down over his legs. It helped him feel a little more grounded in his body. He was still here, still real flesh and blood. The water flowed away, leaving him glistening and shivering again, but cleaner. Clearer in his mind, somehow.

His eyes tried to take her in, and as he looked more and took in more of his surroundings, he understood that he was laying not on a bed but a fingertip. His hands unclenched immediately and brushed over the soft ridged surface with awe. He remembered being small enough to be lost in these ridges.

He could still feel what she felt, and that was most grounding of all. She reacted to his awe with a kind of awe of her own, flavored with pride. She was proud of him.

He glowed. And as he filled to the brim with pride in himself, his body grew, too. He gasped, shivering with the warmth running through his arms and legs. He grew some more. He ran his hands over more of his body and paused when he touched his fingertips to the collar that had started this whole adventure. He could’ve tugged on it at any time to end the impossible ordeal he’d just endured. And yet… Surprising himself by laughing, he grew some more. He tumbled off her thumb and into her palm. 

“You did so good, Ryan,” Elle said, beaming down at him. Her face was still enormous, but even billboard-sized features were a welcome relief after his previous mind-altering sizes. “I felt so powerful and amazing, and you were the reason for that. You gave me so much pleasure.”

“I did so well, Elle!” he shouted up at her. It was her turn to laugh, and that set him off too. 

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling back to yourself, my dear, tiny, professor. You did so, so well.”