Let me tell you about MY experience with anal vore.

One Saturday morning I'm in bed with my boyfriend, in my apartment, and we're having morning sex. He stops while he's literally inside me, mid thrust, and looks deep into my eyes. Now...normally this is the part where guys say 'I love you' so I'm getting ready for that, but instead he says 'I have a confession.'

Paralysis. He's been cheating on me. 

'I have this really weird sexual fetish.'

Relief. Confessing infidelity while balls deep in me is a sure way to get throat punched. So I try to be supportive and neutral about it, I'm a good girlfriend, I tell him whatever it is is probably fine. I like this guy. I'm pushing thirty and I spent too much time in school, I want kids before I start having fertility problems, so I'm waiting for him to propose. He's everything I've been looking forward to.

Then he explains anal vore.

I have...a pretty hard time wrapping my mind around it. But he's so hesitant and shame faced, it's obvious he's terrified I'll be grossed out and reject him. So I reassure him it's weird but not a deal breaker. He's relieved to hear that. 

THEN he goes on to ask me if I'll do it to him. 

I won't get into details, but we actually had the means to shrink him. Sort of a pym particle thing. At first I say no, cause it's dangerous. What if I crush him? But he starts begging, telling me he's invulnerable at that size, offering to prove it to me. I'm cautious, but he shrinks himself. In bed. And falls into the depression I make in the cover sheet, so I have to yelp and fish him out. 

We experiment a bit. Little stuff at first; flicking him, squeezing him, eventually stepping on him on the floor. Nothing. He's like a rock. I eventually put him in my ear so I can hear him and straight up ask him what he fantasizes about. Usually ladies like hearing that their man fantasizes about them. But the stuff going into my ear literally made my face turn beet red.

But okay. I like him. 

Plus, if I'm cool with his fetish it'll be less likely he cheats on me someday, so I agree. Tentatively.

He's about three inches, so I start things off as well as I can, keeping my expression mild and interested. I pinch him between thumb and forefinger and insert about half of his tiny body up my bum, standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror so I can see what I'm doing. 

Success. 

I sort of...drop my leg. That brings by buns back together and covers him up completely. 

So I walk naked through the house and go into the kitchen, feeling the hard laminate under my bare feet. I'm playacting now in my head, trying to figure out what to do from here. I can barely feel his upper torso hanging out of my anus, but my cheeks are big enough to sandwich him tight so he can't fall out. I open the fridge and bend down to retrieve a cherry coke zero, which probably parts them enough for him to glimpse daylight before I stand up and they press together again. 

I have a nice big butt, you see.  

It's easy to say so when writing anonymously. I'm quietly proud of it, guys like to stare at it, I wear booty shorts sometimes to show it off. Usually the attention is good and nobody is creeping out on me. There have been a few times, but I've got several guy friends who keep it platonic. Or at least they keep their hands to themselves and their flirting tasteful. It makes me feel safe. I'm blessed that way. 

Broadening my horizons. I thought about this as I opened up the coke and went back into the bedroom. Being adventurous. Trying new things. It wasn't particularly interesting by itself, maybe a mild ego trip, but I'm sure he was probably loving it. I tried to imagine what was going on in his mind. I exaggerated my stride to sway my hips a bit and shake him around. It probably didn't do much. My butt was big enough that he was properly sandwiched. Crash padding. I smirked at the thought. 

I crawled carefully back into bed, on my hands and knees, then stopped to chide myself. I couldn't hurt him. He wanted me to be rough. Of course, he might change his mind about that after this, but it was his stupid request in the first place. I was just being nice. I flipped over to prop my back up against the pillows and sat up in bed, sitting on him. He could just stay down there for a while. 

Sipping coke, I realize being a giantess was actually pretty boring. 

He expected me to act coy or domineering or something, but what if I didn't? I thought about it. If I'm supposed to be in charge, and he wants to be my plaything so bad, I should just do whatever I want. Right now what I want is to drink a coke and maybe have an orgasm and then go do some sewing. I want to work on my cosplay costumes.

Fucking stupid ass boyfriend making me do backflips. 

That's not fair. He is good to me, really. He does my laundry, and folds it and puts it away. I hate laundry. 

So I feel him struggling or twitching or something. Maybe he's trying to get comfortable because my butt is crushing him against the sheets? Maybe he's trying to stimulate me somehow? I sip my coke and decide to go with it. Pulling him out and asking if he's okay would probably ruin it for him. I grip the coke firmly to chill and numb my fingers, then switch hands and start playing with myself. I know how to turn myself on at least. 

Closing my eyes and enjoying the freezing touch of my own fingers is easy. Cold soft drink. Great trick. I chew my lip and make a few squeaky little moans. I'm not entirely acting. I make those sounds to get myself in the mood, if I'm honest. 

Anal stimulation actually does help. A bit. It's really a mental thing. I try to envision myself as this sassy dom queen. Being worshipped and admired is awesome as long as I'm in the right mood and it's done right. He probably wants me to sit up or straddle a pillow or something, but too fucking bad. I can't come easily like that. I have to be laying down or relaxing. He can just deal. 

I come pretty fast. 

It's an ok orgasm, not earth shattering or toe curling. Not a 'gusher', I'm not that well lubricated. And I'm glad. That would be hell on my sheets, even with a towel under me. 

I think about taking him out just then, but I really want to do some sewing. If I let him out and he hasn't finished yet I'll feel obliged to help him out, and fuck it, if he wants me to be cruel and keep him in my ass he can just deal with some boredom. 

I get up and put on tiny cotton shorts and a t-shirt and go out to the living room. No bra or thong or sandals. I live alone. The door is locked and the curtains are drawn. I can be comfy.

So yeah, I sit at my little table in the dining room with my cosplay stuff and get out my fabric and start sewing. And my tiny boyfriend just...stays halfway up my bum hanging out. 

I actually forget about him for a little bit. I'm ashamed to say it, but he doesn't feel like much and I'm already satisfied so I get lost in my work. When I remember him I feel guilty so I play it off like it was intentional. I shake my butt a bit and say 'I don't feel you worshipping me down there. Get back to work boy toy.'

And oh boy does he start twitching. I almost jump. It takes me a moment to relax and get used to it. I don't know if he's licking or massaging me or what, but I figure with my cheeks half parted by the chair he could have crawled out and escaped through my shorts if he really wanted to. I'm posing now. Back arched, shoulders back, sticking my bum out to exaggerate the curvature of my lower back. I figured that one out at pool parties in high school. 

Later on when I let him out and restored him he was *so* grateful for that part it was funny. Inwardly funny, I didn't laugh at him, I'm not a bitch. But he hadn't managed to come at all.

That really disappointed me, but looking back it made sense. How could he get at his dick with his lower torso walled off by my sphincter? Plus he was hanging upside down out of my bum much of the time. Or smooshed underneath me. 

So there I am, trying to sew with this tiny guy having a fucking religious frenzy against my anal entry. I play him out a bit. I moan and shift my hips and say 'harder slave' and basically try to tire him out.

I won't lie, it's fun. Not sexually stimulating, but fun to tease him and play the evil chick. I'm happy knowing he's happy. Nothing wrong with taking pride; if I'm going to do him a favor I don't want to halfass it.

What really worries me is his proximity to my cunt. I actually like the word cunt, by the way. Ever since I started reading feminist literature. Most words for vagina are considered vulgar, but men talk about their dicks all the time. Women need a casual word, and 'pussy' makes me think of this big felix the cat wall clock my parents owned when I was young. 

Not sexy at all. So cunt it is. 

So there I am, deathly afraid he'll start messing with my cunt. I don't want bum bacteria in my bits. Vaginitis is no joke. I remember that I can't hurt him; those tests where I stepped on him were pretty conclusive. It seemed like he couldn't suffocate. I know he wants to try being in my rear.

So I get up. Butt closes, boyfriend gets smooshed and falls still (thank God, please not while I'm walking), I go to my room and dig through my top drawer for the box with the sex toys. I own this little chrome colored tube vibrator that uses two AAA batteries with a long corded remote and a little thumb wheel to control intensity. And an eight inch glossy black silicone dildo that reminds me hilariously of a zucchini. And a bottle of lube. I'm snickering now. He's going to trip out when I eventually release him, but he'll forgive me. 

So I go into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. Hands on hips, thighs apart, I flex my defecation muscles and try to do some sort of reverse peristalsis trick. That means sucking him up my rear with no hands, for those who are curious. 

I didn't think it was possible. And no, in fact, it's not. That hole is meant to push things out, not pull them in. If I have to go number two I can hold it and pull waste deeper for a while, but it has to be *in* my colon already. I give up trying after a minute and chastise myself for being dumb. 

Seriously, the things I do for love.

Back into the bedroom. I prop the dildo up on my nightstand and slather it with lube, trying to stop it from falling over. I'm anxious now. My butt is decently stretchy when I'm all warmed up, but I've just been sewing and am NOT warmed up. Boyfriend can't see shit, he's totally buried between my cheeks cause I'm standing upright.

He obviously *does* see it when I finally turn around and start to sit down on the thing, but there's not a lot he can do at that point. I feel it against my anus, which reflexively squeezes shut to stop it. Gently, carefully, I sink down. Chewing my lip in mild pain as this big foreign THING fills my ass up, trying to relax, trying to stretch out.

It takes a bit, but I manage it. 

So now I'm sitting on the nightstand next to my bed with my shorts around my ankles and a pretty decent sized dong entombed up my ass. It's damned uncomfortable. And I've just pushed my tiny beau completely up my bum as deep as it's probably possible for him to go. Like, *at* my rectoid sphincter (I'll get to that in a moment). I really hope he's as invincible as he claimed. I tell myself he is.

That, and I am a GREAT fucking girlfriend for doing this.  

Plus now there's no more danger of him getting fresh and spreading fecal bacteria into my vagina, thankyouverymuch. 

I get up carefully and pull the dildo out. Funny thing about dildos; if you just pull on it your anus actually tries to fight you. I got into a tug of war with my stupid body the first time I tried to use it that way. The trick is to shit them out WHILE gently pulling. Gentle gets it out, hard makes it lock. Asses are like seatbelts that way.

So I pull it out, feeling all void-y and loose inside, and of course he's not on it. Not surprising. It's super smooth and covered in silicone grease. I sigh and start to slide the chrome vibrator up my bum in its place, which is much easier cause it's very thin by comparison. My anus squeezes closed and kinda 'swallows' the thing once it's past the entry. Just this fucking electrical cord sticking out of my rear connected to the remote in my hand. 

Aaaand I pull up my shorts, go back into the front room, and keep on sewing.

By this point I'm nervous. I can't feel my boyfriend anymore.

Special note here. I looked up a porn video of a camera going up a girl's bottom after he told me about his fetish. So now I *know* it's actually smooth and clean and rubbery up in my bum unless there's a shit coming down the line. Pinkish, with weird membranous webbing, shot through with little capillaries like dark circuitry. You can look it up if you don't believe me. The rectum only sees poop very briefly when I actually go number two. The rest of the time all the shit is held deeper in the sigmoid colon, where it collects. 

The scariest thing inside my butt is the *other* sphincter, separating my rectum from my sigmoid colon. That looks like a horrible toothless lamprey that keeps puckering up to smooch and occasionally disgorges logs of waste. It's called a sigmoidorectal junction reflex. 

Try saying that five times fast. 

Not the best image, certainly not erotic to most people, but that's what the inside of my 'ass' is really like. Being in my rectum is like being stuck inside a sausage casing. Plus my heartbeat, gurgling stomach, digesting food, etc. If he could see anything that is. Which he can't because he's naked and doesn't have a light. 

I don't know how long I work before I decide to pulse the vibrator to mess with him. Ten minutes maybe?

A buzzing sensation hits me, deep in my pelvis. My butt vibrates. I've got some fat back there. Junk in my trunk. My milkshake doesn't exactly bring all the boys to the yard, but I'm no slouch. 

He doesn't really DO anything that I can feel, but I imagine him freaking out when the vibrator turns on and that makes me laugh. I turn it on and off a bunch of times, rolling the dial with my thumb. I do this for a while. 

I'm just playing now. 

That's what it is; playing. I know he's turned on by this anal vore thing, so I'm making a game of messing with him. I mean it's funny, keeping my boyfriend up my butt. Weird as hell, but I've resolved to move past that and run with it to see if I can. And I can. He's sweet, pulls his weight, respects me, all the good stuff. I can do this. 

There's not a lot of time, nerves wise, between when you know you have to fart and you actually do it. I never really thought about this before. Really the important thing if you're in public is to sneak off or make sure nobody realizes it was you. Farting blatantly isn't ladylike.

But when your beau is literally up your ass there is ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING WAY to dodge that bullet. None. 

So the first time it happens I freak out and hold it in, reflexively thinking 'hey, I don't wanna fart on my poor boyfriend', but that's stupid because that just holds the fart *in* and builds up pressure and methane so he thinks I'm torturing him in a pressure cooker. 

I got an earful for that later. 

I told him he had it coming, cause it's better to play it off like it was intentional than admit I panicked. I figured all this out pretty fast and just let the gas go, but that moment of indecision was a lesson I'm sure he won't forget. Yes. I fart. If he wants to be up my ass so bad he has to just cope with it. 

The vibrator is still fun after that. At least for a while. I eventually get up and go to the kitchen to heat up a slice of pizza. I imagine my walking feels crazy to him, so I get this idea. 

He wants mean bitch? I can do mean bitch. I start shaking it. Club dancing around the kitchen like a loon; popping, dropping, clapping. Nobody’s watching, so why not?  

No reaction from my butt, but that's no surprise. He's too small. I just imagine what it's like for him. Microwave beeps, I get my food and decide to finally let him out. 

Now...ladies be warned. It turns out if something in your bum is TOO small, your insides can't feel it and peristalsis isn't triggered. Normally it feels like trying to push out a...let's call it a deuce. But you have to FEEL the deuce. Your body can't push out nothing. 

I'm in the bathroom standing in the tub, squatting, when I figure this out. Time to panic. 

I try gently pulling out the vibrator, hoping he's holding onto it or something, but it comes out bare. Of course. I've just been torturing him with it, he has no idea I'm trying to get him out. Why would he hold onto it?

I sit on the side of the tub and try to figure out what to do. My boyfriend is stuck up my butt. I am NOT going to the hospital and trying to explain this one to a doctor. 

In the end I get creative. I tie a length of dental floss around an old toothbrush (which immediately went into the trash after) and push it up my rear while saying 'hold on' over and over, hoping he can hear me through my body. 

Three tries, and the toothbrush comes out with him attached. He's wet. Slightly covered in a sheen of what I guess I'll call slime, but that's it. I take him off and put him on the bathroom counter to recover. 

He cowers like a mole in bright light. I sorta watch him awkwardly, wondering what to say after that. How do you end this sort of thing? In the end I settle on, 'welcome back, hope you had fun.'

That's pretty good right?

He takes a while to recover. I really worked him over with the club dance and the vibrator and the dildo. I give him some space, then when he stands up I take him to the floor and restore him to his proper size. 

I give him this halfhearted smile as he stares at me. Processing. 

'Thank you,' he says finally. 'That was awesome.'

I'm floored. 

FLOORED. I didn't even know how to respond to that. I confessed to the sewing and he was completely cool with it. HOW is a guy COOL with his girlfriend walking off to sew costumes in the middle of sex? He was just...grateful. He adored me. We had thai that night (my favorite).

I got a proposal one week later. I’m wearing an engagement ring now. Go me. 

I think about that night a lot. How it wasn't this big erotic thing, but I kinda got into it. Most men are demanding or judgmental, but he just straight up adored me for it. I decided I could get behind it...occasionally. 

He really tries hard to satisfy me in the bedroom now, hoping the next time he asks me to shrink and play with him I'll say yes. Sometimes I do. Not too often. I've done it a few times to win arguments, I'll admit. It's kind of like makeup sex except….makeup timeout in my bum while I watch Gilmore Girls and eat low fat froyo.

So that's my experience with anal vore. 

You want more details? Fine. I'm really not a great writer, but here goes…

Two weeks pass. Fiance is happy because I'm so unfazed by his fetish. He built it up in his mind to be this catastrophic thing, so now he's buzzing around like a bee. He keeps like… doing things for me. Making me coffee. Getting my car washed. Talking about us moving in together. 

I like my apartment though. 

His place is a man cave, and I'm not moving into that. Plus he had all these pent up fantasies, so it's like a dam breaking. He's got Lego men around the house he wants me to sit on, there's a Victoria Secret bag under my desk, etc. 

I get annoyed. We argue. 

I'm putting in more hours at the hospital and it's making me cranky (I'm a filipina RN, yes I know it's a stereotype, shut up). Cramping also doesn't help. So he backs off, but I still see it in his eyes all the time. His passes become subtle, but they don't stop. I can feel him staring at me. 

Sometimes it's flattering.

But I'm not in a great mood on the night in question. Changing bed pans and getting yelled at by mean old ex-military men all day while bleeding like a stuck pig will do that to you. I get home Friday night and see he's left the remote on my bedside 'innocuously', in case I suddenly get the urge to use it on him. 

Fucker.

That's what I've decided to call the shrinking device, by the way. The remote. It's about the size of one. 

He gets home half an hour later with our pizza. I'm in my sweatpants and tshirt, ready for movie night. Yesterday he promised me we were gonna watch Pitch Perfect. I need to laugh.

Look...I try to be reasonable. Especially when I'm hormonal. But just listen to this and maybe you can tell me if I over reacted. 

First, he starts talking about John Wick 3. Even though he got to pick the movie last Friday. I sat through Alita and enjoyed it, cause I'm a good girlfriend.

Second, the pizza. I fucking hate mushrooms and olives, and he knows that. He KNOWS that. All the shit he likes is on this pizza, but *nothing* that I like. At all. He normally gets it half and half, but when I bring it up he's like 'oh sorry I forgot'.

Third, he mutters in the kitchen while I'm getting a drink that he scratched my car on a divider in the parking lot. He apologizes, sure, but obviously I'm mad. But I decide I don't wanna ruin my precious Friday night of snuggling on the couch and watching movies, where I get my feet rubbed after running around the clinic in scrubs all day. 

But then...we settle in...I agree to watch John fucking Wick..and he puts the moves on me.

Am I wrong here?

Not even politely either. I put my feet in his lap for my long awaited foot rub and suddenly he's feeling up my legs and trying to 'accidentally' brush my cunt to turn me on through the sweats.

Guys… when a woman wears sweats, it means she doesn't want sex. So don't even try. 

I want to explode at him. 

So I just sort of look at him and get up and head into the bedroom, get out my phone, and order a pizza for delivery. With the toppings *I* like. Change my tampon, replace my pad, change my chonies. Hygiene. I get the remote and head back into the living room, cooling down a bit, thinking I'm just gonna threaten him with it.

And he's STARTED THE FUCKING MOVIE WITHOUT ME, and is sitting there with his back to me, being passive aggressive or something because I just turned him down. 

Oh. Ohohoho...yeah. Just remembering it makes me mad.

Yeah.

Gentlemen… if you are selfish, oblivious, and constantly in the mood for sex… you know what, I'm not even gonna give advice if you are those things. Just stop being them. 

Obviously I shoot him in the ear.

Now I know what you're thinking. Yes, this is an anal vore story. This is what happens when a woman gets introduced to anal vore, fucked over while on her period, and then given the power to shrink her man. 

Special note here; if I didn't already *know* he was impossible to hurt or suffocate at that size, I wouldn't have done any of this stuff. But he LEFT the friggin remote on my nightstand. 

So now he's two inches tall on the couch. The sweats come off. I walk around the couch, get the lap desk (wireless mouse and keyboard), and put on Pitch Perfect. Then I go to the couch and look *down* at him. 

And he hasn't even moved. 

He's just staring up at me. This little fucking Lego man in the middle of the great big couch cushion. To be fair I knew he'd stare. That's why I took off my sweats; to let my great big butt out. I'm wearing tiny board shorts. No, not a thong, I just said I'm wearing a pad.

Sorry if I don't put this erotically enough, but I sit on him and watch my movie. He twitches, but he can't get anywhere. I have to shift a few times to keep him under me. I fart once, briefly, before I really recognize it's happening. I feel vaguely guilty about this, but I'm not about to apologize. So I bounce a few times instead, like it was intentional. 

About forty minutes later the doorbell rings, and like a goof I answer it without thinking to get my pizza. Except I'm in my undies, so the poor kid gets an eyeful. He stares a bit too long while I'm signing, so I shut the door while calling out 'honey the pizza's here' so he knows I'm not alone. 

Ladies beware. A lot of porn movies start with some chick in undies opening the door for a pizza boy. And boys are dumb. 

I go back to the couch and my fiance's gone. 

So I put down the pizza and look for him. And there he is, heading across the floor. White boys stand out against dark laminate. I head over and stomp on him to stop him, then stand on him for a few seconds to punish him for running. 

I put my fists on my hips while I'm doing this.

Admittedly it's for balance, but in hindsight someone into giantess stuff would probably have enjoyed seeing me like that. Standing on a tiny dude with one foot, in my underwear, with my fists on my hips. But nobody's around.

I also hop up and down on him like four times.

Step off, check him, voila no more fight. I pick him up and take him back to the couch, drop him on the seat, and flop back down-

And HURT THE HELL out of my bum.

See, it turns out days ago he hid some Lego men under one of the pillows on the couch, hoping I'd sit on the pillow without knowing and then he could fantasize. But when I got up he wanted revenge, so he dug them out and laid them out on my spot. They were all dark 'medieval bandits' or whatever the hell, and the room was dark. So I didn't see them. He was hoping I'd hurt my butt while he ran for it. 

And I did. Except he was *with* them when my ass came down. 

I leap up to see what stung my rear. I figure it out. I pick him up and rage for a moment, then say something like; 'Okay you little fucker.'

I go into the bedroom for my sex toys, look them over, and decide they're all too sexy. I don't want to reward him for pissing me off. Then I notice the ice in my drink.

Oh, did I forget to mention I was drinking? Yeah. I got the shouju out after sitting on him and had like three drinks.

It had been that kinda day. 

I decide to try something new, so I go into the kitchen instead. 

I have this...kitschy blue rubber freezer tray that makes ice cubes which look like little death stars. I've had it since I was fifteen or so. I don't remember who gave it to me, I think it was a birthday present or something? I love Star Wars.

They say when you're drinking judgment is the first thing to go. My God this is so true. 

So mister invulnerable gets trussed up with a mini hair tie rubber band, dumped into an alcove, seal the lid (yes, it has a lid, otherwise the death star has no top), fill it at the sink, and pop it in the freezer. 

To confirm; I know he can't be killed by this.

I go back to my movie, eat, drink (more), enjoy a quiet evening. Eventually the movie ends. I go back to check on him, aaaand...yep. Frozen, round, smooth, death star ice cubes. 

I'm not gonna lie here, I'm not mad anymore. I'm rosy-cheeked and happy. My inhibitions and common sense are right out the window. Which is not a good way to meet me if you're two inches tall and piloting a death star.

Cause I'm very pro rebellion. 

I get him out. The ice is transparent, so I give him this smile which probably looks really evil. That's what I'm aiming for anyway. Cramps hurt less when you're drunk, so I sorta forget about them. 

I pay for that later, by the way.

I wanna say I was just tipsy here but...shouju is like candy. It sneaks up on you. If you're reading this to be turned on, this is the moment you've been waiting for. 

Let me say this part erotically. You've been a good sport reading this far;

I drop my panties around my thighs, wet down the piece of ice in the sink, prop my foot up on a dining room chair, and coquette the act of pushing the death star *carefully* (not violently, that would hurt) against my rectum until my pucker relaxes and swallows it up. 

Yup. 

It's round and smooth, so my sphincter just sort of...gulps it in and closes again. And yes, you little AV nerds, my fiance later confirmed (rather sourly, which made me snicker) that he totally saw my big cheeks spread open and my ambiguously brown filipina asshole loom through the ice right above my cunt to take him in. And he was unable to move or look away while I did it.

Then I stand there and preen for a few seconds, feeling superior, probably swaying like a drunken idiot.

I dressed that up a bit. Hope you enjoyed it. 

Because about ten seconds later I'm struttin my stuff back into the living room, feeling vindicated, and OH HOLY SHIT IS THAT SUDDENLY COLD.

Like jumping around, rushing into the bathroom, trying in vain to poop it out COLD. I'm afraid I'm gonna get frostbite in my bum. I love ice, but up the ass is a different story. Small ice cubes are the key, I learned later from the internet. Thank you internet. 

Anyway, I utterly fail to get it out. It's too smooth, and my bum doesn't wanna let it go. It melts pretty quick, and my anus reflexively squeezes, so now I'm melting it inside myself with body heat and my bum is full of ice water. Yay.

I'm *so* glad nobody sees me like this. I'm a sexy drunk princess, and I'm graceful, and I smell like roses dammit.

This is probably where you expect me to say I let him out, right? 

Nope.

After I finish hyperventilating I get my composure back, but I'm still drunk, and I get the urge to go number two. Like, I feel one on the way. So I try to push him out, and this stream of water hits the toilet, but there's no fiance in it. 

Now...I know some things about anatomy. I'm medically trained. Here's a mind bending fact; if you have something in your rectum, you FEEL like you have to have a bowel movement so your sigmoid colon sphincter reflexively opens up to push poop down. Then it closes up again. 

If you HAVE a deuce ready, peristalsis pushes it out. But if your butt is full of water it sort of just pulses, and with nothing on the other side there's a small vacuum. Some water gets sucked back up the other way. 

No big deal. 

Unless your fiance was *in* that water, which it turns out mine was, so I just inadvertently tricked my defecation reflex into vacuuming him up into the section of my piping that shit collects in.

This hits me. Right there, sitting on the pot, my drunk mind figures it out. My fiance won't come out now because I sucked him too deep up my ass.

Holy shit. 

This is so embarrassingly nasty I can't help but start laughing. Oh my God, poor guy. Maybe I'll get lucky and he thinks this is hot? I'm all paranoid. I'm so screwed now. 

But there's nothing to do except wait. I literally *have* to shit him out now. He can't fight past that inner ring of muscle, and if I anally clench he's just going to slide deeper up into me.

I hope you AV nerds are eating this up right now, cause it's hella scary and awkward when it's actually happening. 

So I get the bright impulse to go take a hot shower and sober up, and maybe shit my poor boyfriend (sorry, fiance) out when I've got a bowel movement to do it with. I jump in the shower and crank it up hot. It feels good, and I'm glad my pelvis is heating up. 

And then...there's a certain temperature range where the cold actually feels nice. The trick is to find that sweet spot quickly without freezer burning your rectum. My insides are still cold, and I'm drunk in the shower, so the next thing I know I'm taking care of myself. 

I won't lie, it's pretty fantastic. 

The cold in my bum and the heat on my fingers I mean. My poor fiances fate just makes me giggle nervously, in that vapid way aroused women do when they're really tossed and so fucking embarrassed they feel backed into a corner. 

Which I suppose may also be a turn on for some. 

Anyway, fantastic orgasm. Unlike the first time I tried anal vore. And yeah I'm still on the rag, but I don't care. I've got my vibrator and everything. Thank God it's waterproof. 

I get impatient afterward. Step out, wrap my hair, do my nightly routine with my facial creams (skin care is important). No bowel movement. None. 

Back to the front room, it's only nine. 

I've never like…*kept* anyone inside myself for a prolonged period of time before. It's called Endosomatophilia, right? Keeping someone inside you?

So I put on Pitch Perfect 2 and sit down to watch. 

All these feelings come; guilt, disgust, nervousness, self consciousness. Then they pass. Then wry amusement. Then this sort of...cockiness. I don't know how else to explain it. I have this brief premonition of being super sexy. Like some sort of buzzed ego trip. I guess I must have a sexy butt, if he wants to be so deep inside it.

Which isn't fair of course. I did zap him because he was pissing me off, but he was being a jerk while I'm hormonal so fuck him. 

The movie ends, no bowel movement. I consider a laxative, but that seems more cruel than even I'm prepared to be. Plus I'm sobering up now. 

Yes nerds. I went to bed with my stupid fiance packed into my sigmoid colon. 

When I woke up the next morning I remembered he was there instantly, jumped up, and staggered from my crazy hangover. 

Ow ow ow.

I go to void him in my morning bowel mo--you know, using technical terms doesn't sugar coat it huh?

Fine. I sit there on the toilet, groaning, with my head in my hands, and proceed to shit him out. 

The retrieval is tense. I have to reach in by hand and break up my stool to find him. God he's a mess. But alive and well, praise the miracles of science. 

Once he can walk I put him in the shower, wash my hands (with fucking bleach), zap him back to normal size all sprawled in the tub, and turn on the water. 

Thankfully the remote doesn't enlarge the shit on him, or it would have stunk up the apartment and got my landlord asking questions. 

I flounder for something witty to say, but my skull is pounding, so in the end I say; 'Now I forgive you. Don't be a selfish jerk again, I'm keeping the remote handy. Now shower up, you're buying me pancakes.'

Total churchmouse. 

All day. Like I'm a landmine. I actually let him sleep, considering he had a longer and more sleepless night than I did. I felt bad. We didn't end up getting pancakes. 

I'm a great fucking girlfriend. Honest. 

And forever after that, my half of the pizza was sacrosanct. And no more attempts at hanky spanky while I'm wearing sweats.

There. That story should satisfy you for a while. 

Living with the right man is wonderful. 

l love the company. I love the emotional support. I love the safety. I love getting help with chores. I love the intimacy (when it's not *all the fucking time*). I love the dual income. I love having a friend to talk to, especially when life is being too much to handle. 

But nearest of all to my heart...is the laundry.

Not really. That other stuff is obviously much more important than clean clothes. But I *hate* laundry with the fiery passion of a thousand suns, and when I come home at the end of the day to find him standing in the bedroom, sorting my thongs out of a giant pile of hot clothes and pairing my socks…

Sigh. 

That's love man-thing. I will cook for you. 

Cooking delicious unhealthy food is what filipina women *do*. It's our version of golf. You just quiet those sweet little mouth pillows (lips) of yours and fold that laundry quietly in the bedroom while I make us dinner (which I actually *enjoy* doing) and everything will be just fine.

I don't say any of this out loud, of course. But there must be other women out there who feel this way. I can't be alone. 

I'm not normally a big advocate of trading work or gifts for sex, because it leads to expectations which are unfair for both of us. It also feels manipulative. 

But on the day in question he calls in sick to play a new *game*, so I'm expecting to come home and find nothing has been done. I'm actually starting to seethe about it on the drive home. I had to be at work all day. I don't like it when he plays a lot of video games, it feels like I'm living with a boy instead of a man. So I get through the door, fuming, and the house iiiiis…clean. 

I mean like CLEAN. 

Swept, counters wiped, floor picked up, I think he may have even hung new dish towels. And he's standing in the bedroom folding like four loads of laundry. 

Shock and horror. 

Something's going on. What is he apologizing for? What is he about to ask me for? Does he want sex? 

This is not normal. I must probe.

'Wow honey, you did a lot. I thought you were going to play your game today, what happened?'

And I shit you not;

'I did for about four hours, but then I got antsy and figured it was a good opportunity to do some cleaning. I need to develop better habits if we're going to be parents someday.'

Blinkblinkblink.

Blinkblink.

Blink. 

FLOOOOORED. XD 

All I can do now is smile. Really, that's all I can do. He sees this and frowns and adds;

'What? I'm serious.'

+1000 Fiance points.

So I do the unexpected-no you nerds, I don't anal vore him! I put down my bag and start folding laundry with him! 

Jesus. 

Yes, don't worry, it's coming. 

I should say at this point, for the readers peace of mind, that this is when I start plotting. I check the bedside. Did he set the remote out as some sort of not-so-subtle hint?

Nope. It's still in the box on the bathroom shelf. There appears to be no expectation of sex. I could be wrong of course, he could just be really sneaky, but oh well. 

+100 Fiance points. 

Ehh… maybe 75. 

I was already kind of in the mood on the way home, but moods can be fickle things. I was also irritated. But this cements it. 

You've read what my first time was like. You've read when I got mad. This is me when I'm *happy* and *trying*. 

So… the reason I did the laundry with him is because I wanted it to be done first. A tiny man can't fold laundry, and it would have gotten all cold and wrinkly. 

Let him finish what he started, right?

We finish. I go into the bathroom, get the remote out, prime it, and call out;

'Hey love, can you come help me with this ingrown hair for a sec?'

I wax, so ingrown hairs are a thing. A VERY ANNOYING THING that you should all be STUPID GRATEFUL to your girlfriends for enduring if they happen to be into waxing. 

He comes in to help me. I zap him in the face. 

Shrunk. Righto.

I can't see his expression real well at this size, but I think he actually looked shocked. 

+25 points. 

I'm dressing things up a bit from here, but not by much. 

Ditch my scrubs. Tower over him in my thong, buns hangin out. Fists on my hips (he confessed he likes that), raised brow, smirking. I'm play acting.

'Fee fie fo fum. Someone's about to go up my bum.'

Shut up. I know it sounds stupid. Hindsight is 20/20.

I bend down, pick him up, pop him in my mouth, and start going around the apartment locking doors and drawing blinds. I call out 'hey Google, play my Chill Summer playlist' to the mini. UB40's 'I Got You Babe' comes on. 

Strangely appropriate.

Apartment secure. Music on. I spit him out into my hand and say; 'clothes off'. He strips once he recovers and clears my saliva out of his ears. 

Bleeech. That's the reality of being in my mouth guys.

Rinse him off in the sink (I'm leery of saliva near my bits), drop him down into my thong, head into the kitchen to start making dinner. Now he's pressed up against my cunt...which is currently dry.

This isn't nearly as awkward as it used to be.

Adobo is easy to make; soy sauce, vinegar, meat, veggies, and a bay leaf. That's it. I put on rice. More sauntering around in my thong, chopping vegetables, shakin it to the music, singing quietly for dramatic effect. 

He's going nuts. God this is so *easy*.

It used to be really uncomfortable. I would never have dared handle a kitchen knife with a tiny guy squirming against my hoo-ha a few months ago. But after a while the anxiety passes, and the sensation of having my bits stimulated kinda…turns me on. Unless he accidentally pinches me or something. 

Then there are dire consequences. >E

But we won't get into those right now. Dinner is cooking. ^_^

He's arousing me, so I decide to go back into the bedroom for the bubble tube. It's time. What is the bubble tube you ask? 

Fantastic question. 

It's a long, transparent, dildo-width plastic 'tube' used to hold liquid bubble solution from the dollar store. They come with this little 'wand' that expands out into a bubble hoop when you pull it out. The wand is long gone, and it's been through the dishwasher to sanitize-HEY, don't look at me like that! 

It's not MY fetish okay?! HE brought it home! In fact I gave him the stink eye when he first showed it to me! But I'm feeling generous tonight. 

I'm not into giantess stuff. I'm doing all this for him. 

I get it out of a basket in the bathroom. Fiance can't see what I'm doing, he's...locked up. I'm just sort of boogying around the room, shakin my big butt, preparing. 

Pour a glass of soju, three candles, one tealight, an aromatic oil burner with citrus blossom oil, ceiling fan set to high, and I tell Google to put on my Intimacy playlist and turn the lights down to 10%.

Google is super helpful. 

I pull him out, hold him in my palm, give him a quick peck, and drop him into the bubble tube.

Special note to all you unbirth lovers reading this; 

The inside of a woman's vagina is fibrous, muscular, and slippery. It's meant to take blunt force, but it can *easily* be torn, even by a tiny person's fingernails. And infection is a serious danger. 

It's also where we keep all our reproductive baby stuff; cervix, uterus, ovaries, etc. That stuff HURTS LIKE HELL when it gets poked, and what if a tiny guy got stuck up there? It's not made to push things back out. Not cool. 

So he has to stay inside the tube, and that's final. He can look out through the plastic with a keychain light or something, if he remembers one next time.

The first song, Wild West by Cassa Jackson, is my jam. Don't listen to the lyrics, just let the beat sink into you. 

Very sexy.

A slow insertion with lube, to stretch myself out. I leave it in for about a minute, willing my pelvis to relax. Blood is rushing into my cunt. I pull it out and check the tip...and there he is, looking out through the plastic. His expression is totally priceless. 

This is an erotic story, so I'll be explicit here;

I lay in bed, on my back, knees lifted, in my 'sexy place' with the music on, and pump myself silly while drawing little circles around my clitoris until I climax. 

I don't stick it in very deep. A penis doesn't have to be HUGE to do the job. In fact, if it's too deep it hurts. Four to six inches fills the void just fine. 

Macrophilia is really just performance masturbation with a bit of fake humiliation thrown in. Once you get past how awkward and potentially unsanitary it is, handling a tiny macrophile is easy. The hardest part is actually that you're not talking to anyone, or being satisfied by anyone. 

It's totally one sided.

Don't argue with me about this. A real lover actually does things during sex; body kissing, nipple teasing, butt squeezing, waist holding, giving head. A tiny person does none of that. It's performance masturbation. 

But I'm fine with that today. I'm doing him a solid. 

When I finally come down from climax I just sort of sprawl lazily on the sheets, thighs apart, huffing. I upend the tube and dump him between my boobs to see how he's doing. 

It takes him a bit to recover. I wait patiently. 

'Thanks again for being in my life,' I finally say. He waves and smiles...I think. He's real small. 

I sigh, snatch him, hop up, and stick him back between my big cheeks. He likes being in there, so they can hold him for a minute. Into the bathroom for the dildo and lube. I start preparing for phase two.

As long as I'm standing up straight, my butt cheeks press together pretty tight. It's actually a really great...oubliette. 

And a pretty funny thought. Oubliette is a French word. It means 'place to be forgotten'. Which is totally accurate. Because when I get tired of playacting and want to go do something else, I stick him up my ass and forget about him for a while. 

And he looooves it. He thinks it's cruel and domineering and sexy, apparently.

I just think it's a great way to get some personal time. 

When I'm ready I wedge the slippery dildo between my buns, catch him against the tip, and gently push him against my rectum until it opens for him. 

You know how this part goes. A big foreign object slowly fills my bum up once it slips through the tight ring of muscle. I grunt and push until it's almost painful, then I gently defecate it back out. It's bare. 

I study the tip and smile. Mischief managed. 

I can literally do anything I want now. For me the sex is over. For him things are just getting started. My gluteal muscles are very active while I'm walking back out to the front room, chewing him up. 

That's it for now. I make green onion steamed buns next, and I'm sure you don't want to read a cooking blog-

-is how I WOULD have ended things if a bunch of fans didn't just assault my inbox last night for cutting things off so soon. Apparently people want to know what happened after I put him away. 

Fine you nerds.

This is the first time I’ve been mobbed into doing a continuation, so please bear with me. 

So I walk into the kitchen, feeling victorious, and start enticingly chopping onions.

I warned you. Enticing onions. Oooh. Get out my mixer and wicker basket of baking stuff. Start prepping the dough. Flour, baking powder, eggs, salt…

So mouth watering. 

Then I turn on the mixer. Aaaand while I'm waiting, pretend to skip rope. 

Bum starts popping. Thighs flex. Gosh, anyone inside me right now would be totally DESTROYED by all this muscular action.

The dough gets done, but...I'm all winded now. My calves are cramping! If my fiance was here perhaps he could rub them. I'd sure love some company. But gee, I don't see him anywhere, I'm on my OWN tonight. 

Time to do stretches then.

Sit on a chair by the table, perched at the VERY EDGE to put ALL my weight squarely on my rear instead of distributing it evenly across my bum and thighs. Lock my knees and lean in to stretch my calves. 

Oooh, it burns. Ugh. I need to get more flexible. 

Back to the kitchen...no, you know what? I want to watch Gilmore Girls over the counter while I'm working. I go out to the living room to get the lap desk with the wireless keyboard and mouse. 

Oh no! He left it on the floor again! 

I told him to leave it on the coffee table so nobody accidentally stepped on it! Tsk tsk tsk, now I have to do a deep sumo squat to get it and put it BACK in the right place! If he was here right now I'd sure give him a piece of my mind. 

What an inconsiderate man. Seriously. 

And these socks and pillows! And his shoes aren't on the rack by the door where they should be! Barbarian! He didn’t clean as well as I thought he did. Oh well. I guess I'll just have to pick them ALL up too. I am a dutiful partner after all.

Season 2 starts up. Back to the kitchen to make filling. Dough covered by a cloth, let it rise. Now we wait. Chop boiled egg, fry green onion, get the oyster sauce out…and LEEEEAN against the counter to stretch out my back. 

Oh jeez, did that make my bum squeeze? Oops. 

Hop up and sit on the counter. Time for a rest. 

A little while later the filling is almost done, but all the witty banter between Lorelai and her daughter is making me laugh. My bum jiggles a bit when I laugh. Thongs, you know? 

So the filling is done now. Check the dough? Nope. It hasn’t risen enough yet. I’m bored. 

So I have this GREAT idea. Exaggerate my stride and walk across the house, into the computer room to his desk, and PLOP down in his chair. I happen to know his World of Warcraft password. See, this is the danger of letting a woman know you *too* well.

I shake my bum on the chair as I log on. I used to play this game with him for a few months, until I got bored with it. He kept on playing. Not as much lately, he’s onto other stuff, but he still gets on from time to time. Enough for my purposes anyway.

Fun fact; it turns out guys can hear you in there if you talk loud enough. Sound does carry through the body. 

“AHHH, HERE WE GO. STORMWIND CITY.”

I don’t *know* what he’s doing in there, but I know he hears me. I imagine him freezing. The creeping anxiety.

‘GEE, WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE!? THIS TWO HANDED SWORD LOOKS COOL. IT GUSHES FIRE!” 

The best part. 

‘SHARDED!!!’

TOTAL FRENZY IN MY BUM! Hahaha!

He’s fighting hard to escape. I clench my cheeks nice and TIGHT and keep going with it. I’m doing the evil laugh now. I have a pretty funny evil laugh.  

“HERE GOES ANOTHER OOOONE!” 

Later on after I let him out he was sour until he found out I was kidding. It was funny to watch the inner conflict. Mad because his precious purples got sharded, but can’t be too mad because I did the giantess thing for him and he doesn’t want to antagonize me bad enough that I won’t play along anymore.

Sulk sulk sulk. 

I don’t do this for long. Just until I think my dough is done, then skipping back into the kitchen to make my buns. Get it? Buns? 

Another episode or two of Gilmore Girls. He’s stopped fighting by now. There’s this eerie stillness which I interpret as some sort of lethargic nerd despair at having lost his precious fake magic items on a fake video game. 

Muahaha. 

That’s not fair. I’ve raided a bit before, I know how much effort it is to get those things. And yes, I was a healer priest. Don’t judge me. I’m just not as into games as he is.

When the buns are made, filled, and baked I go flop down on the couch and wait for a bit. It’s too late at night to make them all, so I store the remainder in the fridge for tomorrow. I don’t have to go into work until later. I set an alarm on my phone to wake me up at 5 am, so I can let him out in time to take a shower before work. 

Aaaaand...watch another episode and go to bed with a bum full of despair. 

Cause that’s how I roll. 

NOW the story is over. 

A fan recently asked; 'would you ever consider anal voring someone who wasn't your fiance?' 

Under the right circumstances? Sure.

Let me tell you about this one time I got robbed in the bathroom….

Fair warning; this story I’m about to recount has plenty of dirty stuff, but in the end I end up needing to fix things when I take it too far. I’ll let you know when to stop reading if you’re not interested in how things eventually played out.

So...I'm anxious about leaving the house alone to do certain things. One of them is laundry (see a theme here?). I normally ask *him* to take care of that, because I don't like laundromats. I can only go at night, and that's when all the sketchy people come out. The nearest laundromat isn't in a great part of town. He never has a problem going because he’s a big guy, but a woman alone is different. 

We have a washer/dryer in the complex, but it doesn't fit the big stuff like pillow toppers. So if someone (who shall remain nameless) brings a big plate of spaghetti into bed and happens to SPILL it, then HE needs to go get it laundered. End of story.

UNLESS he has to fly out of town on a red eye the next morning to attend a trade show, then *I* have to go launder it if I don't want to sleep on a weird marinara-infused topper for the next four days. 

A price must be paid for this. And it is. In time. 

So I stuff it into my trunk that morning, resolving after work to drop by the laundromat on the way home. I can do this just once. No need for anxiety. I put the remote in my purse that morning, just in case. 

Turns out I'm just full of good ideas. 

After work I show up, park, and look around at the people inside through the glass. Old Hispanic moms, students, etc. They all look fine. I get my load and head in. I wait for the big washer to open up. There's some sort of sitcom playing on the wall TV. Rumbling machines. Wood benches. Snack machines. I start to relax. I was worried about nothing. Ten minutes pass maybe? Everything is good. 

And THAT'S when they come in. 

Four guys with 'gangbanger' written all over them (I don't want to use the word cholo, even if it fits). One of them has a bag of laundry. 

No problem. I'm not racist, and they’re probably perfectly cool guys. They're not going to give me any trouble. They're just here to do laundry too. Except… the locals seem nervous, like they know something I don't. A few of them start leaving, but MY load is still in the wash so I can’t leave. 

Suddenly I'm feeling very very small and female. 

I keep my eyes on the TV. They start talking, laughing, carrying on. One of them looks up and notices me. Pleasedonttalktomepleasedonttalktomepleasedont-

'Hey beautiful!'

Fuck my life.

I talk to him briefly, NOT flirting. I'm still in my scrubs. But he just keeps on asking questions. I scratch my nose. Look at the RING dumbass. His name is Raul. I fucking hate that name now. 

Eventually I decide if I don't deflect him forcefully enough, and soon, he'll take my continued replies as some sort of encouragement. So I say 'Hey look, no offense but I need to get home soon and I’d rather not talk.’

That's pretty good, right? Not rude at all. 

But he pretends to get all offended; 'Oh, what, you're too good to talk to me now bitch? You don't need to be like that.'

Okay. 

I'm not a bitch for cutting off unwanted advances. My feminist ire flares up. He's in his early twenties, I'm probably almost a decade older than him. So I tell him to fuck off. 

He seethes and retreats. 

But for the next ten minutes it's obvious that he's watching me. Muttering to his guy friends. The fear starts to grow as two more people leave. Now there are only two left in the building doing laundry. I don’t see the attendant behind his desk. I think about calling the cops, or maybe abandoning my topper and driving away. I don’t want to go out into the parking lot. I literally don’t know what to do.  

And then...in my moment of distress...Batman shows up.

Not literally Batman. But a huge man, with a cute little girl who’s obviously his daughter. Muscles, tattoos, spiky hair, over six feet tall, maybe three hundred pounds. He’s holding his girl AND a huge bag with a topper in it like they weigh nothing. He walks up to the extra-large washers, sets her down, puts his load in, and his daughter runs over to the vending machines. He calls out ‘Hey! Nope! No junk food!’ 

It’s always heartwarming to see a big scary man in ‘dad mode’, it makes them less intimidating. The four gangers look leery of this guy (which makes sense given how big he is), so they head outside. 

Thank you for rescuing me Batman. 

For the rest of the night, that’s what I call him in my head. Batman. 

I suddenly realize I *really* need to pee, so I slip off into the women’s bathroom down this little back hall at the rear of the laundromat. I’m relieved. The next thing you know I’m sitting in a stall, emptying my bladder. I flush. As the toilet rumbles I suddenly hear these voices outside in the hall. I recognize Raul’s.  

Because there’s a FUCKING BACK DOOR TO THIS PLACE, and they just went around and came in the other way. And Batman is still in the laundry room, so he can’t see into this hallway. It’s totally empty. 

The voices suddenly cut off. They must have heard me flush the toilet. I’m not dumb. I realize they peeked out into the laundromat from the back hall, noticed I was gone, then heard the toilet in the women’s bathroom flush. So now they’re being all silent, waiting for me to come out. 

My heart hammers. I stay where I am. I remember the remote and get it out, waiting for them to leave. I am *NOT* coming out of this fucking bathroom. 

And then the door creeeeeaks open, just like a horror movie. Someone comes in. I know it’s probably Raul. I get ready to scream.

‘I know you’re in there bitch. Not so stuck up now, huh? Toss the purse out and we'll call it square.'

I'm actually REALLY glad to hear that. 

I thought he planned to sexually assault me. I can live without my purse, but this is basically that fight-or-flight moment when I act on impulse and lash out. I shoot his feet under the door. 

Shrunk. 

Then I jump up and throw the door open. His friend is shocked, since Raul just seemed to vanish and now a wild eyed woman is standing there with her pants down around her knees and her vagina exposed.  

I zap him too. 

The bathroom is silent. My heart is hammering. The door opens a crack, and one of the two remaining boys out in the hall looks in at what’s going on. 

What's going on is him getting shot in the face. 

The last guy in the hallway sees his friend vanish with a *zap* noise and wisely DOESN’T poke his head in. But he also doesn’t run, because he’s confused and presumably doesn’t want to abandon his friends. But before he can figure out what to do I settle the matter by popping out into the hall and blast him as well. 

You know that moment when your heart is hammering and your hairs are standing on end and your forearms are burning? When you’re just waiting for your body to get over the adrenaline rush?

I’m in that moment. It's scary.

I lean against the bathroom wall and try to think what to do. Then I notice Raul, or maybe his friend (they’re too small to tell) running across the bathroom floor.

And I know *exactly* what to do.

I stomp the shit out of him. Then I notice his friend, so I stomp HIM too. Then I realize those assholes are still out in the hall, so I pull up my pants and rush out and stomp THEM. 

But I can’t kill them. 

The remote makes people invulnerable. I’m not a killer. But I am scared, and pissed off, so I gather them up in my fist and go back to the bathroom. Grab those two stunned guys and then SQUEEEEZE them all into a little ball of tangled limbs in my hand. 

I’m much calmer now. Men are less scary when they’re engulfed in your fist.

More voices in the hall. Then a light tap on the bathroom door. 

“Come on sweetheart, let’s go potty. I hope it’s clean. Hello? Is anyone there?” 

It’s Batman and Batchild. Trying to use the bathroom like normal people. I look up, still coming down from my adrenaline high, and call out "I'm in here."

“Come on sweetie, let’s wait our turn.” 

Right. Because the little girl has to go pee. I open the door and he’s out there, holding her hand. She looks timid. Obviously not used to going to the bathroom in public places. I’m walking past when he stops me and says; “Hey, I noticed those guys out by the window. Do you need someone to walk you to your car?” 

Bless your noble bat-heart, batman.

'Actually yeah, thank you. I’d really appreciate that.’

‘No problem. Come on little love, in we go.’ He walks her into the bathroom and they close the door.

Blinkblink. I lean against the wall and look down at my fist. They’re twitching in there. I didn’t get the chance to wash my hands. So now I open the MENS bathroom (which is empty) and slip inside, locking it. 

Ugh. I’m glad he took her into the ladies room. This place is so gross. 

Open my hand and look down at the four guys in my palm. They’re sprawled in an undignified heap. I glare down and hiss; ‘You shitbags were gonna rob me huh? Alright. I’m gonna rob YOU then, give me your clothes!’

They stare at me stupidly for a moment, so I add; ‘Or I’ll flush you down the toilet.’ 

That gets them moving. They try to keep their boxers on but I flick my finger. ‘Boxers too. Watches. Chains. Phones. Everything.’

They comply. 

I’m normally a sweet person, but I hate predators. If you’re easily shocked, now is the time to stop reading. I’ve had practice with my fiance by now. I’m really pissed. I found my inner tyrant two months ago. 

I grab up their clothes and flush them immediately. They won't need them where they're going. 

Dab a bit of hand soap on my fingertips, pull down my pants, rub it against my asshole to make it slippery. 

Then I take the first guy between thumb and forefinger, close my fist (so the others can't see what's happening and decide to jump), and insert him up my butt. Using my middle finger to push him *deep* to the back of my rectum, in what I like to think of as a sort of raunchy ‘fuck you’ gesture. Plus my middle finger is the longest one, so it’s easiest. 

And then his friend.

And then HIS friend. 

My middle finger isn't so clean by this point, so the last guy to take the plunge smells his fate. But that's okay, cause it's Raul. I want him to know it's coming. I have a few choice words for him too. He was nice enough to flirt with me DESPITE my engagement ring after all.

I tell him my man is gone for the next four days, so that's how long I'm keeping him. I plan to release his friends in two days, so they can turn themselves in at the police station for trying to rob me. But not him. He's special. I'm keeping him as insurance so the others don’t try to weasel out of it or hurt me. And if they DON’T take the rap for attempted robbery to protect his worthless ass, they probably weren’t really his friends anyway. 

In fact, I will *only* shit him out on his front doorstep. After I meet his mother. He has to tell me where he lives, and where his MOTHER lives. Later on, when I decide I’m ready to ask him.  

Then I claim him.

I like that word. Claim. It has a good ring to it. I may have smiled in vindictive satisfaction as I finished him, I don't remember. Let's say I did. It makes for a better story.  

That's right you nerds. I just anal vored four guys. 

Then I wash my hands and pull up my thong and scrubs. Back to the laundromat to finish my topper, hips swaying. Batman is there and he smiles at me. He's playing with his daughter. 

What a sweet man. 

For the next 20 minutes I put money in an empty dryer, turn it on, and sit on top with my arms folded while it hums and shakes under me. One tiny guy doesn't feel like much, but four people actually tickles. Which isn't a terrible sensation. As mentioned in previous stories, anal stimulation is something women need to learn to like. It’s a mental exercise. 

But I’ve mastered it by now.

When my load is done I accept Batman's walk to the car. He's very chivalrous about the whole thing. Not so much as a trace of interest in me; he has eyes only for his daughter. THERE'S a devoted dad.

Sigh. 

I sit down and drive home. On the way I stop at a Mexican drive thru for a nice big Rojo burrito (with enchilada sauce inside) and three things of hot sauce on the side. I'm grumbling all the way;

‘Try to rob ME huh? Okay you jerks. I’ll teach you.’ 

My ass is like cotillion. Boys go in, gentlemen come out.  

Get home, jump out, haul the topper upstairs to my apartment. Those lovely stairs which my legs have to work SO hard to climb. Let myself in. Go put the topper on the bed, which is hard to do solo. It involves a lot of bending over and knee-jumps and straining to hook the edges over the mattress sides. 

I trust my new tenants appreciate it. 

Then I go kick off my shoes by the door, change into some little cotton shorts and one of my fiance's shirts (it smells like him), and flop down *hard* on the couch. Put on the Sherlock series with Benedict Cumberbatch, and enjoy my burrito. With hot sauce on every bite. 

I’m not really one of those women who likes to get attention by sticking things up her-

Oh shit.

I stare up at the ceiling, thinking. All this tickling on going on inside my rear feels interesting. They’re trying to get out. I flex my buns and squeeze my sphincter to make them stop. 

Crushing their hopes. 

But I’m not really thinking about that. I’m thinking about how much I’ve changed since I started doing this giantess thing, and how *not* afraid I am with these four dangerous gangbangers in my rear. Do I like this stuff now? I don’t think I do. I like terrorizing my man while he’s tiny, but that’s because it’s funny to push his buttons. I can take care of myself because it turns me on knowing I'm turning him on. But he’s not here right now, and I’m STILL doing it. It’s not turning me on or anything. But I feel really powerful. 

Huh. 

Vanity is supposed to be bad, right? But a giantess is SUPPOSED to be vain. She has some sort of ‘inner tyrant’ she lets out when she’s playing this role for funsies...even though she’s doing ALL the work and the tiny dude is basically just sort of receiving it.

I finish my burrito and watch Sherlock. Halfway through I head into the kitchen and get out some raw broccoli from the crisper and flop back down on the couch, munching it. It tastes awful.

Good. Raw fiber is good. 

I could say more about my night, but it’s pretty basic stuff. I sway everywhere when I’m walking. I spontaneously hop up to sit on countertops. I lay on my stomach in bed with my laptop, writing, shifting my weight to shake my big butt back and forth for well over an hour.

I’m having fun now. I won’t lie. 

But I can’t write for three whole days, that would be too much. Plus two of those days I go to work. 

So it’s journal time. Here are the highlights; 

Day 0. 

Bad guys are locked up at 7:00 pm. I get home, do a lot of shakin my bum around, watch TV, eat a really awful burrito with hot sauce and some raw broccoli. Fall asleep. 

Day 1. 

Super gassy this morning (and probably all night). Void them in my morning bowel movement. Fish them out, wash them off, set two aside. Put their friends back in. Stick them in my ears so we can talk. Their names are Julio and Martine. I tell them the deal; if they can keep the others from escaping all day, I’ll let them out after work so they can turn themselves in. I stick them both back up my ass and get to work. 

Farting *all day*. It’s very embarrassing. I expect to blow at least one gangbanger out into my panties at some point, but it doesn’t happen. Julio and Martine are doing their job. Good job guys! I get on my phone at lunch, log onto Amazon, order a pretty decent sized purple butt plug (I have a big butt), and pay for expediting shipping. 

After work I visit Goodwill, buy cheap clothes, drive to the precinct, go into a McDonalds bathroom, wash them off, restore them, and tell them to get dressed. We *walk* to the big scary building and they confess to mugging me at the front desk. I confirm the story. The receptionist is shocked, but they book the guys. They name the other two who ‘attacked’ me, but say they don’t know where they are. I give my statement before going home. I *STARE* at them as I leave. They look miserable. They understand what will happen to their two friends if they talk. I drive home, feeling like batwoman. 

Get in, warm up some leftover chili, eat dinner. Afterward I stick a SMALL and SMOOTH piece of ice up my rear and go take a hot shower (recalling the Death Star incident). It’s quite nice. I bounce my butt against the tile wall a bunch of times to settle the last two down when they freak out. Melt the ice with my body heat. Get out, clean up, watch more Sherlock, go to bed. 

Day 2. 

Wake up. Now the *chili* has me gassy. Two bad guys are still in my rectum. I sprawl in bed for half an hour, reading a book and occasionally crop dusting them while they're deep in my sewage piping. I decide to hold my gas in at breakfast (cereal at the table) for like ten minutes to pressure-torture them. I end up having pelvic cramps. Ouch. I void them again; remove, wash, re-insert, re-pack. Except another guy, who I leave out. Put him in my ear, and we have another little chat. This one’s name is Hernan. He’s really sorry. I make the same deal with him. I also sorta terrorize him by acting crazy; telling him how much I *love* how he and Raul are tickling and stimulating my ass (younger guys have no idea how female bodies and minds work, so they’ll believe any crazy thing you tell them). Then he goes back up my butt, and when I reach the front door a PACKAGE HAS ARRIVED! Amazon is quick. I go back in, open it up, get my plug out, and decide to wear it today. It’s a bit painful. And going to take some getting used to.

I get to work. Turns out the buttplug is a bad idea. I’m still gassy, and now I can’t fart, so it HURTS. I get into the women’s bathroom, take it OUT, and have this horrible blowback episode. Suddenly the two remaining guys are down in the toilet. OH SHIT. I don’t want them to know where I work. I fish them out, wash them off in the sink, hide in the stall, and put them back in. The plug goes into my purse after a thorough washing. Embarrassing. 

After work, despite their brief escape (which was really my fault), I repeat the previous days trip. Hernan gets washed and dressed in the McDonalds, walks with me to the station, and they book him. The lady cop behind the desk sorta *looks* at me, cause she recognizes me and I just came in the previous day with two other guys who tried to mug me. I realize this isn’t the best plan. But Hernan confesses, I give my statement, and I go home. 

Now it’s just Raul and me. ^_^

That evening I put on some biking shorts, clear the coffee table away, watch Jessica Jones, and do yoga on the floor. I’m not great at it, but I feel really good by the end. Raul probably *doesn’t* feel good after all that bending and twisting. I’ve had too much rich food the past few days, so I decide to go out for a falafel sandwich tonight. There’s a greek place about two blocks away. I go to bed later.

Day 3

So...it turns out falafel is made of beans. I feel stupid admitting this, but I didn’t know that. I thought it was like bread or something. Wake up, and I’m *STILL* gassy. It’s the weekend now, and I don’t have work today. I decide now’s the time for Raul and me to have a heart to heart about gentlemanly behavior. So once I feel more pressure building in my bum I head into the bathroom, pull my thong aside, perch my ass next to the sink, lean forward, spread my cheeks, and falafel fart him out onto the countertop. Wash him off, stick him in my ear so I can hear him speak. It’s apology time. 

And It turns out I went waaaaay overboard. 

I thought these guys would be resilient like my fiance, but I never kept my fiance in my bum for three whole days. Maybe one day tops. So after sticking him up my ass five times, cruising around a hospital ward for two days (chewing him up inside myself with my glutes), colossally farting on/past him like 100+ times, farting him *out* of myself twice, shitting him out into a toilet bowl six times, flattening him inside my rectal tunnel by sitting down hard on car seats/counter tops/office chairs like 50+ times, doing fucking yoga, and getting his own homies to STOP him from escaping while I’m at work so they could finally escape themselves at the end of the day (including when it was just him and Hernan left)....

He’s like catatonic. 

I’ve never seen a more shocked, defeated, traumatized, hopeless person in my life. I just *crushed* the life out of this young man inside my butt. He’s been in darkness for most of the last 72 hours. I start out by asking him if he’s learned his lesson...and he half-sobs “just kill me” in my ear. 

And I feel SO AWFUL.

I didn’t mean to take it this far. Yeah, he was a mean little shit. Yeah, he tried to take my purse. But he’s just a stupid horny young guy who doesn’t know how to treat women or when to quit. I didn’t meant to torture him to the point of hollowness. That’s what he sounds like. Hollow. There's no machismo left in him. No male pride. No self esteem. Nothing. I've systematically taken him apart and then made his friends betray him. And now he's alone. 

He's done. He might never emotionally recover. He wants to die. 

I learn a lesson at that moment. I know you all want me to say I do more awful stuff to him, but I can’t. The final leg of this story isn’t sexy, but I’m proud of myself for trying to do the right thing. I’m not heartless. If you were just reading for the AV stuff, you can stop now. The worst I do from here is keep him in my cleavage for a while. 

I take him out of my ear, put him down on the counter, and bring my face to his level. I tell him I’m sorry I took things so far. I want him to understand how it feels to be a woman, living in *terror* of being brutalized or raped. Some of us actually *were* brutalized when we were young. And when he refuses to respect our dignity, or scares us for fun, it’s agony. Feeling helpless is agony. Being afraid all the time is agony. Being sexually powerless is agony. It makes you feel like you want to die. 

I tell him I’ll set him free, and it’s only been three days. His friends are unharmed. I won’t press charges. Their confessions and what they did to me are all on record now anyway, so if anyone comes after me for revenge it won’t end well.

I get out some of my fiance’s clothes, take him to the front room, draw the blinds, lock the door, set him on the couch, and go make tea. When it’s done I come back out, set the tray down, sit WAAAY on the other side of the coffee table on the other couch (in case he lunges at me), and use the remote to restore him. 

He’s super shocked. I cross my legs, remote in hand, and ask him to get dressed. He’s going to have tea with me now. We’re going to talk like civilized human beings.  

And we do.

Two hours later I shrink him again before I take him home. This time he gets to ride in my bra (yes, that’s a bit risque, but I don’t want him in my pocket because I don’t want to risk him looking out somehow and seeing the front of my apartment or getting a sense of where I live, and being buried under my left boob is a nice conciliatory gesture). I drive to his house, park way down the street around the corner (so he can’t see my license plate when I drive away), and walk to the complex he lives in. 

This place is a total dump. 

If I lived here I’d probably join a gang too. As I approach the door I see the mess inside the living room through the battered screen. Trash everywhere. Cigarette smoke. The reek of heat sweat and lard. Some broken glass bottles by the porch. I hear the voice of an older man inside, yelling and cursing angrily at a woman.  

And I think, “nope”. 

I turn around and walk the other way, back to my car. I get in and sit there for a while, thinking. Then I get out my phone and start running some searches. I drive off. 

My father was in the navy when he was young. Growing up he told me it had saved him from a really awful childhood; cleaned him up, made him presentable, given him skills. He spent seven years in southeast asia and returned to America speaking Tagalog and Thai. With my mother.

So I take him to a navy recruitment office, talking as I drive. He doesn’t respond from my bra cup (you can’t really talk when you’re buried under my boob), but I’m pretty sure he can hear me. I tell him he needs to get away from that place. And to be around people who make him stronger and give him as much respect as he earns for himself. 

I drop him off in a stripmall at the recruiters office. Zap him back to normal size in an alley, hand him a hundred bucks cash, and tell him he can do whatever he wants from here but I know what *I’d* do in his place. 

We have this...moment. 

I don't want to get into what we say, but I'll never forget it. He tells me he’ll try, and then walks around that corner. I haven’t seen him since. 

But someday I might. 

So, would I ever consider AV-ing someone who wasn’t my fiancee? 

I...hope this answers your question. Maybe it’s not the answer you wanted, but it’s my story.