Warning this story contains: Shrunken Man, giantess, vaginal/ pussy insertion, lick, hiding, unaware, entrapment, horror themes, threat, soft vore, mouthplay, eaten alive

Daniel awoke with a start. As he opened his eyes he was shocked to see a tent-like canopy above him; his bedsheets. The sheets pressed too heavily on his limbs, like folds of canvas. He wriggled out to the top of the bedsheet until he saw the light through his curtains spread its usual soft glow across the floor, from the nearby streetlamp, but the angle felt wrong. It was impossibly vast and alien… eerie. 

He could hear the familiar sounds from outside of their London townhouse, but when he heard the awful screech of a cat outside it sent his spine tingling with a sudden primal fear. 

He stood, slowly. It took every ounce of effort to push the bedsheet aside and lift himself upright. His legs were clumsy and felt like jelly. It was as if gravity itself was somehow heavier. 

As he looked around it seemed that the very physics of the world had shifted around him whilst he had been sleeping. 

He knew that he was on his own bed. It was familiar but also strange, all at the same time. It was as though the mattress had grown monstrously vast, an impossibly broad plan of fabric stretching out before him like the dunes of some distant desert. The texture of the cotton sheet beneath his feet was no longer smooth, but coarse, a haphazard mesh of fibres rising in jagged and frayed strands.

He staggered forwards, blinking, and trembling. He was completely naked. This was one hell of a vivid nightmare. 

He started to panic and hyperventilate. He spun about wildly; desperately hoping that this was all just a nightmare or some kind of hallucination that would clear shortly. He pinched his arms and slapped his face. All it achieved was to hurt him a bit and make him more pissed off. 

His own bed was now a landscape from some kind of fantasy land. 

He touched his chest, his skin, he looked down. Everything on his body seemed to be in proportion. It was just his surroundings that were vastly out of proportion. Either everything around him had... grown. Or… he had shrunk.

The world seemed to spin around him as he realised that he must be about four inches tall. 

But… how? 

He felt a dread seeping through him. 

His dressing gown hung from a hook on the door, colossal now, a fabric waterfall of immense proportions. His bookshelf, usually eye-level, soared above him like the side of a castle fortification. Spines of his favourite books such as Clancy, Child and Flynn dominated his view. Each book was a slab of colour and font, pressed into place like decorative tombstones. His own hands had easily lifted those books before but now they were impossibly large. 

He moved to the edge of the bed; his heart was thundering in his chest. 

He peered over the edge and felt a sickly vertigo take hold of him, as he looked down at the floor. It was a colossal drop down. 

He could not stay here on his bed forever. He needed to get help. 

He searched the fabric terrain. The duvet had collapsed into folds at the edge, forming a steep incline, a slope that he could use to descend down. 

Hand over hand, inch by terrifying inch, he made his way down. The cotton snagged at him. Twice he lost grip and slipped, skin grazing harshly against the wiry fibres. At last, he dropped the final inch and landed on the carpet of his own bedroom.

The impact knocked the breath from him.

He lay on his back, staring up at the mammoth bed above, unable to comprehend the vastness of it. Every familiar item in his room, his desk chair, the radiator, the half-finished glass of water on the bedside table, was familiar in shape but impossibly large in scale.

Daniel dared not move for several minutes.

Eventually, his instincts kicked in. He could not stay in the open. At this size, the dangers were unknowable. What if a spider caught him? He wondered. But he was in England. Spiders weren’t that deadly or large… or were they? He had seen big spiders, perhaps not four inches big, but… he shuddered, he didn’t like the thought of a giant hairy spider scampering over his body.

Where should he go? He turned his eyes to the towering door. There was absolutely no chance of him reaching the door handle, let alone pulling it down.

There was a gap beneath the door. There was just enough space for him to wriggle through. There was a way out of this giant prison.

He needed to get help urgently. Someone had to know what had happened… or had this happened to other people?

Who was closest? His sister’s room across the corridor.

He began to walk, each step was a test of strength against the deep pile of the carpet. Fibres pulled at his legs like thick undergrowth. His bare feet sank with every step. It took minutes just to cross the short distance from his bed to the door.

As he reached the base of the door, he stared at the gap beneath it, maybe half an inch high, a low threshold that now loomed like the entrance to a tomb. He hesitated as the darkness of the corridor beckoned beyond. Then, he dropped on all fours, and he crawled beneath it.

The corridor was dark, long dark shadows were cast along the floor.

His ears strained against the silence, every creak of the building exaggerated to a thunderous groan in his tiny frame. He crept along the skirting board wall, moving with the cautious instinct of prey. A feeling that he had never encountered before in his life.

Even the air felt thicker, heavier, and dotted with dust motes he could now see drifting or spinning through the air. His muscles ached with effort, each step through the threadbare carpet was a physical effort, like trudging through a field of thick grass.

The long hallway seemed endless now, stretching ahead of him. The tall and canyon-like walls seemed to disappear into the ceiling.

He crept along, until he passed the bathroom. The door was ajar, streetlight bounced off the porcelain edge of the toilet, the metro tiles to the walls and the glinting steel of the taps looked like dockyard cranes towering above the sink.

The air was different here; it was humid and dense with the residue of water and soap and old steam. He paused in uneasy awe. From his altered height, even the faint whiff of lemongrass cleaner in the air was oppressive and an assault on his senses.

The grouted floor tiles looked like large flat slabs of stone, each with trenches of grout. The bathroom loomed, as if he had stumbled upon the sacred interior of some cold, indifferent deity’s dwelling. He could see the pedestal sink, towering like a monument, and beside it, the great porcelain shape of the toilet, too large, too white, its bowl an impossible curve that suggested danger and gravity.

The bath was just a huge wall, and….

He felt a vibration through the floor. It was subtle at first but his hairs stood on end, eyes sharpened, hearing acute.

Then another, then another, it was drawing closer now. He didn’t need to guess. The pattern was unmistakable. It was slow, deliberate, it felt and sounded like… footsteps.

A chill threaded his spine. He felt the terror of tiny prey.

Daniel turned, panicked, and sprinted, or tried to, his limbs hindered by the physics of his own absurd scale, darting across the threshold and flinging himself behind the base of the toilet.
He heard more footsteps and peeked around the side. It was as he feared.

A giant woman walked into the entrance of the bathroom. His stepmother. Far younger than his father.

She was a tall woman even when he was full-sized, commanding in a way that hinted at cruelty, now, she was something else entirely, a looming, living force. A giant goddess. 

He hid himself against the toilet. There came another footstep. Then the light flicked on with a loud click. 

The sudden illumination was unbearable, a blinding wash that turned the ceramic expanse into a harshly glowing cliff-face. Daniel recoiled, eyes screwed shut against the light, arms over his head. He somehow suppressed the urge to groan. When he dared to open them again, his vision was kaleidoscopic, white ghosts swimming across his eyes. Then a shadow loomed across the floor nearby. 

A massive bare foot slammed down just inches before his hiding spot. It landed with a fleshy ‘thud’ which made him nearly jump out of his skin. The pale skin of the giant foot was veined, a slight callus forming on the heel. The giant toenails were immaculate, painted a rich pink. The foot was close enough for Daniel to see the fine whorls of her toeprints, the slight glisten of moisture on her instep. He could smell her foot from here, wrinkling his nose, a cheesy musky smell. 

The hem of a long cotton nightdress slid down her thighs, caught momentarily at her hips, and then floated to the floor, puddling into a soft heap like a collapsed parachute. He stared at them in dread, knowing what was about to follow. 

Her panties followed, high-waisted, and laced. They descended slowly, revealing the soft, vulnerable underside of her buttocks and the pronounced, pale line of her hip. When he caught sight of the bottom fleshy lips of her pussy and tufts of pubic hair he looked away. He didn't want to watch. But the scene unfolded above him like a slow, inescapable eclipse.

He turned his face toward the wall, but in the periphery, he still caught it, the descent of fabric, the flex of her thighs. She was immense and so utterly unaware of him that her body existed without censorship. 

The panties unceremoniously dropped, forming a second blanket around her ankles. From Daniel’s vantage point, the fabric looked like a sail that had fallen onto the sea. The cotton was thick and coarse as canvas. 

A vaguely floral scent, dulled by the day’s wear, wafted towards him, mingled with sweat and… then he caught the whiff of her musk. The smell of her from between her legs. He choked on it, as he saw the stain of vaginal discharge on her underwear. It was not just from disgust but from dread at being so close to the discarded intimacies of a giant woman who would crush him without a second thought.

He looked up, without meaning to, but drawn by horror.

Her bare calf rose before him like a pale marble column, subtly shadowed, tapering into the steep swell of thigh and hip. He could not see her face from where he crouched behind the porcelain of the toilet, but the scale of her body was overwhelming.

Her flesh moved with the casual authority of someone entirely at home, unguarded, and unaware of his presence. He was a voyeur against his will, trapped in a moment too large for his senses to fully comprehend. 

Her huge shadow fell across the floor as she sat down with a heavy, unembarrassed finality. The earth seemed to groan beneath him. The porcelain next to him creaked faintly. The toilet seat bore her weight with a soft plastic groan. There was a moment of still and silence, and then the grim reality of what followed. Daniel shuddered. He stared at the grout, trying to lose himself in its rough geometry, but the reality was inescapable. The sound, the smell and the way the air changed slightly, thicker and warmer.

The sound was crude, intimate, and obscene in its banality. It started with a wet and curdling fart. The kind a woman would only emit in her own presence. Then he heard the cascading sound of urine striking the toilet pan. He curled into himself, trying not to breathe. It seemed to go on forever. Then he caught the smell. It made him want to choke again. He gagged and shoved his fist into his mouth. Why was he being subjected to this horror? 

He caught a flash of her arm in motion above him, he instinctively ducked and assumed she had seen him. But the giant hand with pink painted fingernails reached out to the dangling toilet paper. 

Then the paper tore with a violent rip that made him jump. 

This was followed by the noisy scratching sound of paper rubbing across her pussy and pubic hair. There was nothing perverse in the act, and yet it felt more violating than anything else he had witnessed. He was not meant to be here. Not meant to see or hear. Not meant to know. She wiped herself with a methodical process. He caught a brief, unwilling glimpse of motion, her wrist twisting, fingers angled. There was no shame. Why would there be?

Daniel felt a deep nausea build inside him, not only physical but psychological. He was not meant to witness this. Not this… this private process was made ever more monstrous by his scale and vulnerability. She had no idea she was being observed. The horror occurred to him of suddenly being found by her at this moment. He wasn’t just out of place. He was a shrunken naked man. She might think he was a mouse and crush him… or… she might recognise him and do worse. 

Finally, and mercifully, it was over.

The colossal hands descended again to collect the fabric. He stared at her huge trunk sized fingers as she grabbed hold of the fabric. She stepped back into her knickers, the elastic snapped against her hips, like a line of troops stamping to attention. The nightdress was drawn down, enveloping her once more in cotton sanctity. 

She moved to the sink, with thumping fleshy footsteps, and the basin gushed with water. He watched the way her arms moved, great shadows cast by her elbows, and he saw her face in profile, tired, indifferent and unreadable.

She never once glanced downward. Thank goodness! 

Her footfalls retreated and the light snapped off.

Darkness enveloped him once more. He remained frozen behind the toilet, breath shallow, eyes wide in the oppressive black, waiting for his eyesight to return. His heart drummed in his ribs.

His thoughts remained vividly illuminated. He crouched there, paralysed, as if even the darkness could not permit him to move. The memory of her skin, the shadow of her thigh, the lips of her pussy, her buttocks, the scent of her presence, the stink of her urine and her panties, they all lingered on him like a stain.

He also felt shame. A deep, unsettling shame. Not because he had wanted to see, he hadn’t. But because he had. He had been present in a moment of profound vulnerability, not hers, but his. Powerless, invaded by proximity, burdened with sights and sounds too vast for his mind to safely process.

He did not feel like Daniel anymore. Not the Daniel who had walked these halls in full stature. He felt stripped, undone.

He pressed a hand to his mouth and stared into the dark, afraid of what else the night might hold. 

He was alone again, but by no means safe.