The bag rocked back and forth for a little while, and nausea clawed up my sides; being so drunk by now I felt like I was adrift in a stormy sea. I must have passed out at some point and came to as the zip broke apart above me. Firm pressure tightened all around me and I was lifted. Still crumpled up inside the napkin, I couldn’t help but feel like a wad of snot scrunched up inside a tissue. I even felt wet and sticky. The movement caused me to black out again.

Then I found myself lying on a table, looking straight up at a ceiling inside some unfamiliar room. Coughing, I gingerly sat up and noticed there was not only chocolate but vomit on my chest; I must have thrown up while I was in the bag. I was also stark naked – had been for some time, but it only struck me as an issue now, sitting out in the cold.

Samantha was sitting over me, her head cradled against one hand. She stared at me blankly as if she’d been sitting there a few minutes waiting for me to come to. Now that I was awake, she took a wet hand towel in one hand and, seeming to not want to touch my torso, closed the fingers of her other hand around my skull and held it in place as she dabbed my chest until all the vomit was cleaned off.

I was flattered by her relative gentleness until she muttered in a dark voice:

“YOU’VE BEEN A VERY BAD LITTLE MAN. WHEN YOU ARE IN MY CARE, YOU MUST REFLECT WELL UPON ME AND ONLY DO WHAT I TELL YOU.”

As soon as her fingers released my head, I stared around the room, but there wasn’t much to see. There was a sphere of yellow light around us, and everywhere else dark, making me feel like any moment a couple of police were going to stride in and do the ‘good cop bad cop’ routine.

“Where are we?”

“WE ARE IN MY HOUSE.”

I frowned.

“I thought you were going to take me back to Natalie’s.”

“NO,” she uttered this like it was a swear word. “NO MORE DALLIANCES WITH OTHER WOMEN. MY CONDITION COMES INTO OPERATION TONIGHT. YOU STAY WITH ME NOW. UNDERSTAND?”

“But I’ve gotta let Natalie know—”

“NO,” she pressed her fingers against her temples. “NO ‘NATALIE’ – I DO NOT EVEN WANT TO HEAR THE NAME ANYMORE.”

“Look, I think I left some of my clothes—”

But she was saying ‘SHHH’ repeatedly and crushing my lips under her thumb until I got the point and went quiet, at least momentarily. Once her thumb lifted, I went on:

“I understand we had an arrangement, but Natalie is my best friend right now and she’s done a lot for me and it’s only fair—”

My voice died as a steely look flashed across Samantha’s face. It was only there for a second.

At the same time, her hand positioned itself directly in front of me but not, apparently, to reach for me. I stared at it, nonplussed, as the middle finger began to bend inward towards the palm, and hook itself at the base of the thumb. My eyes widened in recognition and my feet began sliding away against the tabletop.

But it was too late—

THWACK

The tip of her middle finger punched into my gut. My back slammed into the tabletop. As pain barreled through my winded chest, I let out a fit of squeaking coughs.

“W-what…!” I rasped. “W-why did you do that?”

She considered me from above, unmoved.

“YOU ARE BEING BAD AND YOU MUST BE PUNISHED.”

Holy shit, I thought. The dating website had set me up with a total cuckoo bird. I’d heard stories about this happening, but it was one of those things that only happened to other people. Then the cold dread lowered like a curtain. I was in her house and no one knew I was here! Natalie didn’t know Samantha’s address. The four walls and a roof scheme suddenly seemed incredibly cramped than at any other time since I’d been shrunk.

While the ceiling swum around overhead, Samantha poured a big blob of ethanol hand sanitizer on her fingers before applying it liberally to my body. Rolling me around between her palms, my muscles were plied and teased like I was caught in the spokes of some moving machine parts, while the merciless pressure of her fingertips bulldozed over every bump my body offered. Worst of all, my cramping stomach felt like it was being shredded. My entire body was subject to this torture, she even spread my butt cheeks and poked my anus with a fingernail, but I screamed my lungs out before my balls were almost demolished by the careless kneading of a thumb.

This was overkill for a tiny bit of vomit which had already been cleaned off with the water.

“Hey, what about soap?” I grunted. “Soap is fine!”

“SOAP HURTS.”

“This hurts!”

“SOAP HURTS ME. THIS EVAPORATES.”

“What?”

She didn’t reply. Now she was tipping some other transparent substance on her hands. Then they sprung on me and I was put through the same agonizing manipulations all over again. This other substance didn’t evaporate, but covered my skin in a shiny clear lather.

It was lube.

Turning her back on me she began cutting something with a scissors. Glad to get a break from the vigorous rubbing, I didn’t say anything. Then she approached me and, to my shock, pasted a length of black tape over my mouth, sealing it shut. Before I could rip it off, she took each of my wrists and taped them together behind my back, before doing the same to my ankles.

For the first time in ages, she smiled at me.

“THERE, SEE? YOU’VE STOPPED TALKING. NICE AND QUIET.”

I started to struggle. An ache ripped across my belly. I went still again. My nostrils stung with sanitizer as I sucked air in through my nose.

Her hand tightened as the table dropped away; a dark hallway flashed past, ending in a bedroom with a lot of dark wood furniture that made the unlit room much darker. The light was kept off as she went in, so only the blue night shone in through the muslin curtains, illuminating a square of carpet. Dropping through the air, I bounced over a bed sheet before coming to a rest on my front, wrenching my head sideways to breathe.

There were rustling noises and the sounds of clothes dropping onto the floor.

Rocking my shoulders, I managed to roll onto my back. Towering by the bedside was Samantha’s lithe dark outline; with the jutting silhouette of her bare breasts and ass. Her breasts rose and fell steadily as she breathed.

“I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU,” she said, “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOU. I JUST WANT TO FEEL YOU.”

I was whisked up into the air as she dropped onto the bed, bumping me around as she impatiently got herself into a comfortable position: sitting with her feet planted on the sheets, spread a little apart.

She then lowered me to one of her feet, and starting at her Achilles tendon, I was slid along the back of her calf muscle, face inward, with my feet down towards the bed and head pointing up towards her knee. Coming to her half-lifted knee, my body was compelled up under the joint, bending painfully, before continuing along the underside of her smooth, muscled thigh. The entire journey my face was pressed into her flesh, my lungs bursting for air like I was underwater.

Her spread legs revealed a shadowy cleft straight ahead; next second, the fleshy lips were brushing against my cheeks as my head was being coerced into the slit by restless hands. The depths of the cavity were starting to give off a musky perfume and radiant heat.

Without a pause, I was fed through the tight cavern, torpedoed through the tunnel until she had me only by my ankles. The hot flesh clamped around my body as if testing my sturdiness. Then it relaxed as I was yanked backwards until I could feel a chill of cool air brush past my body, climbing up the back of my neck. Next instant I was battering back down the tunnel. Then I was wrenched back again.

Each time I was yanked back down the tunnel by my feet, my vertebrae groaned as my spine was jolted, then, as I was thrust back up the tunnel, my body was forced to fold up a little lengthways.

This agonizing procedure repeated multiple times, with the vaginal walls growing progressively tighter and starting to shudder. A series of shattering convulsions signaled an imminent orgasm, which finally locked my tiny body in its jaws and crunched me up like an angry fist.

But she wasn’t satisfied with one orgasm and – without a pause to breathe – began going at it all over again, pursuing what ultimately ended up being several orgasms, each successive one buckling my body a little more, and a little more, until, by the last heaving orgasm, some of my body parts were numb, some were crooked and in the wrong places and I felt like I had been virtually scrunched inside out.

I dribbled out of the now slackened pussy lips, riding a creek of female fluids onto the bed sheet. Everywhere hurt, into my bones. There was a perverse rush of glee: I was still alive. Then the adrenaline wore off and the pain settled in.

I made a long, loud groan. It sounded like there was ground up glass in my throat.

Eyeing me boredly, Samantha lifted one foot and shifted it towards me. The span of her toes (like her hands, elegantly angled) rippled before my face as she dropped her big toe down upon my face, pinning my head to the bed and completely covering my facial features so I couldn’t see or breathe. The soft underside of the toe squished wetly as it made contact with the musky goo drenching my face. Now that I was wet with her ejaculation, she didn’t seem keen to touch me with her hands, and decided to use her toe to send the clear message: shut up if you want to breathe.

Air was trapped in my lungs with nowhere to go. I bucked my spine and kicked like a dolphin, as my brain went into a flurry, screaming for oxygen. Still the toe rested on my head. Grunts issued from my throat, without me even realizing.

Working against every instinct, I went quiet and stopped struggling. Within a moment, the toe lifted again. My eyeballs had been pressed down in the sockets so firmly they now felt loose and floaty.

Samantha gave a huge sigh, like she was stifling a yawn, and then said:

“A SATISFACTORY PERFORMANCE. IT APPEARS YOU HAVE SOME TRAINING AHEAD OF YOU.”

Then she pinched up my ankles with exaggerated delicacy, like I was vermin and she wanted to touch me as little as possible, and I found myself looking straight down at the patch of moonlight on the floor as she slid off the bed and walked across the room. Giving me a couple of little shakes, she yanked open a drawer and – freeing my ankles – I fell down into its dark interior, tumbling against some soft fabric objects.

There was a shuddering jolt backwards, and all the light and sound disappeared.

*

I came to.

I had no idea how much time had passed.

It was still dark. The faint smell of fabric conditioner, and the feeling of satin against my body made me think I was inside an underwear drawer.

My body was hot and achy like I had a fever. I could barely speak; my throat felt like it had swollen. It felt like my face was slightly bruised from where the toe had pressed down against it.

The breathless excitement had long gone. The giddiness I now felt was dread.

The darkness went on forever.

*

The drawer opened; dim light spilled onto my face. My head was snagged between two firm weights and I dangled through the air before being thrown the rest of the way onto the bed. Because I was thrown from my head, I went spinning through the air like a firecracker tied to a chain.

The bed depressed heavily as Samantha leapt onto it. Nails dragged at me, warm jiggling flesh pressed against me whichever way I turned. Most of the time I couldn't move an inch, but began to slip around more easily as the huge expanse of flesh began to perspire. I flowed over mountains and hills of bare skin, which were unknowable to me in the dark.

“NO,” Samantha’s voice murmured from somewhere, as fingers pinched my erection, hard, as to extinguish it like a candle. “IN MY BEDROOM, YOU TAKE CARE OF ME.”

Then I was descended into her black tunnel, into a world of pain.

*

Awakening, I stared into the dark for a long time. I didn’t know where I was for a moment. Then it came to me with dizzying clarity. I was in the drawer.

My eyeballs settled deeply into my skull. My brain was numb. My stomach growled; it must have been at least a couple of days since I’d eaten or drunk anything.

There was a blissful period of unconsciousness.

Then I was awake again. Or, I couldn’t tell if I was truly awake, but I was aware. This went on for an uncountable length of time.

I kept fixating on something: we had never kissed. Of all the injustices I’d been subject to by her, the denial of a kiss seemed to be the most outrageous, as stupid as it was.

Except it wasn’t stupid. We were supposed to be in a relationship: boyfriend and girlfriend. We had reached third base by shortcut, completely circumventing first base. Now I’d lost track of what base we were at. I’d lost track of a lot of things. The house party seemed like a long time ago. My first date with Samantha seemed like a half-remembered dream. Natalie seemed like a million miles away. She probably guessed I had gone off to live with Samantha and assumed I had moved on.

*

The drawer opened. I could see the ceiling above and the shadowed outline of Samantha's upper half, standing over me in a lacy bra, and – it turned out – no underwear. She must have had a good day: she was smiling warmly. Whether that smile was actually for me or just incidental wasn’t clear.

She was holding a thin transparent tube in one hand. Her other hand lurched down into the drawer. She pressed her index finger against my forehead, keeping it down while her thumbnail brusquely scratched off the tape over my mouth – raking painfully over the skin of my jaw as it did so.

Ignoring the pain, I began yelling.

“I won’t stand for this! Get me out of here this instant!”

“SHHH,” she said, tapping at my forehead with the hard tip of a fingernail.

“This is not okay!” I carried on, “This is—aarrghhhhhh!”

The end of the clear tube streamed into my open mouth and the taste of plastic was zooming over my tongue even as I tossed my head to dislodge it. Battering into one of my tonsils, it then plunged down my gagging throat.

Samantha was no medical worker and had little ability to discern how far down the tube was. She just kept feeding it in until randomly deciding that it must be in far enough. There was now a burning sensation somewhere around my solar plexus, but I was just relieved the tube hadn’t punched a hole through the bottom of my stomach.

Turning away from me, she began tinkering with the other end of the tube. With a flash of dread, I realized what a vulnerable position I was now in. She could feed anything in through that tube – anything! – and I’d be helpless but to gulp it down. Perspiration began to break out afresh on my brow.

Luckily, she didn’t have any sordid ideas for the time being. Her intention was purely to feed me.

Something warm and mushy was now passing through the tube, and slowly filling up my stomach. My stomach didn’t completely flip out, so I was assured it wasn’t poisonous or repulsive, at least.

My gratefulness to be eating something dissolved as I realized I was filling up too fast. Possibly because I was so small, she had no ability to tell that I was full until I was really, really, really full, and with the tube preventing me from speaking, I had no way to indicate to her otherwise. She kept a stream of baby food (or whatever it was) running down the tube until my stomach began to tighten like there was a band around it, and bloat distressingly. It was actually turning visibly round. In fact, only when my belly was grossly distended did the mush stop coming, and she then pulled the tube out again – a faster process, but just as unpleasant as when it went down. Not to mention, she did this so fast some residue mush splattered over my face as the tube came out of my mouth.

A tissue landed on my face and was rubbed around to wipe the substance off. With the tube gone, I could now make out the savoury smell, like it contained ground up meat and other things. Apparently this substance contained a lot of water as well, because I was never given a drink, yet I never got very thirsty.

I said nothing else for the time being, just feeling relieved to have been fed. In the back of my mind, a small part of me wondered how long it would be until I was fed again.

Another strip of tape came down and was stamped across my mouth.

Then it was dark again.

*

The drawer opened. Bright blinding yellow light spilled onto my face, and my eyes scrunched up again. Two giant faces were staring down at me. One was Samantha, wearing a sleeveless halter with strings that wrapped around the neck. The other was a guy with a shaved head I’d never seen before.

“OH, DAMN!” the guy exclaimed, his eyes popping. Exactly my reaction seeing him.

“THAT’S MY LITTLE FRIEND,” Samantha said, smiling faintly at the man’s surprise.

My brows drew together. Friend?

I like to think we’re a little more than that…I thought with a flash of anger.

She went on idly:

“HE KEEPS ME COMPANY.”

The man’s mouth worked around a reply that never came out.

Meanwhile, Samantha’s hand reached down into my face and, with two fingers, swatted my head to the side, so fast that my neck muscles pulled. Before I could recover, she did it again, this time on the opposite side, flicking my head the other way. It was like she was slapping me with her fingertips.

“CHARMING LITTLE FELLOW, ISN’T HE?” She looked up at the man. “INTERESTED IN GETTING ACQUAINTED?”

The man shuffled back a step, eyeing the tape on my mouth.

“KEEP ME OUT OF IT AND I WON’T TELL ANYONE.”

Undeterred, she leaned against the drawers, turning at him and fixing him with a seductive look that looked to me more like a leer.

“IF YOU LET ME WATCH, I’LL TALK HIM INTO FINISHING YOU.”

Spluttering loudly, my arms and legs worked at my binds like I was on fire.

The man placed a hand on top of the chest of drawers, massaging his temples with his other hand. He couldn’t seem to meet my eyes anymore.

“WOW, THIS JUST GOT WEIRD. LET’S GO BACK INTO THE LIVING ROOM.”

The drawer shut again.

For the next few hours I agonized over why there was another guy in Samantha’s house, until I realized that, in the grand scheme of things, it probably didn’t matter anymore.

*

The drawer opened not long after. Samantha stood over me, hair in a severe ponytail.

“HE WASN’T MUCH FUN, WAS HE?” she said, twirling the end of her hair around her finger in a jarringly out of character way. “WELL, IT’S JUST YOU AND ME NOW. YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO.”

Her hand dropped over me, gripped tightly, and pulled back again. I flew onto the bed and, a second later, her enormous form crashed onto the bed after me. She snatched me up again as she knelt on the mattress on all fours. I was drawn in towards her body, into a shroud of her heady body odor – unconvincingly stifled by faint perfume that had been applied too long ago.

My head touched up against her throat and she trailed me down between her breasts, snapping me violently against each breast so my head flicked her nipples, and even the breasts themselves, causing them to bounce. The full weight of each breast bouncing on my head was almost too much for my puny neck to handle; I could feel it bending and threatening to snap like a pencil.

With ears ringing, my head was slid further, following the subtle bumps and dips of her abdominals, before reaching the ‘hot zone’ where she’d intended to take me all along.

My face traced up and down her labia rimming her vagina opening, getting nicely soaked as her fluid was already leaking out. I’d noticed she was getting wetter to begin with now, and she barely required lube anymore, if any. It’s like her sex organ had been conditioned to begin salivating as soon as she clapped her eyes on me.  My dick also stood at attention during these sessions, but it was seldom pleasurable or even noticed by me – and noticed even less by her. It was a mechanical response to the scents, the soft grunts, the giant sexual anatomy pressing against me. She seemed to view my organ like a persistent insect, and would flick or swat it in irritation because of its pesky habit of getting in the way of activity.

Different parts of my body ached and twanged in her commanding grip as she worked me tirelessly; and it always seemed like a different set of muscle groups were hurting, rotating each day, after every carnal session.

Getting one good gulp of air, I was suddenly churning up and down the length of her pussy, the moist bubbling and smacking playing over and over in my ears as I was yanked back and forth, as if I was being swallowed and digested by some huge beast. I had done this so many times now I had developed the ability to count down with the convulsions of her body to orgasm, and intuit whether she was gearing up for multiple orgasms, or ready to settle with one.

Finally I would be pulled out in a trail of viscous fluid and slapped down on the bed. My vision would darken as the huge fleshy bulb of a big toe the dropped down onto my head and settled there for a long moment, just long enough to cause my throat to start going into paroxysms as it fought for breath.

She now planted her toe on my face at the end of every session, even when I showed no signs of rebellious struggle. It had become an unconscious habit, or maybe a ritual, a way to punctuate the session’s end and emphasize her dominance over me.

I couldn’t read her intentions anymore. Her face was a mask that expressions shifted over like shadows, not revealing the content of her mind. And as the days wore on, she spoke to me less and less.

The drawer would open, I would sigh weakly, she would have me, and then I would be put back inside. Or it would open, the tube would be snaked down my throat, my belly filled, and then the drawer would close again. My joints were almost constantly bound by tape and began to feel like they were rusting any time I tried to move them. I stopped struggling.

In the darkness of the drawer, my body wracked by tremors, I began to feverishly hallucinate myself into an elaborate narrative that I’d never shrunk...

— I was back at Scott and Tasha’s house for the Flip party, and this time I didn’t drink anything so I was lucid when I used the time machine.

I jumped back eight minutes, appearing in the room to find myself standing directly behind the chair my past self was reclining on, watching TV. I crept out of the room and hid in a closet in the house, only springing out the moment my past self jolted back. To the crowd it looked like one version of me had disappeared into thin air and, at the same time, another version walked into the room, to the awe and applause of all my friends.

Beaming, Remy scampered up to me, asking me to be a partner in his operation: he would manage the scientific side of things, and I manage the business side.

Scott was slapping his hand on my shoulder, trying to ask me how I’d just pulled the trick off.

Tasha was tugging Scott's other arm, quietly insisting that it wasn’t a trick.

Stuart was struck dumb, now amusingly looking around the corner of the room, where I’d just emerged from, as if expecting to find some trick door.

Jennifer was standing at my other side, silent for a long time, with a faraway look in her eye that told me she was running reams of information through her brain very quickly. Finally, her eyes found mine.

“Oh, baby,” she said breathlessly, tears starting to run down her face, “How could you just disappear into thin air like that? Where did you go? Where did you go, Jerry? Where did you go?!”