PART IV

DAY 437

Time was passing somewhat slowly for John Hingsley, as he waited for the Opportunity.

He woke up as he always did, around 6 am, his mind still reeling from dreams where his life was following its normal course, on a full scale. He was rarely three inch tall in his dreams. He continued to have a life, to interact with, friends, colleague, people. It was as if his unconscious mind was waging a battle against the harsh reality of the shrinking.
As always he tried his best to un-numb his limbs, imprisoned as they were in the dark foam that kept him neatly lying on his back, arms and legs out-stretched, like a diminutive Da Vinci sketch. Everything was dark. John Hingsley, an organized man, reviewed the busy schedule for the day.

At around 7 am the alarm clock would go off. It was a rather pleasant new-age type of gadget, that emitted soothing water sounds instead of a loud ringing. John would then hear Anna stretching and moving in her bed, yawning and sighing. The alarm would stop shortly after. The dual tremors would occur, as large feet would drop to the floor. A second later, those tremors (the sure sign of a tremendous weight squashing the great plain of the carpet) would travel North to the bathroom where the sudden roar of a mighty waterfall would echo right into the bedroom. John himself had been there quite often, in company of his owner, sharing the onslaught of the water with her and dodging the massive movement of the gigantic and naked  female body over him. After a few minutes the tremors would return, their intensity growing at every step, as Anna would come back in her bedroom.

John always braced himself for the sudden motion of the world he lived in when the drawer would be opened. Sometimes the article of clothing above him would be lifted and John would be treated to the incredible sight of a giant sleepy face leaning towards him, behind the quick movements of humongous hands. At times, water droplets would even fall onto him from the large wet locks of her hair. At other times, the drawer would open, but John would never see anything, as other clothes would be removed from the top layer. The drawer would then shut again, and darkness would return to his tiny world.

At 7.30 am, the breakfast noises would start, the crisp sound of the cereals falling musically in an unseen bowl (where he could have stood entirely). And, if the radio wasn’t too loud and covering everything with French news, he would hear Anna eat slowly and pensively, the munching of the cereal loud enough to be audible to him. She came often to finish her coffee sitting on her bed, perhaps reading a magazine, and John could even hear the slurps and sips she took from her coffee cup, sending a clear reminder of the vast mouth and throat in operation.

Some time after 8.00 am. Anna would dress up to go out to university. John knew she was studying physics, a fact disclosed by books he had seen near her bed and by conversations he had heard where terms like quantum, relativity, Feynman etc… had been exchanged between Anna and visiting students. A last visit of the drawer could also happen, but rarely. But many shuffling noises from clothing and shoes would fill the air. The steps would dwindle in the corridor then. A jingling of keys would ring briefly and the door would slam shut. The young woman could be heard down the far away stairs, on her way to her life, a life he could only dream about and that seemed as remote as the hidden side of the moon to the tiny man struggling in his drawer.

From 8.30 am to the evening, John Hingsley would remain alone with his thoughts, hardly perturbed by the street noises from an open window. The world was out there, enormous and inaccessible. John would reflect again an again on what he would do if the Opportunity arose.

Around 6 pm, (John could hear the distant chime of a church bell in the distance) the door would open again, and John would hear his captor  come back in. A pandemonium of various noises would then start, depending on her activities. The radio would blare again, papers would be moved, keyboard would be struck, chairs would screech in the kitchen, and various smells from her cooking would reach a John Hingsley,  who hadn’t eaten anything for nearly 500 days.

From this moment, the evening is a riddle to decode, based on the sonorous clues John receives. The TV moments are the ones John likes best, as Anna enjoys movies in original version, and John always avidly listens to US or English series. He cannot see the pictures but the dialogues somehow place again him into the world of the living. He can hear people talking, situations happening, and the plots take him out of the drawer for a few precious minutes.

It would happen sometimes that other people would be there. The rooms would then fill up with laughter and conversation in French, most of which eloped John’s understanding. Glasses would be moved and shocked together, liquids poured in. The weight of the enormous beings would shake the rooms, and John, forgotten and lonely, would experience again his utter insignificance in the darkness of the panties drawer.

Of course there were the other  times…
 When Anna would have a good meal, prepare for quick evening, switch on the TV, and then her mobile would ring. John, just listening to her tone of voice would be able to tell it was Claire on the line. He would curse and struggle and wail, but he knew then she’d be on her way here. It would start again.

A door bell would ring, a huge being would enter the flat. More laughter and conversation would occur and then the two set of steps would penetrate in the bedroom. John would hear whispers and fond  kissing. Sometimes a shower would start. But whatever the sequence of events that took place then, it would lead inevitably to the same outcome. The drawer would open suddenly, and a smiling face would hover above his little box for a fleeting second before the box itself would be lifted out of the drawer. John would look at the giant torso above him, and the underside of a wondrous throat, as the ceiling flew by. Incredibly large fingers would gently extract him from the foam casing, and John Hinglsley would start his regular duty, with his feet on the rough fabric of the sheet, surrounded by tall thighs, or simply with his body compressed in the tight grip of a slender feminine hand. The room would be obliterated by vast naked limbs flying around him, by massive slouching bodies, by the smell of sweat and sexual substances, the wetness of saliva washing over his body, the heat of a plain of flesh burning his skin shortly before another limb or breast or belly squashes him into the flagrant flesh. And all of this , the slurping noises, the moans, the whispers, the dangling over opened mouths , the greedy reaching of massive tongues, the embrace between two sets of  huge lips, all this would lead to that one instant when  the world would be reduced to the entrance of a fleshy cave, pink and throbbing with eagerness, wet with pleasure, where he would be thrust in , screaming and struggling. The quiet darkness of the drawer would be replaced by a wet, hot, claustrophobic tube of flesh, alive with tremors and vibrations and contractions. The long minutes in that living furnace, the deafening moans and near drowning experience would in turn only lead to the introduction inside the next vagina, where the powerful motions of the excited sexual organ would pump and press on his wretched body . Fighting for his life in the gooey cavern, John would be systematically fingered or tongued deeper and deeper inside the raging anatomy of the young woman.( Often indeed, a huge tongue would render null his attempts to get out of the quickly filling up tunnel.)
It did occur to John that he ought to try and enjoy these sex sessions but the fact remained that he could only get glimpses of extra large close-up views, a few centimetres of skin, hard-to-grasp motions of over large limbs, and close proximity with humongous tit and clits and teeth and folds. Somehow, John lacked the distance to view all the loveliness he knew existed around him. His attempts at re-constructing the semblance of an erotic imagery was always short-lived in the midst of those relentless  earthquakes of flesh.

It would nearly always end up the same way, when, crawling out of their sexes, he would find himself forgotten under bed sheets or under a pillow, or squashed under a  thigh, and more often than not, he would not even get the luxury of contemplating a plan of escape, but get instead immediately placed under a rush of cold water, and set back casually inside his box. Quite often, they would come back for him the same night, with  renewed enthusiasm.

At 2.00 am at the latest, John Hingsley would try and find some sleep again, his body shaking from exhaustion, or his mind reeling with boredom from an uneventful day.  At 6 am the morning after, he would wake up to the same day all over again.

This morning, John Hingsley reviewed the schedule for the day. He knew it was a Wednesday, and on Wednesdays often, Claire would come to spend the night. John waited .

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DAY  542

Images. Her mind, at the moment of climax, always seemed to create images of an extraordinary vividness, totally random in their nature, and usually absolutely not sexual in nature. Anna had just time to register these images during the wondrous moment, before they faded away and acquired the fragility of a dream.
This time the image had shown her rows of white houses, in what seemed to be a seaside landscape. She did not think it odd. Anna dreamily left herself come back to her body, hot, sweaty and still shivering from the ecstasy. She opened her eyes. The room was dimly lit, rays of sun filtering through the slightly opened curtains. The radio from the kitchen nearby was hardly audible, a drone of inconsequential music.

After a minute or  two of  relaxing pause, Anna, concentrating to keep alive the delightful sensations in her body, was unable to repress the slight pang of sadness that always followed her masturbation sessions these days. She missed Claire terribly. And while this self-indulged joy was always all about Claire, her body, her voice, her face and the memory of her touch, it never managed to fully alleviate the pain the absence of her lover created in her.

Claire had been gone for three months already, to Cincinnati, where she was finishing her degree in architecture, while brushing up her English in this far-away university. Three months already and neither Claire nor Anna had managed yet to organize a visit. Anna herself was very busy with her own studies. And they had foolishly agreed it may be good for them, after so many months spent in near symbiosis, to take some distance and allow some time of separation. But the fact was Anna could simply not take Claire off her mind.

Anna sighed, and rolled onto her back, feeling on her body the light cool draft drifting from the window. Pushing away the sheets, she exposed her lower abdomen to the breeze, while absent-mindedly caressing her breast, the sensations no longer arousing but still pleasant.  From within her sex, tiny movements were taking place, insistent and titillating still.  She closed her eyes again, reminiscing the feel of Claire’s hands on her body, and without realizing it, she  slowly drifted into sleep.

She awoke about an hour later, feeling refreshed and content. A glance at the clock told her she had ample time before joining Chloé and Marie at the movie. She stretched her limbs, and yawned, her mind reviewing the evening to come. Her mind was slightly distracted by the sensations from her vagina. The toy, which had one hour ago provided her with a long and perfect session, was busy struggling and squirming, and was apparently trying to exit her sex. (She liked that feature in the toy, it really seemed it had a mind of its own). Anna could feel a tiny hand squeezing through her labia and trying to get a hold on a fold of flesh.  Anna took a minute to enjoy the changing touches inside her, and the little waves of sensations it created in her lower body. Then she squeezed her thighs together, bringing the movements below to a momentary halt, and grabbed the phone to dial Marie’s number and make sure they were on the same page for tonight.

After twenty minutes of idled chat, Anna decided it was time to be more active. She opened her thighs, and let the toy crawl at last out of her sex and land softly in the shadow of her crotch. Sitting up, she saw it between her thighs, wet and weak from its hard work. She took it, gazed at its natural motions and funny mimics for a few seconds. An idea was forming in her mind that suddenly got her wide awake again and out of bed . A smile on her face, she walked decidedly to the bathroom, the toy in her left hand. She left it on the soap holder and took a refreshing shower . Dressed in a short skirt and white blouse, she applied some light make up, dried the toy in a towel, stuffed it in her blouse pocked (she could feel it poking at her breast) and went back in her bedroom. The idea had followed its course in her mind and Anna went excitedly in search of a good strong box. 

John hadn’t expected any of this at all. It was obvious he was now being carried away in the outside world. The din of cars and people and traffic was frightening in its intensity and proximity. Anna was carrying the box under her arm, it seemed, if he trusted his judgement on the regular motions. After a few minutes walking, it became apparent they were in some sort of office, with plenty of people chatting around. John heard Anna say something to someone in French, and the box was violently manipulated and set aside. Then, distressingly, Anna’s voice was nowhere to be heard.

The next two days proved an ordeal to John, tossed around by unseen hands. Fear was very much his companion now, as he could not grasp the situation at all. When the temperature dropped suddenly and the plane took off, John was utterly lost , as to what was happening to him…

DAY 546

Claire was so excited about this, she came back running into her bedroom. The UPS man had dropped this unexpected package and it was obvious it came from Anna. Fumbling on the well-wrapped box, Claire could not wait to see what her companion had sent her.
She let out a tiny yelp of surprise and joy, when she opened at last the cardboard box. Inside was a long letter, adorned with many colourful stickers, the recognizable signature of Anna’s correspondence. The letter (and a recording tape too!) were placed on top of a familiar object, the sight of which sent Claire’s heart into an excited flutter. It was a delightful thought!

Sitting on her bed, Claire read the letter with a warm feeling in her belly. She could smell the slight tinge of Anna’s perfume on the paper, and the letter content was a wonderful acknowledgement of their mutual feelings and longings. Claire had to laugh a few times. Anna’s style was always very funny and warm at the same time. This gift was intended as a bound between them, a messenger of their love, which would allow them to experience closeness again, even though they were an ocean apart. Anna’s instructions were very clear and the idea was both lovely and moving. “How did they not think of this earlier?” thought a delighted Claire.

As it happened, Claire was not sharing her flat that night, her flatmate Deirdre gone to some party to a different part of town. The apartment was all hers and it could not have happened at a better time.
The evening was young still, and Claire quickly checked her agenda. She had promised Trish to accompany her to a gallery opening tonight, but she decided she could really use the evening on her own. She grabbed her phone, and after a few phone calls, she had cleared the way for an evening with Anna.

She prepared herself with as carefully as she would have, if Anna herself had planned to show up tonight on her doorstep. She took a shower, put on a sexy skirt and top, cooked a light dinner, and as per the instructions on the letter, opened a bottle of fine wine and lit a candle. She placed the little toy’s box near her plate, facing her, and inserting the tape in the recorder, let it play. While eating her light diner, she listened to Anna telling her about events of her life in France. It was soooo romantic.

John had quickly realized he was "home" again. Everyone around him was speaking English, American English even. He had listened to the men and women manhandling him for the two days of travel across the country. He was home, and apparently heading for Cincinnati. He screamed and screamed and screamed, calling for help, calling for anyone to just notice him at last but no one ever seemed to hear his tiny voice, muffled as it was in the bubble-wrap inside the package. After many attempts, his throat raw with effort, John Hingsley was left crying bitterly in his cocoon of bubbles, heading for the city. The recipient of the package was of course not too hard to guess….

The assault of light on his eyes had been brutal at first. And the smiling face of Anna’s lover had taken some time to come into focus, as she gazed adoringly at him. Later, set on the table near her plate, John watched her as she ate her vegetarian meal. The mass of food she ingested was staggering to John, even though  he knew this was  only a veggie meal to the girl. Yet the mouthfuls she was taking in were mind-boggling,  Set on a table like some salt shaker, John watched the young woman swallow bits that were nearly as big as he was. His own stomach churned, and it was not out of hunger. Immobilized witness, John listened with Claire to Anna’s voice. Once in a while, a munching Claire would gaze pensively at John, a definitive glint in her eyes. He could do nothing but await what he feared would be a fierce assault on his body…

Setting the toy on her pillow, Claire lied down on her belly and considered the tiny thing. She wasn’t so much looking it, as it gesticulated in front of her face, as she was trying to visualize the toy in the grip of her lover. She knew Anna had touched it very recently; she had applied it to her breasts, mouth, thighs and belly. She had pressed it against her clitoris, against her sex. This tiny man had been privy to her lover’s most intimate regions. Claire eyed the toy intensely.(but keeping it also from running away, with her finger on its back) Its body had a few days ago been hugged by the vagina walls of this beautiful girl, had bathed in her love juices. If it could hear, it would had heard her moans and cry out as she climaxed. .And if only it could talk! What story it would tell!  It would tell her of those inner spaces, those flagrances and textures, the fine skin and hot crevices from Anna’s body, all about which she was so nostalgic of! Seeing it like this , on her pillow, little carrier of a most passionate and mysterious little history, made it so precious, was so hot to her mind, that Claire began to feel the first stirrings of an intense arousal
She brought the toy to her nostrils, and tried to sniff on it the last remnant maybe of lover’s sex. But it only smelled of its own male flagrance, Anna had obviously washed it before sending it. Claire still breathes deeply on it, as if it would intoxicate her with some secret substance. Licking cautiously the warm little body with the very tip of her tongue, she still recognized the almond taste of the soap Anna always used.

The excited young woman took no time to undress and join the toy on the bed. The invisible presence of Anna was near overwhelming. She could feel she was with her, reclining and expectant, pleading Claire to use the toy on her. Claire took it in her hand (it was running again towards to the edge of the bed), and lying on her back, she closed her eyes. She started to kiss the toy slowly, knowing Anna’s lips had done the same two day ago. She could feel the little fists dabbing at her lips and tongue, the tiny squeals gaining in intensity. Slowly fondling her breast, she inserted the toy deep in her mouth and sucked on it meticulously, her mind full of images from their kisses and love-making. Although the toy’s crying was more audible to her, echoing even in her throat it seemed, she was turning them into the fancied moans from Anna. The more she sucked, the more she felt the heat gathering at her loins. Her sucking became slower and harder, and more and more urgent.

Anna always loved to nibble on Claire’s pierced breasts, and she always took her time dealing with them. Claire applied the tiny warm body in a gyratory motion over her nipple, whispering Anna’s name, and it was not long till her nipple stood fully erect under the pressure of the toy. She smiled when the head of the little guy got stuck in her tit- ring. She had to be careful to remove it without damage. She could remember Anna had done the same many times.

Claire, who had always regarded the toy as a mere final accessory for vaginal stimulation, and hadn’t particularly projected on it any fantasies, as Anna easily  did, was for the first time using it with a modicum of emotional attachment and interest. She kissed it, and caressed it, and coaxed it into walking all over her body, imagining Anna was touching her by proxy, through the mediation of the little man. It was exquisite, and soon Claire found herself gasping and moaning; She remembered how Anna loved to crush the toy under her butt, and at times fantasized aloud about it, to the surprise of her lover. It seemed natural to do the same today and, lifting her buttocks, Claire inserted the toy under herself, gently letting her hips rest down again upon it. Although she usually didn’t derive much joy out of this, this time, she did experience a pang of arousal at the sensation of the hopeless struggle under her ass. Biting her finger in wanton abandon, she ground her hips in a circular motion, driving the living toy deep in the mattress. She moaned. Maybe there was something to this fetish after all, she thought, fleetingly.

Using restraint wasn’t usually Claire’s forte in any sex games, and today she had plenty of fun chasing the toy around, crushing it, smothering it, pressing it. She showed no mercy, rubbing every inch of her body, biting it, sucking it, and playfully petting it between two assaults. But at the same time, she was admittedly a bit of a control freak, and that’s how she did manage to slow down her arousal , so as to reach the maximum level of urgency and frustration. After one joyful hour of intense foreplay, she had reached a point where release was demanded by every ounce of her flesh. Kissing the toy a last time (“Anna, thank you, sweetie”, she said aloud in a gasp of anticipation) , she opened her thighs wide, lifting her pelvis high , and inserted the wondrous little body in her wet and now desperate vagina. The little arms fought the insertion delightfully, but the little screams got slowly muffled, and after a few squirming motion, the toy slided easily inside the well lubricated folds. An explosion of sensation suddenly radiated from her inner self, and Claire let out the first cry-out of her coming orgasm.

John Hingsley was truly scared now by the beautiful young woman. As he lay on the pillow, pinned by her finger, he had all the time to look back into the vast green eyes that contemplated him. Never before had he seen Claire look at him like this, almost like a cat staring at a mouse. The hunger in her gaze was overwhelming. Claire had always looked at him with a cold indifference, as one usually looks at a bar of soap or a toothpick. He knew well enough she had only used him so far as an instrument, a mean to an end. And only during the last moments before insertion had she ever watched him with any degree of urgency. Today was different. He could feel, almost taste,  how her gaze was invested with intense longing and with something close to adoration. She did not look at him as an inanimate object, but as if he was her true lover. Anna, on the other hand, had often considered him with intensity, as if, for reason unclear to John, she had tried to will him to life, to be real human being, a fact that had duped his hopes for many weeks, before he could see the fantasy behind it. Claire, today, was looking at him as if she was about to talk to him. It was truly frightening.

His head nearly entered the huge nostril of the strangely intense young woman. His shouts echoed deep inside the vast nose that was near as big as him. She was breathing so deep on him, John could feel his own lungs empty and fill from the force of the gales, as if he was being resuscitated against his will. Moments later he cringed at the sticky slab of a tongue that probed his entire body. His face became drippy from the hot saliva. The grip on his body was rough and kept tightening to the verge of smothering. What was she on? On he went to visit her nipple…

The ordeal started shortly after this strange prelude, and John was left roaming the vast sheet under the shadow of a humongous naked body that hovered over him like a black storm cloud. It would come down on him suddenly, crushingly, trapping him under a gurgling belly, a round thigh, a squishing breast. Claire sat on him for minutes on end, her full weight obliterating his body, trapping him into darkness. Her grinding hips nearly dislocated each of his bones. Running for his life, John Hingsley was now in full panic. The games intensified, the body of the woman a constantly moving landscape into which he was pressed , rolled on, dragged onto, without relent. His head deep into her throat, John breathed in the smell of the recently eaten vegetable, a mammoth epiglottis opening wide under his head.

Blacking out wasn’t John’s habit, but Claire sucked on him so hard, he could feel his blood surging through his body, as if he was a hollow tube. The blackouts were short and frequent, but it seemed to him Claire kept him hours in her mouth. The air he breathed was hardly provided the oxygen he needed.

On and on, he stood his ground, tried to dodge, tried to find a manageable position in this squeezing universe of flesh and heat. Manipulated and dangled and tossed, he tried to keep his focus on one thing: avoid the final crush. Claire was so intensely searching and controlling her arousal he had the feeling she would eventually lose it and kill him under her weight or bite him in two. The moans and gasps and eve- changing pace of her masturbation was panic-inducing to say the least.

Eventually, a moaning Claire took him in an iron grip and the complex geography of her massive crotch approached him. The first collision with her clitoris nearly broke his neck, and he nearly wished it had, when a few minutes later, the long black painted nails of his tormentor opened wide the already pouring entrance of her vagina. John  Hingsley tried of course to resist the young woman,  but he was no match to her desires. His head entered the fleshy tube, and in a second, his body was pushed deep in darkness and heat and smell. The walls of the vagina hugged him tight, throbbing and pulsating. John went deep and then deeper, and for the next half hour, he was not allowed to see the light of day. The monstrous body about him seemed to go into convulsions.

When he had brought her to a thunderous orgasm, John did try to squirm his way out of Claire’s vagina, but a finger lazily pushed him back, just as he was about to get a gulp of fresh air. Within the near liquid confines of the slowly relaxing sex, John Hingsley, ex- board administrator and gentleman of the world, was indeed allowed at last to rest a while in the darkness, lying on his belly in a pool of fluid, the pulsating walls pressing firmly on his back. His heartbeat fell into unison with the vast body’s rhythm , as the distant booms of its giant heart were slowing down to a  more regular pattern. Once in a while, a slight convulsion of the living cell  would allow a very brief ray of light to filter from the entrance ahead. It would hit a very pink fleshy spot and then disappear.

Yet for an eternity , John was unable to come out. It seemed to him the body was moving around, standing and sitting at times, as if Claire had decided to let him inside her for the rest of the evening. He could feel the vast thighs moving. Above him some gurgling sounds possibly indicated she was drinking something. When the light poured from the opening vulva (a large fingertip inserting itself near john’s head) the desperate man launched himself outside. His torso had hardly emerged, his hands fumbling on the now dry folds, his lungs hungry for gulps of fresh air, that he felt two heavy fingers press against him.

His body was lifted above a still naked Claire and came down on the vast rectangular surface of a sheet of paper. The paper still smelled of fresh ink, and John’s mind just about registered the red stain of lipstick at the bottom of the page when he was pressed carefully onto the page. As he was lifted again, the wet greasy contour of a tiny human body was left, a comic signature for a knowing lover.

John squealed and struck his fist against the fingers that held him, as a beaming Claire casually set the page on the desk nearby, passed a towel over his body and started to open a small UPS box.

Claire was pleased with the little imprint on her letter. She knew Anna would like it too. She kissed the toy and was about to encase it in the new bubble wrap she had prepared for postage, when a thought struck her suddenly. The imprint was a good idea, but she thought she could enhance it further. She really wanted Anna to smell her joy, to smell the orgasm she had with her . She looked at the toy. Maybe she shouldn’t have cleaned her juices off the little body, then.

Throwing herself back on the bed, the young woman closed her eyes and smiled lazily, conjuring up images of her lovely Anna. It wasn’t long before her hand wandered along her body and brought the toy against her clitoris. Every little contact brought out a funny tiny scream from the toy, but also a tingling sensation that was the promise of more ecstasy. Claire passed her tongue upon her lips, and sighed happily. She kept pressing the struggling toy on her now sensitive clitoris. Gently. Gently. Very gently, at first….

DAY 550

John woke up in the darkness of the box. Tremors and loud noises were erupting all around him. The voices were definitely conveying a French accent. In a few hours, his box would be resting in the hands of an excited Anna, eager to share her joy with her favourite little messenger…

Tbc