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.