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.