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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But… how? 

He felt a dread seeping through him. 

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

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

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

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

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