Their new life began in darkness. Most likely, their new life, their entire life, would end in darkness, too. Then again, miracles do happen. In a world in which someone can be shrunken down to a few inches tall, anything was possible. Usually bad things, but one should never give up hope, right? Though, if anyone would be allowed to give up hope, it would be the collection of shrunken people being transported in a box.

Their entire journey was an oppressive one. Put into a box of near complete darkness. The only light they had were the thin beams that filtered in through the air holes at the top of the box. The people also had no means of exploration; though it would be a short and dull exploration. Each one was bound in place. A linked chain of air-filled bags had been fitted inside the box. A shrunken person was squeezed into each gap between bags, securing them in place. Though the bondage was soft, and oddly comfortable, it was still bondage. Bondage none of them wanted.

They knew people were out there. Outside the box. People who could help. Despite their pleas, they either went unheard or ignored. Most likely the former, since the woman transporting them was singing loudly along to pop music in her car. However, given that was the same woman who put them in the box, their pleas would have gone ignored, too.

Finally, they arrived. After being handed over, the trapped people heard a string of appreciative words with a British accent. More importantly, it was a new voice. With renewed hope, they began their pleas again, in earnest. They accomplished nothing. Some believed she just didn’t hear them and gained hope. Others believed she must have, but didn’t care, and gained despair. The end result would likely, but not assuredly, be the same for all, regardless. It just changed how accepting each would be of the end. Given how most would end up, acceptance would be unlikely.

The box was torn open excitedly. Going from trickles of light to a flood forced all the box mates to shut their eyes and look away. When her voice sounded, what other choice did they have but to look? It was so chipper, so hopeful, so excited. Not necessarily the tones a potential rescuer would have upon seeing their condition. However, a happy giantess would be more agreeable and reasonable than an angry one. They hoped.

Eyes once adjusted looked up at the visage of their new owner. She was cute. That was their first thought. Well, their first thought was actually, Holy fuck she’s big! She could crush us all! She might crush us all! Dear god help me! But by now that’s expected, so why mention it? …Oops. Anyway, she was cute. Adorable, even. Auburn hair that had a noticeable shine to it. Hair was in a style that could be described as “organized mess.” It looked chaotic, but it ironically had an order to it. A thick pixie cut that displayed and hid all the right features of her face. Enticing and mysterious. Fun and cute.

Big, curious, chestnut colored eyes. A cute button nose at center stage. A smattering of freckles sprinkled across the bridge and fading against her cheeks. Surprisingly plump limps for someone so seemingly slight. Finally, a voice that seemed so inviting, so caring, that they all forgot the situation they were in. “Ello, loves!”

Each one spoke up with their own distinct pleas for help. Some were panicked. Some were angry. Some were begging. All in different stages of grief (except acceptance). The woman just smiled a warm, comforting smile. Why is she smiling? Is she amused? they all thought. “You’re all so adorable!” she complimented.

The British woman made little work of the bubble chain inside the box that bond them. Each fell back onto the cardboard bottom. The link thrown away, she grabbed the box and walked it to another room. She kept the box at level with her stomach as she walked, lightly rumbling the occupants. Amazed eyes scanned up along her white tank top, stretched out across her perky C-cup breasts. Those who managed to peel their eyes away from her chest, hopping with each step, saw the logo for a flight school between her braless breasts. One of those who saw the logo recognized it. Recognized her.

“Oh…oh my god. That’s Tracer! That’s Tracer!” a single person yelled. Some were dismissive of his claim. Others were still coming to terms with the situation. Lacking support, he still called out to her. “Tracer! Tracer please help us! Tracer, please!” He was, in fact, right. It was the one and only British cherry bomb: Tracer.

As the box was placed on the counter, Tracer began to recognize her name being called out. “Well ‘ello there, cutie!” Tracer chipperly greeted. His waving arms singled him out, making it easy for Tracer to target him, gently pick him up, and place him on her warm palm. “What’s all the ruckus about?”

“Tracer! Is it really you?” Tracer nodded. “Oh, thank God! You’ve got to help us, please! We were shrunk down or something, I don’t know how. Either way, you gotta help us! Please, Tracer, please!”

“Oh. My. God.” Tracer reacted, giving each word a moment to impact fully. “I absolutely love when you recognize me!” the British babe beamed. “I don’t know how they do it, but it’s just…” Tracer paused to squeal with delight. “Ah it’s so cute! It makes you seem so realistic.”

He was flabbergasted. Taken aback by her reaction, but not without hope, he pressed again. “Tracer…please! You have to help us. We’re just innocent people. You’re a hero!”

Tracer felt no small amount of pride rush to her heart. She also felt no small amount of arousal surge to her loins. “Of course, I’m a ‘ero, love. I love ‘elpin’ people! But you’re not people, are ya?”

Once again stunned by her allegations, but not defeated, he countered with shaky words. “We’re not…people? No, we are people! Real people. Living people. People who need your help!”

She shivered again at his pleas. “Well, ‘ate to say it, love, but you aren’t. You’re clones, or constructs, or something. Lab grown. That’s all I really know. I ‘eard it from a friend, and she didn’t seem very clear on the science of it.” Because the ‘science of it’ was a lie. They were real people. They knew that. It’s just that she didn’t. “I mean, if you were actually real people? No way could I do what I’m planning to do with you.”

“What…” his mind raced, pausing his reaction as he tried to parse it all. “What are you going to do with us?”

Tracer’s eyebrows went high and her hand covered her mouth. “Oops! Said too much, already. I prefer it if I keep you guessing. Keeps things lively, and today has to be perfect.” With that ominous and vague statement, Tracer sent the inquisitive man back into the box. She had much to do and little time to do it. She knew she couldn’t keep fraternizing with them, as fun as it was.

The occupants found themselves tumbling out of the box as Tracer tilted it toward a large, glass mixing bowl. The surface was slick and smooth. The tinies bumped into one another, piling up in the center before they could get their bearings. As they stood, they peered out through the glass, watching Tracer busy herself in the kitchen. From their new position, they could see that, in addition to the tank top, she wore a pair of jean cut-off shorts. Not one person in the bowl didn’t take a moment to admire Tracer’s plump peach being constrained in the form fitting shorts. As she reached up to a higher cabinet, kicking one bare foot up as she reached for something on the top shelf, one of the occupants spoke up. Though it wasn’t anything useful.

“Good God would you look at that perfect little dumpster,” he said in a thick accent. “What I wouldn’t give to sink my teeth into those rosy cheeks.”

They were all shocked by his statements, but more so by the casualness he seemed to be applying to the situation. “What the fuck are you talking about?” one of the victims spoke up. “We need to figure out a way out of here!”

“Nah, there’s no way out,” he said with a confidence. “Even if we did, where we gonna go, eh? Live like a bunch of rats inside the walls, nibbling on crumbs? Fuck that. We’re checking out, mate. Might as well do it with a smile,” he said, stroking the glass as he imagined all the things he wanted to do to Tracer’s bum.

“We can’t give up hope,” came a feminine, unsure, voice from behind him. “We just have to get out, get help, and someone can turn us back.”

“Aint no way we’re turning back, lass,” he grumbled, annoyed his fantasy, about Tracer sitting down on a glass table while he laid underneath, was interrupted.

“What makes you so sure, asshole?” an equally annoyed man grimaced. As they continued to argue, Tracer continued to get ready. She grabbed numerous supplies and ingredients, though no one but her knew her recipe.

“Cause I was a bloke who worked on this shrinking tech, you twit!” the lewd man barked, finally turning away from watching Tracer bend over.

Everyone in the bowl but him was stunned. Had they heard right? Was he actually to blame for their situation? They couldn’t believe it. They wouldn’t believe it. But curiosity is a key human trait, even when that human is shrunken down.

“Shrinking tech?” someone parroted. “You mean you knew about this? You did this to us?” she continued with increasing anger.

“Fuck off with that noise, lass, I didn’t do shite to you,” he dismissed. “I just worked with the person who developed it.” He looked around at everyone’s confused, and angry, faces. He felt it best to maybe diminish his role in the invention. “Well, under the person who developed it. I didn’t actually develop it; I just brought her subjects.”

“Who? Who did this?!” a particularly angry man yelled, throwing himself against the source of anger and pinning him to the glass wall.

“Fuck off of me, you cunt!” he barked, using his large build and strength to knock the man away. “Comin’ at me with butt naked, getting’ your bits against mine. Fuck off.” His homophobic moment gone, he continued. “And what does it matter who made it? You gonna pull a cellphone out your arse and call her up? You ‘opin’ to go on a mission of revenge, John Wick?”

“Just tell us who it is,” a woman said with more calmness in her voice than was actually in her heart.

“Moira. Moira O’Deorain. Y’happy?” He answered. “Anyone of you know ‘er, then?” No one spoke up. “Didn’t think so. Fuckin’ wouldn’t matter if ye did. If she stole my mass, y’think she’d give two shits and a piss ‘bout any of you lot?” There was hurt in his voice. It was clear he felt betrayed by her.

“But you know how it works,” a hopeful man spoke up. “You know how to turn us back?”

“I fuckin’ do not, lad,” he gravely answered. He turned his attention back to Tracer once he noticed her bending over again. “No one does. Not even Moira ‘erself. Takin’ mass is easy. Givin’ mass is impossible.” For now, he thought. “So, I suggest you lot just shut the fuck up and try to enjoy yourselves. Meet the Reaper with a smile.”

Everyone shook their heads in disgust at his behavior, at his outlook, at his supposed culpability in their situation. While most were ready to just ignore him and focus on a way out, one man had had enough. Screaming, he leaped on his back and slammed his head against the glass. The fight had commenced. Surprisingly, the angry man had pinned the dismissive one, the one everyone hated. Punch after punch was thrown until finally the fight was broken up. By Tracer.

“Whoa there!” she said from across the kitchen, seeing the tinies brawling in the middle of the bowl. Before another punch could be thrown, she grabbed the man on top and pulled him off the bigger chap. “I can’t ‘ave you fighting! You’re going in time out, mister,” she said to the man pinched between her fingers. Reaching back, Tracer pulled open the tight pocket on her left cheek and slid the offender inside. The pocket closed back easily, pinning the man against her butt. She felt every wiggle and squirm. A shiver ran up her spine and came out through her throat as a moan.

“Ah come on!” the bloody man left in the bowl yelled. “Put me in time out! I deserve it!” he yelled through his bloody, smiling, mouth. Tracer ignored him and resumed her preparations, which didn’t take much longer. “Lucky bastard,” he said, smiled faded, watching the distinct bulge in her pocket struggle against her plump cheek.

Everything set, Tracer gave a determined nod and got to work. Reaching into her pocket, Tracer grabbed the man who had unwittingly volunteered himself to go first. Tracer easily pinned him to a sheet of wax paper. He squirmed and struggled but made no headway. He watched, intrigued, as she dipped what looked like a thin paintbrush into a container. A thick, warm, pink coating was then applied to his body. It smelled like strawberries.

Tracer delicately moved her hand down as she applied the coating, doing her best to keep him pinned but also keep his body as straight as possible. Arms at his side, legs together. It wasn’t easy, but she knew he wouldn’t cooperate, an she was determined to do it right. His front covered, Tracer swiftly pinched him at his shoulders and applied the coating to the back. The man was now covered from his toes to just below his collar bone. He had been coated in a thick, strawberry candy coating.

Naturally he struggled against it. While he did manage to move a bit, it wasn’t nearly enough to make a difference. The liquid coating was so thick it didn’t even drip as he was held aloft. What’s more, it quickly dried in the open, cooling air. That wouldn’t be the end of it, though.

Next, Tracer carried him over to the fondue pot. Her hand carried him like a crane. She at least knew not to hold him by his head. They were durable, but no reason to risk it. The sweetened man looked down at the fondue pot below. It looked to him as a pot of bubbling brown substance. Is that…chocolate? He thought. Confirmation would come soon enough.

Down into the hot pot he was dipped. The chocolate was hot. Very hot. Hot enough to have been melted quickly. Luckily for him, most of that was offset by the candy coating around him. Nevertheless, he could feel a lot of the heat even through the candy. He could feel it coming up off the surface his head was just above, too. It promised a far more damaging temperature if his coating failed. He started to scream, but Tracer kept him inside. “Just a few more seconds, love,” she promised.

Out he came, just as she promised. The twice-coated man hovered over the bowl briefly; long enough for a droplet of melted chocolate to fall into the bowl. It landed with a searing splat. Thankfully all the occupants had the wits to move back from it before it fell. They could feel the heat of it. They could hear the heat of it.

Meanwhile, Tracer helped with the cooling process by gently blowing onto candy-bound man. Gentle little streams of air all over him. She was delicate enough to not disturb the chocolate as it quickly dried. She gave just enough air to cool it faster.

“Oy!” the half-beaten man yelled up. “I got something you can blow, lass!” His proposition was aided with a sincere grab at his crotch. Tracer’s eyes cut down at him as he boasted. Normally it was a behavior she wouldn’t allow, but at his size he was no threat. So rather than tell him off, she gave him a wink that forced him to blush. “Fuckin’ ‘ell I lucked out with this one,” he said to himself.

“Lookin’ good, lookin’ good,” she said to her candy creation. The candy had all cooled and hardened around the man. It wasn’t completely even, but that was to be expected. The important thing was he was entirely covered in a coating of chocolate and strawberry. Entirely covered except for his head, of course. She didn’t want him to suffocate. Not like that. “Only one way to know for sure it worked, though…” she began, licking her lips.

The process had taken a lot out of him. He was ready to collapse into a deep sleep. That was, until he saw her mouth open. Ropes of saliva connected the bottom to the top. As the maw widened, the ropes became thinner and thinner. They were all broken when her tongue came gliding across the top row of ivory incisors. A breathy moan soared out of her throat. It was hot and sudden, like the heat when opening the door to a sauna. The candy had dried enough to allow her to pinch him at his waist, though he couldn’t feel it.

When you’re as small as he was, the actions of larger creatures, like Tracer, seemed to move in slow motion. You’re able to pick up on finer details and subtle twitches you wouldn’t normally see. He saw it all. He saw her tongue twitch with anticipation. He saw her lips quiver with desire. He saw her nostrils flair with excitement. He even saw her cheeks flush as she thought about how naughty she was being. He just wished he could move, to struggle. He wanted to press back against her wettened lips, to kick at her squirming tongue as it dragged itself across his face for that initial taste. It wouldn’t have mattered, but at least he would have gone out swinging.

He felt her breath quicken as he was placed on her tongue. The scent coming from her throat smelled like half-digested chips and fresh cider. The salty tart odor surrounded him when her mouth closed. He wasn’t all the way in, he could tell. He couldn’t feel her lips smushed around his hips, but he could tell. Bit by bit he was being suckled further into her mouth. All the while her tongue, with its soft but not bumpy surface, stroked at his body and face. When her mouth opened again to invite more of him in, he could see the center of her tongue had a chocolate streak across it. Tracer’s hungry mouth made quick work of the chocolate coating.

The people below watched and bellowed. A chorus of cries came up begging her to stop. Begging anyone to stop her. It seemed liked Tracer couldn’t hear them. Nothing could be further from the truth, however. Tracer heard them loud and clear and delighted in their pleas.

Tracer enjoyed being a hero. It was her passion, her calling. Helping people is what she did, and she loved doing it. However, nothing got her hotter than being a little bad. She had encountered several villains in her tenure, and those that weren’t nameless drones made an impression on her. Tracer enjoyed doing good, but she could tell that they loved being bad. The delight on their faces promised a sexual thrill running through their body. Tracer wanted that. Tracer got that. She was able to live out those naughty, evil, fantasies with the miniature people. People whom she assumed were just synthetic creations. Creations with just enough intelligence to beg for their lives, to have small personalities. It made the experience that much better for her. Ignorance was bliss.

All the chocolate had been sucked off, easily, but the strawberry candy coating took longer. It was thicker, more resilient to her suctions and licks. That didn’t mean she’d give up. Certainly, she was tempted to roll the man over to her teeth and bite down, hoping to crack the shell and swallow him sooner rather than later. However, she didn’t want to risk hurting him. She wanted him in top shape when he went below.

The saliva was building up the more she enjoyed him. Her salivations flooded him and washed against his face. It was never present enough to drown him, though. As soon as it splashed against him, it was sucked down into her throat. He listened to every gulp she made as the strawberry flavored spit was swallowed into her guts.

A ray of hope came to him. He could move! Not well, but he could. The candy coating was thin enough for him to break free. Maybe I can get out of here! He thought. What he assumed was a beacon of hope, was anything but. Because when Tracer felt him squirming, fighting, against her tongue, punching against the palette, she knew he was ready. The tongue lifted and tilted back, and the man began to slide down.

He felt around for salvation but couldn’t see anything. What’s more, everything he did grab was wet and soft. And her suction was stronger than him anyway. First his feet hit her throat. The muscles were strong and eager. They squeezed him so hard he thought his legs would burst as they slid inside. He wouldn’t be so lucky as to die in her throat, though, no matter how gruesome. The throat began pulling him down, each gulp signaling to the survivors below that her muscles were giving it their all to force the man down.

Those same survivors, for however long they would hold that title, watched as the lump uneasily made its way down her neck. Tracer held her delicate fingers to her throat. As she felt the squirming bump move down, she got wet. Very wet. She had to give several good gulps in order to get him down. Tracer was used to smaller sized tinies, as they were cheaper. However, D.Va had given her the bigger, but not biggest, kind as a present. She couldn’t have been happier as she felt just how good it was to have a tiny of his size inside her. Size did matter.

The inside of her stomach was tight, but it would accommodate. He pushed back against the snug confines. This delighted Tracer to no end. The scent inside was powerful. No longer did he just smell chips, cider, and candy. He smelled the digestive acids that were trying to get rid of them. The same acids that would try to get rid of him. He didn’t know if being able to see would have made things easier. He did know that the dark made him panic more, though. To be inside her stomach, and to have no idea where anything was, to have no means of seeing what was coming next, terrified him. His screams vibrated throughout Tracer.

Her delicate, murderous, hand ran along her stomach, bunching up her shirt and exposing her pale, twitching, belly. Tracer’s fingertips shivered against the feeling of the man kicking and punching in her gut. Her eyes fluttered at the thought of her body completely dominating a total stranger. He was ‘dying,’ and all for her pleasure. An entire life, his whole future, taken away just so she could get off. Her fantasy was removing any sense of modesty she had. With all those tiny eyes upon her, she kept one hand on her stomach and one hand popped the top button on her shorts. The zipper fell just enough for her to fit her slender fingers into the tight confines of her shorts and orange panties.

“Oh, fcuk yes,” the gruff man said. He held one hand against the glass while the other began to vigorously stroke his shameless growth. He watched Tracer rhythmically massage her labia and clit, while rubbing her stomach and thinking about the life she claimed, as he pleasured himself to her.

“Jesus Christ,” a woman said, completely ignoring the lewd and crude acts of shameless masturbation before her. “She just…she ate him!”

“Well what the fuck did you think was gonna happen?” the masturbating man said, not slowing down his pumps for a second. “We’re in a fuckin’ kitchen, you stupid twat.”

“Shut the fuck up before I kick your ass!” a man said while trying to console the inconsolable woman.

“Do whatever you wa-ah-ah-ahhhh-nt,” he replied, shooting his seed against the glass mid-sentence. “I’m all done,” he proudly said, as if his speed and disregard for horror in the face of arousal was something to be proud of.

“I can’t believe it,” another person said, sitting on the glass and watching as Tracer moaned and shuddered, masturbating in front of the people she refused to rescue. Pleasuring herself after consuming a human life, brazenly in front of others. Even believing that they were just creations that looked and sounded human, to get off on that shocked the troubled woman. “She…she ate him…and now she’s…getting off?”

“Eh, not too surprising,” the satisfied man said, continuing to watch Tracer and rubbing himself, hoping to get hard again and get another shot off before she finished. “They’re all like that.”

“The hell are you talking about?” someone asked, confused and angry. “Who?”

“Women,” he simply replied. His eyes never left the sight of Tracer cupping her breast and pinching her nipple through her shirt. Upon seeing the outline of a piercing through it, he got hard enough to start stroking. “Dunno why. As soon as a woman gets ‘er mitts on a tiny, she gets really fuckin’ ‘orney. Moira thought it was some residual substance from the shrinking process, acting as an aphrodisiac. But if you want my opinion?” He was interrupted by someone answering, “We don’t,” but he continued anyway. “I just think they get off on the power. That’s all sex is, after all. Power.” Any gravitas in his explanation was undercut by the shuddering in his voice caused by jerking off.

Diligent as he was, he didn’t finish by the time Tracer did. Despite her brazen display, she was surprisingly shy as she came. Her knees buckled as if to try and hide her privates. Her lips curled inward to muffle her moans. And her eyes slammed shut to avoid seeing a world that might judge her. “Fuckin’ beaut’, she is,” the man said after stopping his own self-pleasure. He was in awe of her beauty, while everyone else was just terrified.

Tracer ran her clean hand through her hair, getting it out of her eyes, and cleared her throat. “Woo, that was…sorry about that,” she apologized. The man below shouted, “No problems ‘ere, lass!” but her head was still throbbing, and her focus was elsewhere, so she didn’t hear him. “Now then, back to work.” With sticky, wet, fingers, Tracer took each shrunken person and applied the same coating process to them as she did to the first one. They all thought they would be eaten right away, but instead Tracer just put them aside into a shallow box.

When she was finished, Tracer admired her work. Each tiny’s coating looked smoother than the last. Practice made perfect. Upon looking at the time, Tracer went from proud to panicked. “Bullocks! I gotta get dressed!” she said to herself. Against the protests of her candy-coated victims, Tracer placed the lid onto the opaque box.

There were no airholes inside the box, but it wasn’t sealed shut, so air did get in. They felt the box move; bounce around. They were being carried. It was a short trip, at least. Tracer’s footsteps were becoming distant. She had left them there.

“We need to get out of here!” a determined man said while struggling against the candy.

“Give it a fuckin’ rest, why don’t ya? There is no getting out, you daft cunt,” said you-know-who.

“Some of us don’t want to be here, asshole!”

“You think I do?” he shouted back honestly. “I didn’t want this anymore than you lot. But it’s what I’ve been given, and there’s no way out, so I’m just going to make the best of a bad situation.”

“Yea,” a woman said sarcastically. “I could tell by the stain you left on the bowl.”

The man chuckled. “You could ‘ave asked nicely and I’d ‘ave given you a final ‘oorah. In fact, I think…yea, I think if I can move my hips enough…I can give Tracer some salted chocolate!”

“Pig!” she said. Before anyone else could chime in, they heard a door unlock, along with a fresh set of footsteps.

“Lena?” they heard a feminine, unfamiliar, voice call out.

“I’ll be right there!” Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton yelled back. True to her word, Tracer came sprinting back into the room where her guest waited, along with the box.

“Lena? You look gorgeous!” the tinies heard the woman say.

“This old thing?” Tracer giggled. “Come, sit, I got you something.”

The two women went to sit down on the couch, facing the box sitting on the coffee table. Without warning, the lid was pulled off, and once again the people inside had to have their eyes adjust. When they looked up, they saw a second woman, with red hair and wide, amazed eyes to match her excited smile.

“Ta da!” Tracer declared. “Chocolate covered strawberries,” she revealed. “Your favorite, Emily.”

“Oh, Lena,” Emily cooed. “They’re perfect.”

“Happy anniversary,” Tracer softly said, pressing her nose against Emily’s and giving her an Eskimo kiss.

“Happy anniversary.”