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Author's Chapter Notes:

In which Emma tries to solve the problem of cheating on her boyfriend. A teensy bit of crush but mostly plot.

Emma leaned up against the wall, naked except for the pair of panties she had slid on to catch the seepage, drinking her tea and watching her bare naked sex toy do the dishes. That ass of his was incredible. She couldn't stop watching it. She took a sip, staring in fascination as his muscles turned and shifted when he put a clean dish on the drying rack and grabbed a new one to scrub.

How did he get it looking that good? And how had he kept it that way? As far as she knew, there wasn't a gym in her vagina, so he certainly hadn't been doing any squats while trapped in there. And what about Dominique? Surely she hadn't just been his physical trainer for the last few weeks. Did being shrunken give him some sort of supernatural physical fitness? She couldn't say, but there was no way that the butt she was staring at was totally natural.

Emma huffed, and took another sip. A tight body with no effort? Sign me up, please.

She was fooling herself, she knew. This moment of satisfied superiority was an illusion. Her boyfriend... ex-boyfriend, now, in all likelihood... had walked in on her with another man inside her. It was going to be a huge mess to clean up; the tabloids had caught more than a few pictures of them together, so they knew what was going on, and they would key into a breakup even if they kept it subtle.

Of course, she didn't trust Seamus to keep it subtle for a moment. The cunt would flee to the the first TV show that gave him time to talk about how she had "betrayed" him. Just the thought of seeing that interview on the BBC made her grind her teeth, and it got even more complicated from there.

She could do some damage control. She could hear her manager's voice in her ear: lie, tell them that the relationship was trouble, that you had told them you were on a break. He was just jealous, he was just trying to take her down, "these allegations have no merit, and, honestly, I'm shocked..." Deflect, deny, accuse. But all of that would, ultimately, hinged entirely on her new human sex toy. The tight ass that was cleaning her dishes right now.

Emma slurped up more tea... God, that was one juicy booty... Unfortunately, she'd have to drag him in front of the cameras if she was going to tie this whose sordid affair into a narrative that favored her, and that was the absolute last thing she wanted to do.

But Dominique said, right? He was loyal, she just had to maintain that loyalty. He was broken in. There was some work to do, but she could trust this guy with her life. He was exactly what she had paid for, all she had dreamed of.

Emma chewed on her lip. Ahh, she had fucked up. There was no path out of this that would be better than if she had just left well enough alone. Why the hell had she even reached out to the Program in the first place?

Aaron slid the last plate into the drying rack, flicked beads of water off his fingertips into the sink, and turned around. Emma caught her eyes casting downwards... Sure, that ass was fine, but that wasn't the body part that she would write home about... What would it be like for her if she was the tiny one, and he was in charge? She'd get to know that swinging dick intimately, she was sure, but, beyond that...

She purged the thoughts, and tossed back the rest of her tea. "Here," she said, extending the empty cup to him, "You missed one."


Her expression turned hard, and he froze. After a long, quiet moment of indecision, he lifted his head to meet her eyes, with no small amount of fear in his face. She held that stare for a second, then said quietly, "Yes, mistress."

"Yes, mistress," he whispered back.

She pushed the dirty teacup into his hands and span on her heel, returning to her room to clean up and get dressed. She cast her eyes back for only a second... God, that ass... and slipped into her room.

Aaron had been shrunk to barely three inches tall the moment he finished doing the dishes, then snapped up off the ground and deposited on Emma's desk right beside her keyboard. He stood there, not totally sure what the hell Emma wanted from him, as she typed furiously. From where he stood, her fingers were snakes as tall as he was and as thick around as his torso, striking with terrifying precision and a deafening sound over and over again. Her hands and her arms were even worse. They shifted with incredible speed and terrifying randomness; it was a challenge to restrain himself from cringing every time the massive bulk of her body moved.

Emma wasn't even paying attention to him; that was the worst part. She wasn't trying to torture him, but, at his size, she could do it without meaning to. He was forced to stand next to the keyboard, to bear witness to the chaotic motion and deafening noise of her typing, and, even though she clearly had no intention of doing anything to him, he had a front-row seat to anything she did try to do.




The noise. The chaos. It was too much. It took a second for Aaron to realize that he was sitting on his ass, driven down by the sheer volume and violence of whatever the hell the giantess had done.

"...went well. We had broken off our relationship weeks ago, and I had hoped that..." Emma stopped speaking, and looked down at him. He only just barely realized that she had been talking, but she seemed displeased. "Are you listening?"

Aaron nodded, and the giantess looked back up at her screen and continued. "I had hoped that he would be discreet about..." She paused, and frowned. "No..."

She was silent for a moment, facing her computer screen, but her eyes were scanning, unfocused. She was clearly lost in thought. Aaron dared to raise his voice, "Excuse me, Mistress?"

The giantess' glazed-over eyes snapped to him instantly, and her expression grew dark. "Do you care about this?" she demanded. "The only reason I'm writing this copy is for you. I could just call my manager..." She put an imaginary phone to her head and spoke in a singsong voice, tilting her head mockingly as she spoke, "Hi, my boyfriend caught me cheating on him. Yeah, it's bad. Could you make this not my problem anymore? Thanks, you're the best!"

She made a show of hanging up her phantom phone, then stared at Aaron. "I've got press," she said, with a finality that implied that he was supposed to know what the hell that meant. "So I either get a solid story, or people start asking questions. Is that what you want?"

Aaron didn't want anything more. If he got lucky, he'd be free of Emma, and Dominique wouldn't be implicated in this grand conspiracy she seemed to be fighting. He couldn't say that, of course, so he just shook his head and stayed quiet. Emma sighed and slumped backwards in her chair, staring at the screen in front of her. After a few seconds of silence, she kicked herself away from the desk and stood up. "Floor," she commanded.

Aaron obliged wordlessly, stepping off the edge of the desk and into the void. He was growing as he fell, so rapidly that he didn't really fall so much as his legs just extended to meet the floor. "You try," she said. "Try to write something that makes him look like the bad guy, but doesn't look like I'm trying to make him look like the bad guy."

God, she was a cold-hearted bitch. It had barely been an hour since she had been caught cheating, and here she was already trying to ruin the man who had caught her. And she was enlisting Aaron to help. Uncertainly, he sat his naked ass down in the leather chair, the seat still warm, and looked at the short statement she had drafted up in Word; was it supposed to be a press release? An email? A speech? And what the hell did he know about writing that sort of stuff?

Whatever it was, it was pretty cold. Distant, indignant, and dishonest. According to this, they had been broken up for weeks. She was in a new relationship now, and she had been trying to keep her private affairs private, and she didn't know why he was suddenly going to the media now with 'these baseless accusations.' It ultimately made it a matter of her word against his, which was probably already a daunting mismatch given her celebrity status, but he would bet that she wasn't going to be satisfied with a 'he-said-she-said' situation. She would want a third party to back her up.

Aaron was the only choice for that third party. So whatever words he put into this letter would quickly come back around to bite him in the ass. Was there anything that he could say that would cue anyone, anywhere, into his situation? Any codeword or cipher he could key into the statement that would end this nightmare for him? Time was short, and he was coming up blank.

He had nothing. Emma had proven herself more clever at stuff like this at every turn. Any attempt at subverting her effort would only spoil his thin chance at freedom. Instead, he made a show of studying the document, then painstankingly went about changing every 'happy' to 'glad,' even opening up a thesaurus for good measure. He didn't have much to work with, so he worked as slowly as he could, until he heard Emma scoff from behind him.

"Right, so nobody taught you how to write," Emma said. "Right, you're done."

Abruptly, he started to shrink. He fell into himself as quickly as he had grown, maybe even faster. It only took a few seconds, but he found himself quickly seated awkwardly on the vast sea of leather of the giantess' computer chair. The smell of ass wafted up from the ground beneath him, overwhelming at his size. Aaron had literally been inside Emma's asshole, so it was far from the worst thing he had ever experienced, but it was still repulsive.

A shadow cast across him, and he looked up to see Emma's sweatpant-clad butt hanging overhead, ready to slam down on top of him. He let out a shout, but it was too late. The giantess crashed into her seat, and he just barely had the good fortune to survive the impact unharmed, standing intact in the gap between her legs.

The force of the giantess' weight striking the chair had knocked him clear off his feet, and he looked up at the massive, living skycraper that towered over him. The baggy, formless sweatshirt she wore obscured her face from this angle, and turned her entire body into a formless mound of loose-fitting cotton. A single strand of auburn hair clung to one of the cloth folds, its split ends dangling only feet above him. He reached up and grabbed it; even at this size, it was weightless and ephemeral, and it dislodged from its resting place and floated down on top of him.

The strand of hair was just big enough to kind of tickle. He brushed it off and climbed to his feet. Above him, the giantess was seated upright in her chair, motionless but for her hands; he could hear her typing and he could see her arms moving sublty every which way as she did so. The smell of a thousand farts imbibed into the seat beneath him was completely overwhelmed by the fishy stench of the massive woman's pussy, which washed over him despite the layers of clothes between him and the source. He was too small and too close.

Emma leaned back with a sigh and a crashing cacophony of creaking as the back of the chair absorbed her weight. Then, without warning, her left thigh came barreling towards him, knocking him back on his ass, but stopping just before it rolled over him, and her right thigh lifted up, crossing overhead to land on top of her left thigh. The motion was so rapid, so chaotic, so overwhelming in its size and scale that it took a moment for him to realize how inconsequential it had been to her.

She had crossed her legs. That's it. She probably didn't even realize she had done it.

But now he was trapped in an interesting prison. The seat of her computer chair was his floor and one of her thighs was his wall, while the other was his ceiling, hanging so low overhead that he couldn't do anything but crawl. His only escape was the loose curtain of the cloth of her sweatpants, and he wasn't sure if it was a good idea, but he decided to make his way there regardless. He was safe here, for now, but he would probably be safer somewhere else.

His only warning was the creaking of her chair and the squeaking of leather as Emma uncrossed her legs. The thigh that had been his ceiling came crashing down on top of him, driving him helplessly into the seat and squashing all hope of escape. Even through the layer of her sweatpants, the heat was suffocating, and the pressure was brutal.

He could barely breathe. It felt like a punishment, but, according to Dominique, they were supposed to have a new relationship now, one where arbitrary torture was not the norm. So the only other thing this could be was carelessness. Was this really what he could expect from now on from the giantess while she had him shrunken?

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