The flight was canceled. All flights for the day had been canceled for the weather. Her indulgent masturbation session had not only cost her a thousand dollars, it had also cost her more than twenty four hours, and an unfortunate night in some dingy Long Island hotel. It had also been phenomenally stupid, she realized, now that her frustration with her delay had cleared her head of the excitement and eroticism that had polluted her judgement before. Sure, lounge bathrooms were the closest approximation to privacy that one could get in an international airport, but to masturbate in one? Using a missing person as her toy? If she was trying to fly under the radar and bring her new companion home as her lifetime slave, that wasn't the way to do it.

Well, what's done is done. She had no indication that anyone had caught her doing it, so she was in the clear... Probably. She had spent a ton of time working with law enforcement while designing her app's protections, though, and she knew that they wouldn't swoop in until they had something absolutely bulletproof on you. If she had fucked up... really, truly fucked up... she wouldn't know until it was too late.

God, she couldn't wait to be done with New York.

After half an hour waiting for the airport shuttle, twenty minutes driving to the hotel, and another twenty minutes standing in line behind all the other people who had been consigned to a similar fate, Anita was standing in her tiny room, staring at the pathetic accommodation. Two beds were packed beside each other, a thin nightstand with a kitschy lamp to separate them, with a window-mounted air conditioner humming obnoxiously in the corner. When she parted the curtains, she had a wonderful view of a half-empty parking lot, and the dumpster that filled three of the spots in it.

She snapped the curtains shut and groaned. What a shithole.

She crashed onto the bed and held up her phone, tapping over to her special version of the Syze app. Maybe, if she was stuck here for the night, she could have at least a little bit of fun. She had that little man... Braden, right? He was stuck in her stomach, but she was getting a little bit peckish despite the bulk of his body filling her belly. She could order a pizza, or she could try to find someone on the app to fill her appetite.

The cruelty of it brought a grin to her face. She could find another woman, shrink her against her will, and swallow her whole. After an hour, maybe two, Braden and the strange woman would eventually decide that, hey, we're both trapped here together, let's fuck. There would be no way for Anita to knew when it happened, but it would happen eventually. And then she would rescind the other girl's protections entirely.

Her stomach, starving and teased for hours by a body that it could not digest, would make short work of the girl. Braden would have no choice but to watch as the woman, his lover of convenience, was slowly murdered by his goddess; her flesh would blister and slough off her bones as she begged for help. She would squirm, she would kick and punch and howl and scream, struggles that Anita would barely feel but Braden would experience firsthand. Her muscle and bone would bubble into liquid in a pool of acid that somehow refused to touch him, and he would have to watch it happen for many long minutes after her eyes had gone dead.

He would be forced to watch the power of his new mistress, the casual, effortless way that she could kill. He would know that it was a power that he could be subjected to at any time. That was what she wanted him to know. You live by my grace, little man. You die at my will.

Another part of her snapped suddenly into place. She was swiping through the app too quickly, her breath was too fast and her heartbeat was too rapid; she was losing control. The illusion shattered. She was getting way ahead of herself, and she wasn't thinking properly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then another, and tossed the phone onto the other bed.

There was no need to prove herself to her tiny slave, and it would be the height of stupidity to do it in a way that would create another trail for law enforcement. She just had to suffer this quiet night in her hotel room, and make it safely back to San Francisco. No trapping unsuspecting users of her app, then. She would order that pizza.

With a grunt, she kicked herself out of the bed and grabbed her phone. She was starving, but, at the same time, her stomach seemed full with Braden still struggling inside it. She put in an order for a pizza from a local shop; Hawaiian style, of course; and then switched over to her new slave's Syze profile, shrinking him down to an eighth of an inch. At that size, he would slip easily into her digestive tract, and she could recover him tomorrow morning.

Half out of curiosity, half out of boredom, she actually took her first good hard look at the profile of the man she had turned into her property. Because she had matched with him, and because she had actually shrunk him, it had disappeared off of the servers; as far as Syze was concerned, he only existed on her phone. As she flipped through photos and the brief snippets of information that he was allowed to provide in his bio, she was stunned.

Holy shit. Her sex slave was gay?

*****

Braden was large enough to fill most of the massive woman's stomach, but that just made his reality more disorienting. The bright-pink, slime-covered, deeply-wrinkled flesh that surrounded him was constant, but her body was anything but. She walked, ran, jumped, sat, stood, crouched, kneeled, and lay down. Every single movement was chaos to him, and it came without warning and without context. He had absolutely no idea what the massive woman was doing, but, whatever it was, it was torture.

He was tossed around in her stomach like a roulette ball with every move she made. Only it was somehow worse. A roulette ball had no power over where it went, but, while he was cast forcefully against the fleshy walls that surrounded him, he instinctively fought every single motion. His arms thrashed, his legs kicked, and it worked, to some extent, dulling the violence of the giantess' chaotic movements, but was nothing like solid ground. In fact, all it did was exhaust him, making him that much more miserable.

And this bullshit continued for hours. He could feel her speaking more than he could hear it, and he had no idea what she was saying or who she was saying it to. He kept waiting for it to be some order for food, for mushed-up bits of pizza to plop down into his hot, wet universe, or for steaming coffee to scald his naked skin. But it never happened, and the suspense of it was brutal. Any time she sat still for too long, any time she spoke to someone, that could have been the first sign of the fact that he would be forced to endure the humiliating experience of her meal, but it never came to be.

You bitch. You absolute whore. Just kill me already. But he knew that no amount of cursing, no amount of struggling or screaming could change his reality. Only Anita could do that, and so he had to wait for her generosity to relieve him of his tortured existence.

Her generosity. What a fucking joke.

The moment that thought crossed his head, he shrank. He shrank abruptly, and he shrank violently. He had suspected a lot from the giantess, but he hadn't expected this. In less than a second, he went from filling her stomach to a fraction of an inch tall, plunging down into the pool of acid at the bottom of her stomach.

God, she didn't even need to move to drown him. The walls of her stomach squirmed and pulsed constantly, disturbing the thin puddle that was suddenly an ocean of hot fluid to him. He tried to tread water, he tried to keep his head above the surface, but he was a grain of sand. The constant motion sucked him underneath, and he could barely see through the opaque fluid as he was swirled around, drawn deeper and deeper, his escape growing more and more impossible. It felt like he had slipped beneath the surface of a river, and there was no way for him to tell which way was up. There was just darkness, chaos, and the swirling sounds of dense fluid.

Oh, Christ. This was a nightmare.

Heat.

Pressure.

Darkness.

A rush of fluid.

A rhythm. A distant heartbeat.

A sudden stillness.

But there was still noise. A wet-sounding, almost-rhythmic churning. Braden opened his mouth to breathe, and fluid rushed in. He thrashed instinctively, but realized quickly that he was unharmed. He had been here for a while, submerged in hot, slimy fluid. It couldn't hurt him. He was, somehow, safe.

The semi-opaque fluid offered only some hints as to where he was. He was floating in an ocean of heat, but he was in a discrete chamber. The walls were soft, a yellowish-pink color, and coated in fur. Where the hell was he?

No, not fur. He didn't know the word for it, but he had seen pictures. This was the inside of Anita's small intestine. Fuck. He had slipped into her digestive tract. And, at his size, there was only one way for him to go. Only one outcome, and only one room in her house that she would release him into.

It was disgusting. But it was also a release, however brief, from her arbitrary sexual torture. He could have some time to himself, some real privacy without the looming threat of the violent or degrading activity that he had been forced to suffer while subject to her whims for the last few weeks. Compared to what he had suffered so far, he would eagerly accept the occasional inglorious emergence into the outside world if it meant he would never have to be used as the giantess' sex toy again.

Sure, he dind't want to be shit out into a waiting toilet bowl along with the mass of what was left from last night's dinner, but if it meant that he didn't have to endure an entire day trapped inside her vagina?

It was a hard call, but he had to admit that it seemed like a fair trade.