Once her app had received nationwide acclaim, a cottage industry of size-related toys had sprung up seemingly overnight. More than eighty percent of the sales were done online, an outlier for retail broadly but not remarkable for adult products, and the business was so impressive that, just last week, her company had entered a partnership to peddle 'official' Syze accessories, hoping that the weight of the brand name would drag out considerable market share. The few brick-and-mortar stores that peppered the country seemed, universally, to have an aesthetic that was a cross between an Apple store and an 'adult supermarket.'

Anita had never really had a need for any of the stuff. She used the app, of course, but she rarely held onto shrinkees for long enough to get experimental. It was always a brief fling, the delightful experience of complete power over someone else, followed shortly afterwards by the last and most absolute expression of that power. But there hadn't been that many of them, and none of them had lasted very long. Buying gear focused to the shrinking seemed unnecessary, and potentially incriminating, given that, on paper, she didn't have a presence on the app.

She could fix that, obviously. She could fabricate a match history in the server to back up the purchase, but then she'd have to undo a lot of the stealth that she had put on her profile. Right now, her profile was only visible to people she had matched with beforehand, and there was a delay before they saw that the match went through, so she could catch people by surprise if she wanted.  Furthermore, her profile adaptively copied the profile pictures of people that she had tried and failed to match with, but who lived outside of the geographic search area of the person who saw the profile. She thought that the mechanic was exceptionally clever, and, since she traveled a lot, she had a deep trove of profiles to work with, from both genders.

The only evidence that she was in the system at all was the real photo of her that was added to what her match could see of her profile, when she finally let them see that they had matched. That was nothing more than an ego play, and, since she quickly disposed of their cell phones, and her matches were wiped from the server as soon as she shrank them, it could never come back to her.

But, if she had to establish herself as a user of the app to cover up ownership of any size-releated toys, all that careful planning would have to go out the window. Or, maybe, she could have one 'public' profile, hidden to other users but visible on the server, and another 'private' one, that she could use to snare her new toys.

All this was going through her head as she stood opposite the street of one of the few size-related toy shops in downtown Manhattan. Unusually, it was on the third floor, and you had to take an elevator in a back alley to get up to it, but it was still a place that she really didn't want to be seen in.

The problem was that her meeting with David, which had gone surprisngly well given the fact that it went ninety minutes over schedule, showed that she had to be worried about her tiny toy escaping, given enough time. She had gotten lucky in that she had been able to scoop him up and deposit him into her shoe without anyone noticing, but now, two hours later, her foot was screaming at the uncomfortable intrusion. She didn't want to take another step with her foot cramping up, and she could feel blisters forming in new and unexpected places. Worse, she knew that, next time that happened, she might not get so lucky. She might have her illicit activities exposed to the world by a shrunken toy climbing out of the top of her bra in the middle of a live TV interview.

So she needed a better solution. And she knew, from her consultations with her partners, that a good portion of the size-related toy industry was focused on keeping the smaller passenger safely and securely fastened, with minimal discomfort to the larger partner. She also knew that plenty of people carried their bondage fetish down to the millimeter level, so there was plenty of gear that could hold a shrunken match indefinitely.

Anita was a bit proud of the fact that she had applied the lesson learned from Uber so successfully. She didn't waste time insisting that government should stay out of her and her customers' business completely, because that would have eventually brought the feds down on her head, circling in from these side businesses to ultimately ban her revolutionary technology entirely. Instead, she got ahead of the regulators and tirelessly encouraged cooperation with law enforcement, enabled by top-shelf Silicon Valley data analytics, to nip in the bud any objections to the safety of her app.

These days, only a handful of libertarian think tanks objected to her practices, complaining that corporate cooperation with law enforcement was a privacy violation. They were right in more ways than they knew, since a lot of her app's user-safety practices were kept hidden from the general public. But the political objections never quite made it into the mainstream, so that was, by far, preferable to the stranglehold of regulation.

After all, were it not for her careful approach, this wonderful satellite industry would not have been around for long; someone surely would have complained that the carefully-constructed toys that completely immobilized submissive shrinkees served to enable sex trafficking. Then, Anita, who existed outside the gravity of her precise, data-driven enforcement mechanism that caught all that nasty behavior before it could get serious, wouldn't have been able to use these toys for her own self-indulgent sex trafficking.

After some deliberation, and some weak but annoying protests from the tiny man trapped beneath the arch of her foot, she decided to go into the store.

"Xmart" was a less-than-subtle name, and it could very well have been some moldy adult video store, but the marquee gave the truth to its purpose. It was also a little clever; in order to seed the ground for her new size-related merchandise side business, her lawyers had taken up copyright lawsuits against any company with names that invoked her app. Most of these would settle just before her new product line dropped, but the owner of this particular store had caught the winds of change early and kept any mention of her app off his storefront.

It had the same design as all the others, though. Mannequins, with barely-explicit anatomical realism, stood proud on pedestals, displaying two or three different pieces of gear each. Male mannequins on one side, female on the other, with shelves behind them that carried a broader assortment of toys.

There was a dizzying array of products here, things that provided opportunity to do things that she didn't even realize could be done with shrunken matches, and things that didn't even seem that erotic. She was more or less alone in the store, so she didn't feel too bad gawking. She had no idea that she had created such an expansive world.

There was a whole catalogue of underwear, for both men and women, that could hold a shrinkee comfortably in any spot you wanted them. And there were underwear insterts that could do the same thing with any regular pair of underwear. There were cocksleeves, dildos, buttplugs, cock rings, condoms, and even a vaginal diaphragm that incorporated shrunken toys in some way.

There were insoles that had cutouts for shrunken people, and Anita had to admit that she considered using one after the hours of discomfort with the tiny man in her shoe. There were pantyhose with pockets all over, from the calf to the inner thigh just below the hips, that could store a tiny person. There were even necklaces, rings, belts, bracelets, and body piercings of all kinds that could integrate a shrunken match.

The most ridiculous thing she saw was a pair of panties with a thin, nylon chain across the crotch that would leave her pussy completely ventilated unlesss she filled every link with a quarter-inch man. She'd need nearly a dozen to cover herself, and she knew that those men would be subject to torture unlike anythinig they had ever dreamed.

Her head was spinning with the possibilities offered by this massive field of toys. She had a credit card and a checked bag; she could assemble a fucking playground for her new shrunken playmate and take the whole thing back to her Silicon Valley apartment. She knew that she was going to keep him for a while, so what did it hurt to have her options open?

She second-guessed herself, though. She couldn't afford to splurge on a sex dungeon, on the off chance that the outsized purchase might attract attention in a theoretical law enforcement probe. She had disappeared enough people already that, no matter how well she covered her tracks, someone would eventually catch on. But her position, her power, and her wealth would dissuade most cursory investigations unless she left some glaring piece of evidence behind.

So, eventually, she wound up at the counter with a package of conservative panties that just so happened to have a tiny cloth harness right in the crotch. She could pull a few knots tight, and have the little man harnessed helplessly to the inside of her underwear, his face positioned directly underneath her crotch. She knew that it would be miserable for him, but, fortunately, if she sized him right, his feet would be right on her clit. All of his struggles would be just barely stimulating enough to be interesting, but not enough to make her lose control in a public space.

As an added bonus, the underwear had a bit of extra padding to keep him from being visible even if she was wearing yoga pants. She was impressed, and she walked out of the building with a black plastic bag containing her new prize, and an improved vision of the opportunities offered by the world of shrink-related accessories.

She made it a block down the road before her limo driver came up to the curb, and she slid quickly into the car. She barely even bothered to make sure that the window between her and the driver was closed before she started tearing open the package to her new set of underwear.

The mechanism that was intended to hold the little man fast in her crotch was fairly straightforward, and surprisingly creative. She could guide the shrinkee's arms into one hole, and his legs into another, and tighten him down with a pair of thin, silk pullstrings in the front of the underwear. She tried it with her pinky finger, and found, to her surprise, that she was only able to undo the trap by tugging on the waistband.

God, that was better than she could have hoped. She had only purchased three pairs, and, even though they had cost her more than a hundred dollars, she already wished that she had bought three times as many.

The helpful booklet that came with them was specific to the size she had bought, so that was a sign that she had at least gotten her money's worth. It had brief instructions on use, and the size range that would work with the panties, along with a color-coded scale of how much stimulation she could expect based on the size she chose. It even had simple diagrams showing, given various sizes and orientations, where the little man would rest in her crotch.

God, even this simple piece of clothing offered some impressive options. Maybe she'd eventually find her way back into a store like this to figure out what else she could do to her little toy.

Anita kicked her shoes away, hiked up her dress, and slid her panties completely off. The tiny man fell out of her shoes as they sailed through the cab of the limo, ending up sprawled out on the carpet a few feet away. Eventually, he recovered enough from the fall to notice her crouch-walking towards him, a pair of her new panties in her hand and her bare pussy clearly visible beneath her dress. He panicked, and tried to scramble away, but he was too slow. Her hand shot forwards and wrapped around him before he could even get to his feet.

He struggled only for a few seconds, but went still when she clenched her fist; not much, nothing that she would have thought was serious, but enough to calm him down immediately. "Stay still," she ordered, looking directly at his fear-stricken face.

He obeyed, but his expression clearly said that he wanted to get the fuck out of there. His fear of crossing her while she was clearly engaged in something she cared about must have kept him from struggling, especially after he had suffered more than two hours of punishment under the sole of her foot. She had no plans to put him back there any time soon, given how much her foot was hurting now, but he didn't have to know that.

Holding his arms together over his head, he guided them into one side of the panties, then slid his ankles into the other side. At about four inches, he was right in the middle of the scale, and he would be held tight by his elbows and his knees. More importantly, his face would be right underneath her vagina, and her clit would get to feel the sensation of his kicking legs.

Once she had him positioned, she slid the panties on, and immediately let out a gasp. Holy shit, it felt amazing. So much more comfortable than having him in her panties normally, and with a much more intense sensitivity to his tiny, struggling body. The part of his body that was exposed had slipped directly between her labia, his entire body becoming a living, breathing part of her pussy.

Oh, God, he was going to hate this. He had full exposure to every fold of skin between her legs, but, to her, it felt like he was just a part of her panties. If he kept still, she could leave him there for days and barely even think about him, and he'd have to fight his ass off to be even slightly distracting.

She pulled the drawstring tight, trapping him firmly in place. The waistband tightened a bit when she did so, but, otherwise, she couldn't feel anything.

She had definitely got her money's worth. She slid her dress down, crossed her legs, and started massaging her aching right foot. Have fun down there, little guy.

*****

In that abrupt moment when the knots drew tight around his elbows and knees, Braden deeply regretted not having made the effort to escape when he had the chance. He squirmed, he punched, he kicked, but he was bound so thoroughly that even his greatest efforts were completely useless.

His legs were sheathed in a cotton prison, with barely any room to move. His arms were held fast by a punishingly tight knot that gripped his elbows. He could struggle for a year and not be able to move an inch, but, given where Anita had left him, it would probably be best not to struggle at all.

When she had slid her panties on, the brown, wrinkled flesh of her labia parted eagerly at his presence, and he was driven bodily into the wet, pink flesh that was protected by that thin outer layer. In an instant, he went from looking up at the stunning juncture between her legs from the middle of her thighs, to being buried in the seemingly infinite flesh of her crotch, staring at the dark, twitching maw of her pussy directly over his face.

He had spent days trapped in the woman's panties already, but this was much, much worse. The elaborate trap that she had put him in, that he had just laid back and watch her set up rather than taking the opportunity to try to escape, seemed purpose-built to ensure that he would be held fast in the worst place possible, without a single chance of repositioning himself.

Heat completely surrounded him, enveloping his tiny body completely in a way that he hadn't experienced except when buried completely inside the giantess' vagina. Above his elbows and below his knees, he was wrapped in cotton, but every other inch of his body was trapped in a soft hug of slightly-wet flesh.

Braden fought fiercely to pull his arms or legs free for as long as he could, until he eventually came to the depressing realization that there was nothing he could do to move. No way for him to escape. He lay there, breathing the frothy mix of bodily fluid and hot, heady air, rich with the stench of Anita's pussy, and resenting the fact that his body wouldn't just let him hold his breath forever.

The opening to the massive woman's vagina hung directly over his head. Rippling pink flesh pressed tightly together, glistening with fluid, pulsing just barely with every thump-thump of her heartbeat. Braden knew that every filthy drop of discharge that slid out of that hole would land directly on his face, and, unable to free his arms, it would fill his eyes, his nose, his mouth.

Anita had kept him as a sex toy for the last few days, choosing between her underwear, and then her bra, and then her shoe as the most convenient storage space. He might have suggested her pocket or her purse, but he never would have thought that she would turn him into a living panty liner.

Fuck. Why hadn't she picked a straight guy?