Matinee

So this story was made in something of a rush. It’s gone through about twice as much editing time as it actually took to write at this point, and once I realized it I decided to to cut it short there, before this turned into another multi-thousand WIP that never sees the light of day.

Alas, in favor of actually giving something back to the community, I decided to cut it a little short.

The main idea behind the execution of this story was to just pick up with something without needing to give the relevant characters intricate backstories to bog down the reader. It’s just meant to be a glimpse, a peek behind the curtains if you will, of these three’s particular lives. Not to say that I won’t re-use them at some point.

Content Warning: NSFW, Growth, Shrink, M/ff, Poly relationship, Language, gentle

Estimated Reading Time: 14 minutes


“Sit still.”

The woman in front of him turns around and gives him a strange look.

“Sorry!” Mara says, coming to his rescue. She grabs Enrique’s hand and holds it up, the picture of a couple still in the honeymoon stage. “I’ve been wanting to see this movie for so long. I’ve just been driving him up the wall.”

The woman stares at the two of them, skeptical, but a not-so-quiet curse from the teens she’d been corralling draws her attention away.

“Thanks,” Enrique says, turning his attention back to the wriggling shape in his shirt. He taps his chest with his palm, firmly pressing the tiny woman inside his chest pocket against him.  “And you, stop moving around like that. People are getting suspicious.”

There’s no way for Ava to respond – not without giving away her presence – but her answering wiggles come across a lot more defiant and bratty than before.

Enrique sighs and turns to Mara in her floral print top and summer sweet smile. “Next time, you get to be the mule.”

She shrugs, remarking, “Fine by me. You know how she gets when you shrink her down like that. I thought you’d keep her somewhere where she’d make less trouble, if you catch my drift. Not your shirt pocket.”

He eyes her, unimpressed. “Last time we did that I ripped up my favorite outfit. You know I can’t control it when either of you get me going like that.”

“You poor thing.” Mara says nothing more until after she blithely smiles her whole order to the register and they’re let through the security check. As soon as they’re just out of earshot she turns to him and says, “I’m just saying, being trapped in an elevator with your cock and balls pinning me to a wall while she’s desperately trying to get you off? Sign me the fuck up.”

Enrique stumbles, stands upright, and fakes a cough. No one around pays them any mind, but he still feels exposed like this.

He glares at Mara. “You’re the devil.”

“Guilty,” she admits, composed. “Though I’d check myself first before accusing anyone of sin. Been having lustful thoughts lately, Enrique?” She punctuates this with a cursory nod and not-so-significant glance down at his crotch.

And then she beelines for the empty register at the snack bar, robbing him of a retort.

He groans, planting a palm against his forehead. “She’s going to be the death of me,” he mutters, aloud and to no one in particular.

Ava wiggles against his chest, and he can’t tell if it’s in agreement or because she’s throwing her lot in with Mara.

When Mara returns, it’s with a single bottle of water.

The next clerk checks Mara’s shoulder strap bag before waving them through the next partition, where all the theatres live. Though they’re early he and Mara enter the dim room, their conversation hushing as they listen for anyone else: other patrons or even any straggling cleaners.

“… okay, you’re good, babe,” Enrique whispers into the darkness. 

On cue, a miniature redhead pokes her head out of his pocket, supporting herself against the lip of his pocket.

“You jerk,” Ava says, kicking her heel back against him. He’s felt rain drops hit harder. “My leg was falling asleep. That’s why I was moving.”

“Sure you were,” Mara comments as they walk up the stairs to their seats. “I’ve seen you masturbate under the sheets, Ava, I know what it looks like when you’re getting off.”

Enrique isn’t looking at Ava when Mara says this, but he too knows Ava’s body feels like when she’s riding high from being the size of a quarter. He thought there’d been something familiar about her movements.

“Ava! What the hell! We could have gotten caught!”

Ah, he says that but the thought of her touching herself, pressed tight against his body like that…

His collar slides around his throat as he swells just a little larger.

Mara laughs, ever the pot-stirrer. “Try saying that when you don’t look like you’re about to pop that zipper off with your dick, love.”

“We should have just stayed home if you two were going to be like this.” He tries to surreptitiously adjust himself as they ascend the last step, but Mara’s knowing look back at him tells him how well he succeeds at that. “The only reason we did this tonight is because you didn’t want to pay full price for the three of us. I was fine with a night in, getting the fireplace going-”

Lips – sweet, delicious and hanging with a faint fragrance of cherries – interrupt him mid-sentence.

Ava squeaks, suddenly trapped between their two massive bodies. She writhes in place, pressed between Enrique and Mara, helpless and subject to their whims and gooseflesh broke out along his skin at the sensation. Mara runs a hand through his dark hair, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss his jawline, before breaking off and looking up at him.

“Losing control there,” she says, hand against his chest, cupping Ava’s pocket. Before he can answer, Mara plucks her up and out of his pocket like a flower from a field. The tiny woman struggles on instinct, but soon turns pliant and putty. “Gotta be careful there, Ri. Wouldn’t want to lose little Ava.”

Enrique groans, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he shakes his head to clear the thoughts running rampant and trudges his way down the aisle, dropping into his assigned seat with a thump that shakes the floor.

He looks out at the empty theatre. “You know, it’s pretty empty here. Almost like someone planned this.”

“Imagine that,” Mara says. 

There’s a wicked look in her eye as she passes Ava from hand to hand, rolling her tiny body over and over and running her fingers over every inch. Or half-inch, as the case was. 

Ava protests feebly, but that’s lost amidst Mara’s hums of pleasure.

They sat down next to him, Mara looking comparatively shorter than five minutes ago and Ava, so small as to fit spread eagle on the tip of one of his fingers.

He eyes his shrunken girlfriend in his fiancee’s hands. “Sounds like a certain someone whose turn it was to arrange date night this week.”

“Who could that have been?” Mara pinches Ava between her thumb and forefinger, rolling her back and forth along her thumb pad like a miniaturized stress toy. She dangles the little redhead from one foot in front of her face. “Who do you think it was, Ava?”

“Fuck,” Ava gasps, swaying. Even in the poorly lit room he sees the full-body flush of exertion and arousal, clear as day. “Fuck, Mara. Do that again.”

Mara contemplates this request before she complies, trapping Ava between her fingers once more.

He’d allowed himself some slack when picking out his clothing, but even so the slow steady rise of his shirt hem from his slacks and the cramped space in his shoes were evident how much of a failure that was.

And there was Mara still playing with Ava in hand, planting warm wet kisses against the shrunken woman’s form with something akin to hungry pleasure.

“Give her here,” he growls out. His voice escapes louder than intended, but that’s only because it’s taking everything he has not to grow further.

Mara drops Ava into his outstretched hand, and he’s right. With a grunt, he pulls at his collar, unbuttoning the top two buttons so he doesn’t choke in his own clothing. He rips his shoes off with gusto with his free hand and spends an inordinate amount of time eyeing the woman whose turn it was to be small tonight.

“What to do, what to do,” he thinks aloud. Ava stands up in his palm to look at him and, on a whim, he lets out a soft exhale, blowing her down as easily as a dandelion seed. “I have to keep you somewhere safe…”

He trails off as Mara slides down to her knees in front of him. Her dark tresses drape across his thigh as she trails kisses along the inseam.

“I can think of somewhere for her,” she murmurs, reaching his crotch.

He cups Mara’s face briefly. He’s large enough now that his palm covers half side of her head, the seat armrests struggling to contain his hips as he steadily grows to fill the space it affords him and more. In his other hand, Ava crawls over to the side of his palm, gaping down at the floor falling further away from her.

The wooden frame of the chair creaks ominously as he shifts forward, letting Mara pull down at his pantline, freeing him from its confines. Relief strikes him then as his cock is liberated from its hold, before pure unassailable desire floods through him as it smacks Mara in the cheek.

“You’re…massive.” Mara leans back and looks him up and down, craning her neck. “I can’t even get out of here unless I crawl under your legs, you’re literally blocking my way out.”

Enrique chuckles. “And what about you, Ava? Am I too big?”

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond. He tilts his hand and watches her tumble, free-falling for the barest second, before coming to a sudden landing on his shaft. She bounces, rolling down at a steep incline, before she corrects herself and stops, midway down his shaft, pressed against him like she were a mountain climber and he her mountain.

Mara scoots in, hesitant. Despite her earlier teasing she too is a little awed and intimidated by him at this size, where his ass is taking up the entire loveseat theatre chairs. Squinting against the dim light, she leans in closer to his cock, her own breaths coming in short and heavy.

“She’s grinding against you,” Mara says, mouth dropping open into a smile. “Oh my god. Look at her, she’s barely holding on, but I can hear her. Heya hun.” She presses Ava against him, and he jerks at the electrical shock of pleasure from just being touched. “Are you enjoying yourself? Are you really getting off in a movie theatre?”

Mara’s grip doesn’t fit across Enrique’s entire base anymore, but that still doesn’t stop her from beginning to stroke him. Up and down, soft but firm. He imagines he can feel Ava, trapped in her grip, stuck and helpless against his dick while Mara jerks him off.

“You’re such a tiny little slut,” Mara continues. For all that he’s grown over twice his size now, she’s fascinated with Ava, shrunken and helpless for the evening. “You enjoy rubbing against his cock like this, hun? Can you even feel her, Ri?”

“Not at all,” he huffs. He adjusts his seating, hearing the crunching of wood and fabric as he slides forward a little more to not bump his head on the ceiling. This plants Mara against his crotch, and he shudders at her gasp and reflexive grip of his inner thigh. “Keep going.”

He hears Mara swallow, but soon her ministrations upon him resume, and he bites his lip to not let out the rumble of pleasure building in his chest. She’s pinned now, no room to even eke out a getaway like before. His thighs come down on both sides of her head now, and her previously done up hair is a mess as she continues to jerk him in both hands, Ava’s little mewls of pleasure punctuating the seconds.

“I could- I could just grow. Fill this whole room. Forget the movie,” He says and wonder why he does. He’s never grown larger than this before.

Mara’s motions don’t skip a beat but he feels her grip on him tighten. “You’d…be enormous. Can you even get that big?”

He closes his eyes, biting back the groan as Mara’s hands now fail to cover his girth with both hands. “I don’t know. I’ve never gotten that big before. Used to – fuck, keep going – shrinking others.”

“…do you want to?”

“I don’t know.”

Mara stops. The cheeky, incorrigible woman stops. He can’t stop the thundering noise of displeasure, of need that escapes him, but she doesn’t back down. She looks up at him, defiant and glorious, as beautiful as the dawn, and she holds his cock in both hands as she says. “I want you to.”

The words have an immediate, almost narcotic, effect.

“Bigger,” she says, commencing her strokes. The fire building in his gut is rapidly encompassing everything he knows. “I want you bigger. Big enough to fill this room. Big enough to make me look as small as Ava.

“Where- where is she?” he gasps. He’d gotten too carried away, and lost track of her.

“Right here.” Mara holds up the tiny – miniature to him – woman. Ava’s a sodden, flushed mess, and even from his vantage point he can see the legacy twitches of an orgasm. Mara picks up the young woman lovingly, and kisses her back to coherence. “Well, love? What do you say? Want to see him get bigger? Grow? Want to see how big that-”

Ava rouses from her exhaustion to say something. Enrique’s too large to hear her, but he’s not so large as to miss the look of absolute delight cross Mara’s face.

“What? What did she say?” If she said yes, Enrique didn’t think he’d have the willpower to refuse them.

Mara drops Ava onto his crotch. She disappears into his pubic hair and his eyes lose track of her. With a grunt of effort, Mara pries herself up, climbing onto his thigh. She walks along until she came to the incline that is his abdomen. The movie theatre darkens, the first sign of previews.

In the darkness of the room he can almost believe it’s just the three of them at home now. Ava, tired but still enthusiastic, Mara in charge for the evening, and him so achingly willing and ready to care for the both of them, whatever may come. Even if it were him.

Mara voice reaches him, carrying tidings of his fortune.

“Ava agrees.”

As the crescendo and drums of the first preview comes on, Enrique closes his eyes.

“Next time,” he mutters, “I get to pick date night.”

Mara laughs, husky, already wrapping herself around his growing member. “Oh babe, It’s Ava’s turn next time, and now that she knows how big you can make someone? Just think.”

He does. The possibilities both thrill and arouse him.

“Now, are you going to grow for me, Ri?” Mara plants a single lava-hot kiss that spreads heat through the rest of him. “I want you fucking enormous. Fuck these chairs. Fuck this room. Fuck this movie. I want you to grow.”

Little Mary’s Strings

This was my entry for the quarterly SizeRiot contests – specifically CruelJan20 – organized by the awesome AborigenGTS. It had the honor of tying for first for the “psychological cruelty” category.

Link to SizeRiot

Link to CruelJan20 Stories

Normally cruelty is not my main focus. I like to explore characters and their circumstances, have fun repartee between a couple people if so possible, and enjoy the extreme size aspect of a lot of it, even if there’s some peril involved.

That was not the case for this story. This story, I decided to be ugly and horrid and to be honest it put me in a bad headspace many times in the course of writing it. Someone asked me about inspiration for this story, and truth be told a lot of it’s been building up just from seeing certain groups bully others on the internet.

There’s a lot I can say about the kind of truly malicious subculture this story reflects, but I’m not here to rant. Please mind the content warnings below.

Content Warning: NSFW, giantess, violence, death, gore, vore, crush, body modification, noncon, psychological cruelty

Estimated Reading Time: 10 minutes


The sky’s red here.

look

There’s no mention of a direction, but something moves her head anyway. She sees the sun sloping down on the horizon, off to bless the rest of the world. Her gaze turns downward, to where the ocean kisses the coast and buildings sprout in a garden of metal and glass, with a vine of blue piercing through.

It’s absolutely stunning. 

The tallest skyscraper ekes upwards by two meters on her. She wants to stand and admire the ingenuity, the beauty.

ur ex live there?

She does. They’d parted on amicable terms but the thought of Robin sends a soft pang through her trailer-sized heart. It joins the rest of the aches and pains and hushes, muzzled.

Her pale skin is raw and burnt a deep, dangerous red. It’s a percussion of agony that keeps getting shoved into the closet in favor of those commands, but something about the city rouses more fight in her.

he sux, right?

No, she doesn’t.

she?
lol
tht's hot

She responds to this with the same emotional detachment as before. It isn’t autopilot and it isn’t sleepwalking. She’s aware of everything around her, but her thoughts can’t disturb the placidity of her conscious state. Like a dream, except not hers.

What had she been doing before? Where had she been going? Those thoughts don’t matter anymore. Just the commands.

…right?

go say hi

She doesn’t want to though. Not like this.

cmon
it'll be sexy

There’s a road curling around her ankles, long and winding like an asphalt snake. Brushery dots the surrounding vista, and she sees now the power lines leading from tower to tower, arcing their way into various parts of the city.

If she gets any closer she’ll blow out the power leading into the city. People will panic, get hurt.

who cares

She doesn’t. Does she?

step on that car

Something – not her, definitely not her – lifts her foot. The lines of cars and trucks and stick figures scrambling away increase their pace.

A memory pushes to the forefront. She remembers first grade, when the boy she had a crush on pushed her into the sand and right before he pressed her face into the anthill. She remembers how gross the sand tasted and her uselessness, crying and blubbering snot down on their scampering lines.

Some of that fear bubbles up again. It spikes up her hindbrain, kick-starting her fight-or-flight response, only to smooth over just as fast.

There’s someone in the car. Trapped. She can’t make out their details but they’re jerking, slamming against the dashboard.

Screaming?

even better
Ur so much bigger than hi.m

The sound her foot makes when it crushes the lipstick red convertible leaves her hollow. A sound like aluminum foil and a dying mechanical whine.

She doesn’t even feel the driver underfoot.

No. Oh god no.

not god
goddess

She wants to throw up, just like in first grade.

grind your foot, it’ll feel good

It doesn’t. Her foot’s plowed through asphalt and made a crater. Grinding her foot into the road is like running it along thorny bristles and sharp rocks. Metal and stone cut into her skin, lacerating it, and that too joins the catalog of sensations that are not important right now.

lmao look at that guy

She spots another man. He’s on his front, crawling away from her. Dapper business suit rumpled, a smudgy trail of dark liquid trailing behind him. He’s alternating, left right left, with his hands, pulling himself as fast and far away as he can get. His suit end around mid-thigh, where bloody stumps gush.

pick him up

He’s dying. He needs help.

stick him ur pussy

That prompts a physical reaction from her. She recoils, the mental fog lifting, and she gasps, greedily sucking in the thin air as she grabs her stomach, bends over, gags and-

do it
do it
do it
Fucking do it u bitch

The fog descends on her once more, and she straightens. Her face contorts into something unrecognizable, like she’s got a plastic mold under her skin: lips curved, mouth open, teeth exposed. She feels like a demented giant clown.

fuck
this is awesome lol

She’s aware now. Every little thing previously filed under unimportant. The sky, the burn on her skin, the slow unrelenting drag on her limbs from being large enough to crush an Audi.

The man crawling away doesn’t care though. All he sees are her fingers flopping him into her palm. There’s rough push and shove as she’s forced to insert his whole body in a place meant for no man. It’s revolting.

u likke it 
right?

Screaming. She’s screaming now. Her mouth is making lewd noises but her heart is shrieking.

She doesn’t want this. She never wanted this.

go
find ur ex

This time, she resists. She wants to turn around and run. Cut off her strings, turn tail and hide in the desert and just die like the miserable wretch she is. 

Oh god, she can’t even feel them anymore. Not even bloody paste. Nothing.

Her resistance doesn’t last long though. Whatever perverse power is in control twists her head to survey to the city once more and, joint by joint, deliberate and slow, purposeful, her body walks in that direction.

kick that truck

She does. It folds in around her instep and seems tethered to the planet for a brief second before it lifts off, flying. It soars over the city outskirts before colliding with a building unlucky enough to be taller than others around it. 

There’s no bloom of fire like she expects, no loud resounding crash. It’s all a dreadful quiet, interrupted only by her own body’s breathing.

She thinks she hears sirens. She clings to that thought. It’s a human thought, belonging to a human person.

She’s a person, right?

jump on that house

She does so and with gusto. Her body relishes in the action, and seems to delight in pinning several on-scene officers under her toes, before curling and feeling something sickeningly like bubble wrap pops.

rofl their so tiny

Power lines tangle around her legs, and contrary to her expectations it hurts. Like that time she’d gone to the beach with Robin and got stung by jellyfish.

She fights herself. Fights against the thing making her smile and taunt and kill.

She fails.

makke her beg

Her body complies. It grabs the strawberry blonde that’s waving people through an opening in crushed traffic. Pinches the head between two fingers bigger than she is tall, pulls up and instead of lifting the tiny woman by the head, all she does is wrench her neck. The former blonde’s body flops to the ground, discarded. Someone rushes to it, too late, too small to do anything.

His anguish jerks at the hold the monstrous power has over her; she snaps into control for a millisecond-

I’msorryI’msorryohgodrunrunI’m-”

-and then falls back into that dark ocean, heart freezing over once more. 

It’s not like dreaming anymore. She’s sitting in a theater, eyes taped open, limbs velcroed to her side and a hand jerking her mouth up and down.

plz stop fighting
U like this, right?
then stop
uwu

She hates this.

fuck u
pick tha guy up

The man’s still clutching the dead body, hunched over. Her body cocks her head, as if curious. Then, ignoring all the smoke and chaos around her, she bends over, fingers digging into the ground and just scooping up the area like a gardener would soil.

The man is still immobile, uncaring of his incoming fate.

I’m sorry, she tries to say, but her mouth doesn’t comply. All that comes out is, “You like that, little man?”

put him between ur boobs

She wants to ask why, but the answer soon becomes clear.

Tingling, then aching, and then her breasts feel like they’re on fire as mass pours into them. Her nipples harden to the point of pain and she breaks a little bit more inside, because of course this is happening now. Her body isn’t hers anymore.

omg sexy
goddess
U r sooooo big uwu

She’s disgusting.

She drops the mound between her breasts, a space that could pass for geological cleavage as well as her own, and the man doesn’t fight it. He holds on to the dead woman’s body, his face obscured by dust and blood, and tries to mourn.

He dies instantly as her body grabs her new disgustingly enormous breasts and smashes them together like they’re a pair of cymbals. It’s violent and deadly and pointless. Her soul is flaying with every passing second and all her body does is laugh at the atrocity.

When she separates her boobs to see the results of her handiwork there’s a smear that doesn’t even look real anymore. Something’s pricked the side of her breast, the remains of an underground pipe when she scooped up the ground. 

The piercing throb originating from it is nauseating, a super-sized splinter, but like everything else she’s forced to ignore it.

go find robin

Her trek into downtown whiles away time with more of the same. 

Houses kicked in, people squashed like bugs, cars mashed together like bread loaves. Her body laughs and sneers all the while, saying horrid things she doesn’t mean but can’t stop. At one point she picks up a bus, places it atop a roof and forces the people inside to exit one by one, to be squeezed like grapes over her open mouth.

People don’t taste like anything, she learns, other than bitterness and grit.

She manages another second of true rebellion then, when she has an elderly couple clinging to each other desperately as they both exit the bus. Not stopping to apologize, she cups both of them in her hands and swivels down to the clearest patch of street she can find. 

Her hands open a couple meters from the ground before she loses control once again, and the couple drops to the ground.

wtf!

The whipping return to her previous stance is like battery acid and a hot iron ramming down her gullet. Her eyes prick and sting but something’s superglued her tear ducts shut.

Did they even survive the drop, she wonders.

jesus u suk at this
u r big
stop caring
stop fkkin w me

Go die, she thinks, as vicious a thought as she ever conjured.

pick up the bus

She does so. Some of the riders have left, but she can see some still inside, cowering. Her hand shakes the vehicle like a soda can, and spiderweb cracks form along the glass.

Her face isn’t twisted into the facsimile of a smile anymore at least. It’s empty, void of her torment. She’s tiring them.

lick it

Her tongue coats the bus in her nonexistent saliva. Siding and glass stick to the floor of her mouth, and it’s like licking those stupid pop rocks from her childhood, except worse because this time her mouth doesn’t just feel like it’s bleeding.

now stick it in ur pussy

Again?

Is there even a point to this…

The bus isn’t comfortable. It crumples in on itself when she pulls her vaginal lips apart and tries to shove it in dry, falling apart in her hand like a stack of crackers and even if she’ll never be a normal human again she enjoys this spiteful moment from the laws of physics. 

It hurts like hell’s nails, but she won’t say it’s not worth it.

fuck!

She pulls at the leash around her soul once more, howling, hoping to break free with that opening.

u stupid slut!

In her moment of freedom her eyes turn downtown, to the highrise buildings. Before she loses control once more they zero in on something: a figure – tall, gorgeous, pixie cut – staring out the floor to ceiling window in abject horror.

Robin.

grab her

No…

eat her

No!

step on her, goddess

NO!

:D

One More Shot…

So, here we go. I’ve decided to learn how to use one of these darn things because I got quite frustrated with most other repository locations. At a certain point I realized that most of my stories/ideas were spread across too many sites to feasibly maintain, so the goal of this (currently) emaciated ol’ thing is to serve as my go-to.

A couple things about me to start with:

  • I simultaneously have too much and too little time on my hands
  • I have three cats and a dog
  • Too many idea that I forget to write down at least 87% of the time
  • I’m a bisexual cis man
  • And the absolute best for last: one very lovely wife who puts up with far too many of my random musings.

This is more of a repository for things that interest me, and will primarily feature topics like giant ladies, giant men, shrunken ladies, shrunken men, and the various combinations that can arise along with other things in between. Stories and blog posts will be tagged as SFW or NSFW as appropriate, and will be tagged as either Size Thoughts or Size Stories for the most part.