Tiny Torments

[Justhereforamoment1]

I take requests! If you enjoy my writing and would like a specific story made, I can do that.

Hello everyone! I have for you a collection of shorts with different tiny women in peril in a shared universe.

I have a question for you before you begin: what kind of situations are people looking for? I have different ideas but I'm sure there are things I might not think of. Let me know! Keep in mind I don't write shrinking stories! In my stories the tinies are already small, so if you have a shrinking scenario it may need to be modified!

If a story doesnt have a tag that doesn't mean its not there. I try and tag based on what the chapter focuses on mostly, and/or any kinks some may not like.

Glossary:
- Chapter 1: The maid cafe (M/f, light vore at the end)
- Chapter 2: Home for the Holidays (M/f, dog thinking tiny is a toy)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=46482#p46741
- Chapter 3: Ladies Night (F/fffff, insertion, vore, crush)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=46482#p46769
- Chapter 4: Spring Cleaning (F/f, insertion, mind break)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=46482#p46836
- Chapter 5: Winter is Coming (M/f, kidnapping, mouthplay)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=46482#p46877
- Chapter 6: New Leash on Life (MF/f, kidnapping, training)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=46948#p46948
Chapter 7: Law and Order: TVU (M/fffffff, swallowing, f on f)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=47009#p47009
Chapter 8: A Guiding Hand (M/f, object insertion, mindbreak)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=47107#p47107
Chapter 9: Greek Life (MMMMF/f, power shift, frat bros)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=47107#p47293
Chapter 10: Dinner and a Show (MF/f, bait and switch)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=47472#p47472
Chapter 11: Room and Board (M/f, terrible roommates)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=47689#p47689
Chapter 12: Rinse and Repeat (F/f, insertion, tiny used as loofa)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=48091#p48091
Chapter 13: Rear View (F/f, butt stuff, crush, mild fart)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=48260#p48260
Chapter 14: The Sitter (M/f, moderate power shift)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=48358#p48358
Chapter 15: Spa Day (MFFF/fff, massage, happy ending (for giants))
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=48516#p48516
Chapter 16: Graduation Day (MMMF/ffff, sequel to Greek Life)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=48611#p48611
Chapter 17: Package Deal (M/f, stepmom, chase sequence)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=48669#p48669
Chapter 18: Souvenirs (MMMr/ff, treated like objects, loooong, rat)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=48752#p48752
Chapter 19: Wife Swap S9EP4 (M/f, sweet sfw F/m, NTR)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=48823#p48823
Chapter 20: What are friends for? (M/f, ungrateful, ownership)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=48844#p48844
Chapter 21: Forever Home (f, ownership, dehumanizing, mind break)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=49534#p49534
Chapter 22: Comic-Con 2027 (M/fff, cosplay, rescue)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=50168#p50168
Chapter 23: The Long Run (M/f, entrapment, lots of f in underwear)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=50308#p50308
Chapter 24: Private Investigation (F/ff, sisters, mind break, foot play)
Part 1: viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=50603#p50602
Part 2: viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=50603#p50603
Chapter 25: B-Plot (M/f, feet, breast torture, sidequel of ch20)
Part 1: viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=50731#p50731
Part 2: viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=50732#p50732
Chapter 26: Collector's Edition (M/ffffff+, cosplayers, vignette)
Part 1: viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=50899#p50899
Part 2: viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=50900#p50900
Chapter 27: Photoshoot (MFF/f, no sex, vore)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=51115#p51115
Chapter 28: Girl Next Door (M/f)
viewtopic.php?f=26&t=7672&p=51213#p51213

Chapter 1: The maid cafe (M/f, light vore at the end)
In the corner of a bustling mall stood Petite Pleasures, a maid café with one unique draw—it employed both tinies and giant maids, each one a beauty in her own right. The tinies were delicate and petite, their sheer uniforms clinging to their small, perfect frames. The giants, towering over them, were just as stunning, their presence overwhelming in every way.

Tonight, the café was packed. Laughter echoed, glasses clinked, and the air buzzed with conversation. Giant customers lounged at their tables, picking at meals, their gazes lazily trailing the tinies scurrying between them. Raised walkways crisscrossed the room, the only safe way for the smaller maids to serve. Below, tinies on foot dodged careless steps, weaving between massive chairs and tables, always one misstep away from disaster.

A tiny girl dashed forward, only for a giant’s foot to slam down inches from her. Another wasn’t as lucky—kicked aside, landing hard on the floor. No one stopped. The giants barely noticed.

Lena moved swiftly across the walkway, fully aware of the eyes tracking her every step. Her uniform clung to her curves, the sheer fabric stretched tight over the soft swell of her breasts, the bounce of her ass evident with each step. The smooth line of her hips swayed enticingly, the material shifting to expose tantalizing glimpses of her skin. She was used to the attention now, but that didn’t mean she was immune to it.

She wasn’t here by choice, but by necessity. School was expensive, and her scholarship didn’t cover nearly enough. This job paid the bills, and while it was degrading, it was temporary. Just a couple more weeks, she reminded herself. The stares, the comments, the way the giants ogled her like prey—it was almost second nature to ignore it. Almost.

Across the café, other tiny maids were on full display. One bent over at the counter, her chest pressing against the thin fabric of her dress, nipples clearly visible beneath the material. Another stumbled, her skirt flipping up, exposing the thong stretched tight over her round ass. A giant snatched her up mid-struggle, his hands gripping her hips, showing her off like a prize before setting her back down, red-faced and shaken.

Lena ignored it, focused on her task. The tray she carried was larger than her, the drink glass nearly too heavy to balance. Her arms trembled with the strain, but she pushed on. Each step made the sheer dress shift, revealing more of her body. Her breasts swayed lightly, the fabric clinging tighter to the round curve of her ass with each movement. She made her way to the table, trying to maintain control, knowing the eyes of the giants around her were on her every move.

She reached it, lowering the tray with trembling arms. Her knees buckled slightly, her breath quick from the strain. Above her, the man at the table watched with a lazy smirk, clearly enjoying the sight of her struggle.

“H-here is your drink, Master,” she whispered, her voice soft and breathy, each word spilling out in a rush.



His fingers brushed against her sides as he reached for the tray, sending a jolt through her tiny frame. Without warning, he slapped her ass sharply, the force making her gasp and freeze. Her body tensed, but she said nothing.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Nice ass. Maybe I should ask if I can take you home.”

Her stomach twisted, heat flooding her cheeks. He’s not even going to tip, she thought bitterly.

“T-thank you, Master,” she managed to reply, forcing herself to curtsy, keeping her eyes down.

She stepped back, pulse hammering in her ears, not daring to linger. She knew better than to be sent to the VIP area. Just a couple more weeks, and she could quit.

At the counter, Mira, one of the giant maids, leaned casually against the surface, watching the chaos of the café with mild amusement. Tinies darted between tables, narrowly avoiding giant feet, while the giants barely spared them a glance. She caught sight of a tiny maid being plucked off the walkway, her squeak barely audible over the noise. Another was pressed against a customer’s thigh, her tiny hands bracing against him as he shifted in his seat. The giant smirked down at her, fingers trailing lazily along her back before finally letting her go.

Mira had it good. Her boyfriend made decent money, but they still struggled to save up for the things they wanted. This job wasn’t out of necessity—it was more for fun, some pocket change to go toward dates, gifts, or nights out. Maybe I should bring him home a maid as a gift, she mused, eyeing one of the curvy little things.

Her gaze swept the room, checking to ensure none of the tinies were being tucked away in places they shouldn’t be. Some giants got bolder with too much to drink, and while management didn’t strictly enforce the rules, the dining area still needed to maintain some semblance of order.

Satisfied, she turned to one of the tiny maids behind the counter. Evie was barely the size of Mira’s hand, struggling to organize a pile of napkins taller than she was. The tiny girl looked determined, her soft fingers smoothing out each napkin with slow, deliberate movements. The thin fabric of her uniform hugged her curves, her perky breasts straining against the delicate material. The skirt barely covered her ass, the slightest movement causing it to ride up, revealing more than it concealed.

Mira smirked, crossing her arms beneath her own ample chest. “Need some help with that?” she purred, her voice dripping with amusement and something more.

Evie didn’t look up, her voice firm as she adjusted the stack. “No, I’ve got it.”

Mira shrugged and turned away, but as she did, her hip lightly brushed the counter. The small tremor was nothing to her—but to Evie, it sent the entire pile of napkins tumbling.

The tiny’s squeal was muffled as she was buried under the soft sheets.

Mira chuckled low, bending to pluck a napkin off the pile, revealing Evie’s flushed face beneath the mess. “You should’ve been more careful,” she teased, her fingers trailing over the tiny’s face.

Evie huffed, struggling beneath the weight of the napkins, her tiny body shifting, her uniform stretching tight over her chest. She pushed at the napkins, her body causing the fabric to strain, exposing even more of her smooth skin.

“I had it…” she muttered, cheeks flushed.

Mira just grinned, watching the tiny squirm for a moment longer before grabbing a tray and walking off, her hips swaying confidently as she did.

The VIP back room was a secluded space, dimly lit, filled with low murmurs and laughter. It was a place every tiny dreaded, where the rules bent and broke, and the whispers of what happened behind the heavy curtains spread like wildfire.

Tara kept her eyes down as she moved along the raised walkway, the heavy tray balanced above her head. The drink was nearly the size of her torso, and her arms ached from the strain. Her uniform clung tightly to her curves, the sheer material barely containing the fullness of her small breasts, the soft curve of her hips. Her body quivered with each step, feeling the weight of unseen eyes on her, pressing against her skin.

Tara’s rent was overdue. The money from this job barely scraped by, but she had to make it work. Just one more week, she told herself, ignoring the tightening in her chest. Every step she took felt like it dragged her closer to a future she wasn’t sure she could outrun.

She reached the table, lowering the tray with careful precision. Her breath was quick, her body tight with nerves. “H-here is your drink, Master,” she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible.

The giant leaned forward, smirking as he reached out. His fingers brushed over her waist before fully gripping her, lifting her from the walkway. Tara gasped, kicking her tiny feet as she was raised into the air. “No—wait, Master, please—”

Her protest was cut off when he shoved her down into the waistband of his pants, pressing her body against the heat of his cock. The thick fabric of his underwear trapped her in place, the pulsing length pressing against her soft, tiny frame.

“You feel good there,” he muttered, adjusting her so that her face was buried in the fabric. His fingers slid over her tiny thighs, pressing her harder against him. “I think you’ll stay for a while.”

Tara’s breath came in desperate gasps as she struggled, her tiny body pinned beneath the giant’s powerful hand, the relentless pressure of him suffocating her.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding. “Just be good, little one.”

Across the room, Nina moved carefully between the tables, her tray balanced in her arms. She kept her gaze down, avoiding the greedy looks from the giants. She knew better than to draw attention.

A scream cut through the air—a tiny maid was plucked from the floor, her legs flailing as a giant wrapped his fingers around her. He tilted his head back, his mouth wide, before lowering her inside. The shriek of the tiny girl was cut off as his lips closed around her, his tongue sliding over her before a wet gulp swallowed her completely.

Nina forced herself to keep walking, her hands trembling. She just had to make it through the night.

She reached her table, placing the drink down with practiced precision. “Y-your drink, Master,” she murmured.

The giant didn’t even glance at the drink. His hand reached out, effortlessly plucking her from the walkway. Nina gasped as she was lifted, the world spinning around her.

“What do we have here?” he mused, turning her in his fingers. His thumb brushed over her tiny stomach before trailing lower, between her legs.

“Ah—M-Master, please—” Her breath hitched, her body trembling as his touch teased her.

He chuckled, bringing her closer, his other hand moving to pinch her small breasts. He rolled them between his fingers, the soft flesh caught in his grip. Nina tensed, gasping in discomfort.

“Look at you,” he muttered, amused by her reaction. “So eager.”

“N-no, please—”

His grip tightened, holding her in place. “I think you’ll entertain me for a while.”

Behind him, another giant grabbed a tiny by the back of her uniform, dangling her over his drink before letting her drop inside. She splashed into the liquor, her tiny body struggling against the sides of the glass. He raised the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, his tongue sliding over the trapped girl’s form.

Tara whimpered from within the giant’s pants, the heat of him suffocating. His cock twitched against her, pressing harder into her tiny body.

Nina trembled as the giant’s fingers continued their exploration, her body reacting despite the humiliation burning through her. All around her, tinies were plucked up, handled, used. The giants barely acknowledged their struggles, too busy indulging themselves.

It was just another night in the VIP room.

[ShrinkMaster]

Great story. I also really like the narrative style.

[Justhereforamoment1]

Welcome back to Tiny Torments! I had fun making this one, so I hope you enjoy. It's a bit longer than the last cause I had so many ideas.

---

The drive had been long—six hours of winding roads, fading daylight, and the steady hum of the car. Sophie had spent the first hour tense, but as the miles passed, she started to relax.

Emma made it easy. She chatted endlessly, telling stories about her hometown, her childhood, and the traditions her family insisted on keeping. Some of it sounded… nice. The idea of a warm house, a real holiday meal, and people gathered together—it was something Sophie hadn’t had in a long time.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

She had almost stayed behind. The tiny dorms were depressing enough on a normal day, but during the holidays? Everyone who had somewhere to go had already left. The halls would be quiet, the common area empty. She’d be stuck inside the whole time, because going anywhere alone wasn’t an option. Tinies who wandered off alone didn’t always come back.

So she had agreed, and for a while, as Emma talked, she let herself believe this could be good. A real holiday.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, it was late—almost midnight. The house was big, its windows glowing with warm, golden light. Inside, she could hear voices, laughter rumbling somewhere deeper in the house.

Emma stretched, yawning. “They’ve probably already eaten, but I told them we’d grab something on the way.” She glanced at Sophie with a reassuring smile. “You ready?”

Sophie took a breath, steeling herself. But this time, she nodded with something close to confidence.

Emma reached for her, and Sophie climbed onto her shoulder, settling into the familiar perch as Emma stepped out into the cold night air. She hugged her jacket close, shivering slightly, but Emma moved quickly, striding up to the door.

As soon as they stepped inside, warmth hit Sophie’s skin—and so did the attention.

Conversations paused. A dozen heads turned toward them. The air shifted, the way it always did when a tiny entered a room full of giants.

Then—

“Where’s your friend?” someone asked.

Emma blinked. “What? She’s right—”

She gestured toward her shoulder, but before she could finish, her father was already standing, scanning the room. “Did she not come in with you?” he asked, frowning.

A few others glanced toward the doorway, as if expecting someone human-sized to step inside at any moment. Emma’s older brother even leaned back in his chair to check the hallway.

The hope Sophie had clung to on the drive flickered.

Emma let out a light laugh, still oblivious. “Guys, she’s right here.” She turned slightly, making Sophie grip her sweater for balance. “This is Sophie.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, Emma’s father’s expression shifted into something unreadable. A creeping smile spread across his face.

“Well now,” he rumbled. “Isn’t that something.”

Sophie’s stomach sank.

Emma, still oblivious to the shift in the room’s energy, beamed and turned toward Sophie. “Come on, I’ll introduce you properly.”

She reached up, and Sophie hesitated for just a second before stepping into Emma’s waiting palm. The shift was subtle, but she felt it—the weight of too many eyes locked onto her. It wasn’t curiosity. It was something else.

Emma didn’t notice. She held Sophie out proudly. “This is Sophie, my best friend from school.”

Her mother was the first to step forward. A tall woman with sharp eyes, she offered a polite, if slightly strained, smile. “Well, isn’t she just the cutest little thing?”

Sophie forced a smile, feeling the heat of the woman’s gaze as she was inspected.

Emma’s father was next. His smile was wider now, too wide. “Pleasure to meet you, Sophie,” he said, voice thick with amusement. “Didn’t expect Emma to bring home such a… delicate guest.”

Emma’s older brother, Luke, chuckled, leaning against the doorway. “Didn’t think you’d bring home a pet, sis.”

Emma’s expression faltered. “She’s not a pet.”

Sophie felt her face burn, but she swallowed it down and gave a tight nod. “It’s nice to meet you.”

A few more greetings followed—an aunt, a cousin, each one with the same lingering glances. Too much interest. Too much amusement.

Emma’s mother clapped her hands together. “Well, I’m sure you’re both exhausted from the drive. Why don’t you get settled?”

Emma brightened. “Yeah, good idea.”

She carried Sophie up the stairs, and as soon as they were away from the living room, she huffed. “Ignore them,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They’re just weird about new people.”

Sophie didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure what she could say.

As they passed Luke’s room, the door was slightly ajar. Inside, the faint glow of a desk lamp illuminated a cluttered workspace. Glass vials, containers, and an assortment of chemical equipment were spread across his desk. A sharp, chemical scent drifted out into the hallway, mixing with the faintest hint of something sweet.

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, what are you working on now?” she called as they walked by.

Luke smirked, not looking up from his desk. “Just a little experiment.”

Emma shook her head. “You’re such a nerd.”

Luke just chuckled, but Sophie caught the way his eyes flicked toward her—calculating, considering.

Emma pushed open the door to one of the guest rooms and let out a groan. “Seriously?”

Sophie followed her gaze and immediately understood.

Two rooms had been set up. One had Emma’s bags inside, a neatly made bed waiting. The other was a guest room… with a full-sized bed that Sophie could have used as a football field.

Emma sighed. “I swear, my mom never listens. I told her my friend was coming, but I guess she assumed—” She waved a hand, letting the thought drop. “Whatever, you’ll just stay with me.”

She carried Sophie into her own room, setting her down carefully on the nightstand before moving to her suitcase. “I’ll make you a spot.”

Sophie sat quietly as Emma worked. She pulled an extra scarf from her bag, rolling it into a makeshift mattress, then added a folded sweater as a blanket. “There. That should be cozy, right?”

Sophie forced a smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Emma grinned and flopped onto the bed. “It’s gonna be fine,” she assured her. “They’ll get used to you. And we’ll have fun.”

Sophie lay down in her makeshift bed, but as Emma turned off the light, she stared up at the ceiling, unease settling deep in her stomach.

She really hoped Emma was right.

Just outside the room, Luke lingered in the hallway, fingers tapping idly against the doorframe. His gaze flicked toward the nightstand, then back down the hall.

A slow smirk curled his lips.

This was going to be an interesting holiday.

Sophie stirred slightly, a faint groan escaping her lips as consciousness teased at the edges of her mind. Her limbs felt heavy, her thoughts sluggish, the world around her swimming in a haze. Something wasn’t right. She tried to blink, to focus, but before she could fully surface from the fog clouding her senses, a shadow loomed over her.

A sharp hiss. The faint scent of something bitter filled her nose, and she barely had time to register the sensation before her body sank deeper into paralysis. The darkness pulled her under once more.

Luke exhaled slowly, lowering the small spray canister and watching as the tiny girl went completely limp again. He waited, listening for any sign of movement from his sister’s bed, but the soft rhythm of Emma’s breathing remained undisturbed.

His heart pounded, arousal thick and urgent as he reached down, his fingers hovering just above Sophie’s fragile form. She was so small. So perfect. He had spent the entire evening stealing glances, barely able to focus through the frustration of knowing she was just out of reach. But now? Now she was his.

Carefully, he slid his hands around her, his fingers brushing over her warm skin as he lifted her from the makeshift bedding Emma had set up. Even in sleep, she was delicate, her tiny chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. He swallowed hard, the reality of her helplessness sending a delicious shiver down his spine.

Glancing once more at his sister’s bed, he moved quickly, creeping across the room and slipping out into the hall. His cock throbbed with every step, his mind racing with everything he was about to do.

Once inside his own room, he set her down on his desk, his eyes devouring every inch of her. She was still dressed—something he needed to fix. Slowly, reverently, he reached down and began peeling away the layers of fabric.

Her tiny hoodie was first, the material light between his fingers as he slipped it off, revealing the soft curves of her slender shoulders. Then came the shirt beneath, lifted carefully to expose her delicate torso, the smooth lines of her stomach leading down to the waistband of her leggings.

His breath caught as he hooked a single finger into the fabric, pulling them down inch by inch. The moment her panties came into view, his cock gave an almost painful twitch, pressing insistently against the confines of his jeans.

Fuck.

She was exquisite.

His fingers traced the shape of her thighs as he worked the final piece of clothing away, making sure not to tear anything—he wanted to keep them intact. Finally, she was bare before him, her nude form laid out like a forbidden offering.

He let out a slow breath, drinking her in. Her tiny, perky breasts, the soft curve of her stomach, the delicate pink between her legs… every inch of her was perfect. He dragged a finger down her side, watching how her body gave beneath his touch, the smoothness of her skin making his cock throb even harder.

He had never seen anything so fucking arousing in his life.

Carefully, he flipped her over, his thumb tracing the curve of her ass, marveling at how perfectly it fit. Her thighs pressed together, small and tight, fueling his mind with wicked possibilities.

Luke exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on Sophie’s unconscious form sprawled across his desk. The faint rise and fall of her chest, the slight parting of her lips—it was enough to make his cock ache. So small, so helpless. Completely at his mercy. He ran a fingertip along her bare stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin. Slowly, he traced lower, brushing her thighs before spreading them apart with ease. She didn’t stir.

His cock strained against his jeans, the need growing unbearable. He unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down just enough to free himself. His thick shaft twitched in the cool air, the head slick with precum. The sight of her, lying there so oblivious and fragile, made him groan.

Carefully, he lifted her, cradling her limp body in his palm. Her head lolled slightly, arms limp at her sides. His other hand wrapped around his cock, giving it a slow stroke before pressing her tiny form against the length of it.

The contrast was intoxicating. His cock dwarfed her completely, her small frame barely spanning the width of his shaft. He rolled his hips slightly, dragging her soft skin along the rigid heat of his cock, smearing precum across her stomach and chest.

Her tiny breasts rubbed against him, her delicate curves molding to the shape of his length. He gritted his teeth, pressing her down harder, feeling the warmth of her against his most sensitive skin.

Fuck.

He shifted his grip, angling her so that her face met the swollen head of his cock. Slowly, he dragged her across it, smearing her lips and cheeks with slick wetness. The sight made his pulse pound harder. His fingers tightened, pressing her tiny frame more firmly into his length as he used her like nothing more than a fucktoy.

His hips moved in slow, deliberate thrusts, grinding his cock against her body, letting the friction build. Her limp limbs shifted with each movement, her hair sticking to her face, wet with precum. The sensation of her soft, warm flesh rubbing against his cock was driving him insane.

The tension coiled tighter, hotter. He could feel it building, a raw, unbearable need clawing at him. With a grunt, he pressed her flush against the head of his cock, his breath shuddering as the first thick spurt of cum shot out, splattering across her stomach.

He didn’t stop.

Another pulse, another hot rope of cum painting her skin, dripping down her thighs, pooling between her legs. He groaned, gripping her tighter, dragging her up and down along his length, using her as he rode out his orgasm.

By the time he was finished, she was drenched. Sticky, glistening, her tiny body coated from her face to her toes in his release.

Luke let out a slow, satisfied exhale, admiring the sight. But one time wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

That night, he took his time. Each time she was bathed in fresh warmth, he reveled in the sight—her tiny limbs twitching involuntarily in her drugged state, her body slick and glistening with the mess he left on her.

When he was finally spent, he leaned back, catching his breath. She was a disaster.

And he loved it.

But he wasn’t done yet.

He cleaned her up methodically, his fingers moving with careful precision as he wiped away the evidence of everything he’d done. He dressed her again, smoothing out her tiny clothes, making sure everything was exactly as it had been before.

Then, just as carefully, he carried her back to Emma’s room, slipping inside with practiced ease. Emma hadn’t moved, still lost in deep sleep.

Luke approached the nightstand, placing Sophie back onto her makeshift bed. He adjusted the scarf, tucking it slightly around her, making sure everything looked untouched.

Stepping back, he smirked.

She’d wake up none the wiser.

Probably.

The next morning, Sophie stirred. Her body felt… off. She shifted slightly, a faint stickiness clinging to her skin. A weird taste lingered on her lips, something she couldn’t quite place.

Flashes of something hazy, something wrong, flickered through her mind. A dream? A nightmare? She couldn’t remember.

Before she could focus on it, Emma groaned and stretched, sitting up with a yawn.

“Morning,” Emma mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes. “Sleep okay?”

Sophie hesitated, the strange, lingering unease still clinging to her.

Then she forced a smile.

“Yeah,” she lied. “Just had a weird dream.”

Emma yawned. “Happens. Come on, let’s get breakfast.”

As Emma got up, Sophie absently wiped her hands along her hoodie, that faint, sticky feeling still clinging to her.

She shook it off.

It was just a dream.

Right?

The day started normal enough.

Emma took Sophie out shopping, cradling her against her side like it was second nature. She didn’t even seem to notice the way people stared.

Sophie did.

At first, it was just passing glances—quick double takes, brief flickers of curiosity that vanished the moment someone caught themselves staring. But some weren’t as subtle.

A pair of teenage boys near the soda aisle grinned and whispered to each other, eyes flicking between Emma and the tiny perched in her arm. A middle-aged man near the deli counter openly gawked, his brows furrowing like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

And the cashier? She hesitated just a second too long before scanning Emma’s groceries, her eyes darting between them like she wasn’t sure whether to say something.

Sophie curled her fingers into the fabric of Emma’s sweater, keeping her head down.

Emma, oblivious or unconcerned, continued debating between two kinds of wine.

By the time they got back to the house, the afternoon had bled into evening, and the warmth of dinner preparations filled the air. The scent of roasting meat, buttered rolls, and something spiced clung to every corner of the house. Laughter echoed from the dining room, glasses clinking as the family settled in.

Emma wasted no time setting Sophie down on the table—front and center, where everyone could see her.

Sophie stiffened as the conversations wavered. It was subtle, just a second’s pause, but she caught it. That slight shift in energy. The moment of hesitation before people resumed talking.

She knew that hesitation well.

Uncle Mike was sitting across from her.

She had noticed him earlier, hovering near the kitchen with a beer in hand, watching as she and Emma walked in. He was built like a retired linebacker, thick in the shoulders with a stomach that pressed against his faded flannel. His hair was thinning, his cheeks ruddy with the first signs of a long night of drinking.

And his eyes?

They landed on Sophie and stayed there.

His expression didn’t shift right away. He just took a sip of his beer, watching her like he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Then, slowly, he smirked.

“Well, ain’t that something,” he mused, setting his bottle down with a dull thud.

Emma barely glanced up. “Her name is Sophie, Uncle Mike.”

He nodded, still staring. “Right. Sophie.” He stretched the name out, rolling it around like he wasn’t sure if it fit. “Didn’t expect to see one of them at the dinner table, that’s all.”

Sophie forced a tight smile, willing herself to stay composed. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Mike chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Polite little thing, huh?” He took another swig of beer. “You know, back in my day, you wouldn’t see this kinda thing. A tiny sittin’ at the table, eatin’ with the rest of us. No sir.”

Emma exhaled sharply. “Please don’t start.”

Mike held up his hands. “What? I’m just sayin’.” His gaze flicked to Sophie again, slower this time. “World’s changed a lot. You gettin’ treated real nice these days, huh, sweetheart?”

Sophie hesitated.

Something about the way he said it made her stomach twist.

Emma answered for her, rolling her eyes. “She’s my friend, Uncle Mike. Not a conversation piece.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Friend. Sure.” He picked up his beer again, taking another slow sip before adding, “Funny how things change.”

Sophie didn’t respond.

The conversation shifted, carried away by the others at the table. Emma’s mom asked about her classes, her dad threw in some halfhearted joke about dorm food, and for a little while, it felt… normal.

The food came out, and Sophie focused on picking at her plate while Emma’s family talked and drank.

And drank.

And drank.

By the time dinner was winding down, the mood had loosened. Voices were louder, laughter easier. The wine bottle had made several rounds, the beer had been flowing freely, and the scent of whiskey lingered near the men at the table.

Mike was a few drinks past tipsy now.

His voice had gotten louder. His words slower. His laughs longer.

And his restraint?

That was gone.

He leaned forward, eyes heavy-lidded, smirking across the table. “Y’know… before all these tiny-fuckin’ freedom laws—” he snorted, shaking his head “—I’d have been able to do whatever I wanted. But nooo. They need rights now.”

Emma groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Mike ignored her. His attention stayed on Sophie.

“You ever think about that, sweetheart?” His lips curled around the word, drunk and mean. “How different things used to be?”

Sophie clenched her jaw. “I try not to.”

He chuckled, low and rough. “Bet you don’t.”

Emma’s dad smirked but didn’t say anything. Her mom just took a long sip of wine.

No one stopped him.

Mike leaned back, swirling what was left of his beer in the bottle. “Look at her. All tiny n’ delicate. Like a little doll.” He snorted. “Shit, back in my day, guys would pay good money to get their hands on one like that.”

Emma’s fork hit her plate with a sharp clink. “Mike.”

“What?” He grinned. “I ain’t sayin’ I’d do it. I’m just sayin’—” He shrugged. “Some of us remember when things were a lot more fun.”

His gaze flicked to Sophie again, slow and lingering.

Sophie’s fingers curled into the napkin on her lap.

Emma, tipsy and comfortable, patted her on the head like nothing was wrong. “Ignore him,” she murmured, ruffling Sophie’s hair. “He’s just an old drunk.”

Sophie nodded stiffly, but she couldn’t shake the feeling.

The way Mike kept looking at her.

The way no one really stopped him.

The night wasn’t over yet and soon turned sloppy.

Wine bottles stood empty on the table, beer cans littered the countertops, and the scent of whiskey clung to the air. The conversations had grown louder, laughter echoing between drunken slurs and half-finished sentences.

And then the dice came out.

It had started as a casual drinking game—roll high, take a shot, roll low, do a dare. Easy, stupid fun. But as the drinks kept flowing, it became less about the game and more about the thrill of rolling well.

Emma, already giggling and flushed, leaned over to Sophie with a grin. “Hey, wanna help me roll?” She held up a pair of dice, wobbling slightly in her seat. “For luck.”

Sophie hesitated.

Before she could say no, Emma plucked her up effortlessly and pressed the dice into her hands. “C’mon, babe. Just give ‘em a toss.”

The table watched, humored but curious.

Sophie sighed and rolled, sending the dice bouncing across the table.

Double sixes.

The room erupted in cheers.

“Holy shit!” Emma cackled, shaking Sophie playfully. “Tiny luck is real!”

That’s all it took.

“Alright, lemme try!” someone slurred, reaching across the table.

Before Sophie could react, hands grabbed her, lifting her from Emma’s grasp. She barely had time to squeak before she was plopped into someone else’s lap, a new set of dice pushed into her hands.

“C’mon, sweetheart, roll for me.”

She did. Another good roll.

Drunken approval roared around her.

And just like that, she became part of the game.

She wasn’t asked. She wasn’t given a choice. She was taken from one pair of hands to the next, passed like a novelty, made to roll again and again. Each time, the dice came up lucky, and with every win, the excitement built.

She was placed on the table, shuffled into a waiting lap, pressed against warm hands that molded around her waist. She was set on a palm, cradled in arms, her tiny fingers wrapped around oversized dice as she was used to keep the game going.

It was overwhelming.

The heat of too many bodies, the careless movements, the way she was grabbed and adjusted like an object. She had no control—just a tiny piece in their drunken revelry, tossed from person to person without a second thought.

Then she ended up with Mike.

The moment his hands closed around her, she knew.

His grip was heavier than the others, fingers sinking into her sides in a way that lingered just a little too long. His breath, thick with beer, ghosted over her as he pulled her close, his palm hot against her back.

“Well, well,” he murmured, voice lazy with alcohol. “Guess it’s my turn, huh?”

Sophie stiffened.

Someone slid the dice toward them. “Give ‘em a good roll, Mike!”

“Oh, I will,” he chuckled.

But he didn’t give her the dice right away.

His fingers curled around her waist, rough and deliberate, tracing the curve of her hips as he shifted her in his grasp. She was small enough that his hand easily encompassed her, thumb dragging lazily down her stomach as he adjusted her in his lap.

Sophie swallowed hard.

The table was still laughing, still talking, still drinking. No one was paying attention.

Mike finally pressed the dice into her hands, his grip tightening as he leaned in.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. His thumb brushed lower, pressing against her inner thigh before retreating like it never happened.

“Roll.”

Sophie tried to steady herself, but Mike wasn’t making it easy.

His grip was firm, his thick fingers pressing into her sides, keeping her snug in his lap. The heat of his body seeped through her clothes, and the longer she sat there, the more she became aware of the unmistakable hardness beneath her.

She swallowed hard, her tiny frame perched precariously against the thick bulge pressing up from beneath his jeans. It wasn’t subtle.

Mike shifted slightly, a slow, lazy movement, just enough to drag her across the rigid length beneath her.

Sophie stiffened.

“C’mon now,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. His hands adjusted her again—more touching than necessary—palming her waist, smoothing up her stomach. “Give Uncle Mike a good roll.”

The dice were pushed into her hands, and she had no choice but to obey.

She tossed them, watching as they bounced across the table, barely registering the numbers as cheers erupted once more.

“Damn, Tiny Luck is real!” someone hooted.

“Looks like you got yourself a good one, Mike!” another voice laughed.

Mike chuckled, his grip tightening. “Yeah… real good.”

His thumb dragged over her stomach, creeping upward.

She barely had time to react before it reached her chest.

The touch was slow, exploratory—like he was testing just how much he could get away with. A casual grope, disguised beneath the drunken haze of the game.

Sophie’s breath hitched.

She wanted to push his hand away, but her arms were too small, too weak against his massive frame.

Another roll. Another “accidental” squeeze.

He shifted again, and the pressure beneath her grew firmer.

She could feel him.

Thick. Heavy. Pulsing against her.

And he was making sure she felt it.

Each subtle grind dragged her tiny form against him, pressing her harder into the rigid heat of his cock. His hand on her chest flexed slightly, fingertips grazing the curve of her breasts as he adjusted her once more.

Her stomach turned.

She had to get out of here.

She turned her head quickly, looking for Emma. “Hey,” she called, trying to keep her voice steady. “Can we—um—go upstairs?”

Emma blinked, already hazy with alcohol. “Huh?”

Sophie forced a smile. “I think I’m getting tired.”

Emma hesitated, then let out a breathy laugh. “Aw, yeah, that makes sense. Long day.” She stretched, pushing herself up from the table. “Sorry, guys, think we’re tapping out.”

Mike sighed dramatically, giving Sophie one last lingering squeeze before releasing her. “Well, that’s a shame.”

Sophie didn’t reply. She practically scrambled out of his lap as Emma reached for her, scooping her up with the same careless ease as always.

As Emma carried her away, she leaned her cheek against Sophie’s head, her voice thick with liquor. “Sorry, my family can get pretty rowdy when we’ve had enough to drink.”

Sophie didn’t answer.

Her skin still burned where Mike had touched her. Her stomach churned with nausea.

And as Emma stumbled toward their room, blissfully unaware, Sophie knew one thing for certain.

Tonight had been a mistake.

The next morning, Sophie woke up feeling wrong.

Her body was sticky. Not just from sweat, but from something else—something thicker. She shifted slightly, and her stomach twisted as a faint squish came from between her thighs.

A nightmare. She knew she’d had one.

The images were scattered—disjointed flashes of darkness, heat, the overwhelming pressure of something pressing down on her. Hands. A body. But every time she tried to grasp the details, they slipped away, leaving behind nothing but a deep, gnawing unease.

She shuddered and sat up. Emma groaned beside her, stretching her arms over her head with a loud yawn.

“Ugh… I drank too much,” she muttered, rubbing her face. She blinked blearily at Sophie before sighing. “Well, last day.”

Sophie swallowed, nodding.

The morning was slow. They packed lazily, ate a late breakfast, and idly chatted as if the past few nights had been nothing out of the ordinary. Emma, still hungover, barely seemed to register Sophie’s quietness.

By afternoon, they were almost ready to leave. That was when Emma’s younger cousin arrived—dragging her dog behind her.

A golden retriever. Large, fluffy, and far too excited.

“He wanted to say goodbye to everyone!” the little girl giggled, barely keeping hold of the leash as the dog wagged its tail violently, ears perked at the new visitors.

Emma crouched to pet him, grinning. “Hey, buddy.”

Sophie, still perched on her shoulder, went stiff. She’d been around dogs before—most were fine. But something about the way this one looked at her made her stomach drop.

Its big brown eyes locked onto her.

And then—it lunged.

A yelp tore from Sophie’s throat as massive teeth closed around her waist. Warm, wet pressure engulfed her completely, and before she could even scream—SHAKE.

The world blurred, snapping violently side to side as the retriever whipped her around in its mouth.

Sophie gasped, her body jolting, bones rattling from the force of it. Thick strands of drool smeared across her skin as the dog growled, delighted with its new toy.

“Sparky! NO!” the little girl shrieked.

“SOPHIE!” Emma’s voice was panicked, but the retriever barely noticed, too caught up in its game.

Another shake—then a toss.

Sophie tumbled through the air before the dog caught her again, clamping down just enough to keep hold, its powerful jaws squeezing tight. Her tiny limbs flailed uselessly against the massive tongue pressing into her back, slicking her completely with hot saliva.

“LET HER GO!”

Hands grabbed at the dog’s muzzle, prying its jaws apart. Sophie dropped limply into Emma’s waiting palms, gasping, drenched in spit.

“Oh my God—are you okay?” Emma’s voice was frantic as she checked her over.

Sophie coughed, her body trembling. Scrapes and raw patches burned across her skin where the dog’s teeth had grazed too close. Her wings twitched weakly, feathers stuck together with warm drool.

The little cousin was nearly in tears, clinging to the dog’s collar. “I—I’m sorry! He thought she was a toy!”

Emma exhaled sharply, still holding Sophie close. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” She glanced down, wincing at Sophie’s ruined state. “…Shit.”

The ride back was quiet.

Emma, still guilty, kept apologizing. “I swear I didn’t think that would happen. God, I feel awful.”

Sophie, slumped in the seat beside her, barely had the energy to respond.

“It’s… fine,” she murmured, staring out the window.

Back at the house, Luke sat alone at the kitchen table, the last dregs of last night’s whiskey swirling in his glass. The house was quiet now—Emma and Sophie long gone.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his notes.

Sophie – Tiny Dorms, Bldg 4, Room 206.

He smirked.

Then, with a satisfied hum, he tapped the screen—saving it for later.

[ShrinkMaster]

This was another excellent story!

[Justhereforamoment1]

Thank you. Do you have any scenarios you'd like to see? I still have some ideas but I will run out eventually.

[ShrinkMaster]

I don't have a preference for one storyline.

In general, I like it when the power relationship is reversed and especially executed with sexual dominance. Like teacher/student, mother/son, aunt/nephew, boss/employee, maybe a famous person (e.g. a TV presenter or politician) who gets shrunk and unexpectedly mistreated and abused etc.

Incest stories are not a must and can be a turn-off for some people, but I usually find them particularly intense.

What I don't like so much are scenarios in which minis are killed. But that's more because I think it's a waste of a victim. I just read and ignore those parts and enjoy the other parts of the story.

[Justhereforamoment1]

So maybe something like a tiny weather host kidnapped by an enraptured fan? Or perhaps a mistreated maid showing her tiny celebrity boss what's what. (Side note: all the tinies I write about will more than likely already be tiny, no shrinking for me)

[ShrinkMaster]

Sounds good, but feel free to write about whatever you feel like.
For me, shrinking doesn't necessarily need to be written about. Even in my stories, it usually happens in the blink of an eye.

[Justhereforamoment1]

Back at it again with a new short. This time for the lady giants if they exist. This one puts the short in short. I just felt like making something short and brutal so that's what we've got. I was sitting on it a bit but I've got another coming up I'm excited for so I figured I'd release this one a bit earlier than planned. Anyways, enjoy!

---

The club pulsed with music, the bass vibrating through the floor as the five of them weaved their way through the crowd. Tiny bodies, barely doll-sized compared to the towering humans around them, they stuck close—laughing, clinging to each other, their barely-there outfits leaving little to the imagination as alcohol buzzed in their veins.

Lena, the ringleader, flipped her long, silky dark hair over her shoulder, her curvy frame hugged by a tight red dress. She was the bold one, the one who always led the charge. "Alright, ladies, where to next?"

"Anywhere with more drinks," Tasha giggled, swaying slightly as she draped herself over Mia’s shoulder. Tasha had the biggest tits of the group, her strapless top barely containing her heavy, jiggling breasts, her deep brown skin glowing under the club lights.

"We should call it a night," Sam muttered, always the cautious one. She was tall for a tiny, with toned legs and sharp features, her tiny skirt clinging to her hips as she adjusted the hem.

Olivia, the smallest of the bunch, rolled her eyes. "Boring. Let’s at least enjoy the air before we decide." She was petite, practically pocket-sized compared to the others, with perky little tits and a high, teasing voice.

Mia, the quiet one, simply smiled. She had a thick, plush ass that bounced with every step, her long blonde hair cascading down her back. She was already feeling the night, her cheeks flushed, her eyes hazy.

They spilled out onto the street, heels clicking against the pavement, still laughing, still drunk on the night. None of them noticed the eyes watching.

None of them saw her.

A shadow peeled away from the alley—a towering figure, long legs accentuated by the sharp lines of her dress, dark lips curled into a smirk. Her deep crimson dress clung to her curves, her massive breasts straining against the fabric, her thick thighs leading down to sharp, elegant heels. She was impossibly beautiful, her black hair falling in waves around her shoulders, her predatory golden eyes glowing under the streetlights.

Five of them.

For now.

She stepped into the light.

The moment they saw her, the laughter died.

Lena was the first to register it, her pulse spiking. She took a step back, instinct screaming. "Run."

The command barely left her lips before they scattered, heels be damned, tiny legs pumping as panic set in.

The giantess only chuckled.

Pathetic.

Two steps and she was already on them. A hand shot out, snatching Mia mid-sprint, her thick ass jiggling as she kicked wildly. Another grabbed Sam as she tripped, nails scraping against pavement as she shrieked. Tasha barely made it two feet before fingers curled around her waist, hoisting her effortlessly into the air, her heavy tits bouncing violently with the sudden movement.

Lena fought. Of course she did. Wild, thrashing, cursing as the giant woman plucked her up like she weighed nothing.

Four.

She paused, glancing around, lips pursing.

"Weren't there five of you?"

A shaky breath came from under the bench.

No matter.

She had what she needed.

And she was going to enjoy them.

The giantess smirked, holding her squirming prizes up to her face. They dangled helplessly in her grip, tiny bodies twisting, breathless with fear.

“Well, aren’t you all adorable?” she purred, tilting her head. “Running was cute, but really… where did you think you were gonna go?”

Lena, still fighting, snarled. “Put us the fuck down, you psycho—!”

A sharp squeeze cut her off with a gasp.

The giantess laughed. “Oh, I like you.” She shifted her grip, holding them all close to her massive tits, feeling their little bodies tremble against her warm skin. “Name’s Valeria, by the way. Not that you’ll have much use for it.”

She dragged her tongue over her bottom lip, eyes gleaming. “Mmm… I do love a midnight snack.”

Mia whimpered as Valeria’s gaze settled on her.

“Starting with you.”

Before the tiny could even scream, Valeria tilted her head back and parted her lips.

The heat of her breath washed over Mia as she was lifted higher, legs kicking wildly. The others shrieked, struggling, but Valeria only sighed in pleasure as she dangled her prize over the open abyss of her mouth.

Then—she let go.

Mia tumbled, her thick ass bouncing off the giantess’s tongue before being sealed behind soft, plush lips. Muffled screams vibrated through Valeria’s cheeks as she rolled the tiny woman across her tongue, savoring every desperate squirm.

Her throat flexed.

The lump of Mia’s body traced a slow descent down her neck.

Gone.

The remaining three trembled, horror frozen on their faces.

Valeria exhaled, licking her lips. “Mmm. Delicious.”

She glanced at the two in her left hand.

“Now… what to do with you?”

Valeria let the moment hang, relishing the terror painted across their tiny faces. She could feel their frantic heartbeats against her fingers, their breath coming in quick, uneven gasps.

She smirked. "Well, I can't just eat all of you, now can I?"

The tinies flinched as her grip shifted. Sam, wide-eyed and shaking, barely had time to cry out before Valeria’s fingers pried her legs apart.

"Oh, I know exactly where you're going."

"No—wait, please—!" Sam's begging turned into a shriek as she was lowered between Valeria’s thighs.

The giantess didn't bother with slow. She spread her dripping pussy with one hand and shoved Sam inside, the tiny's legs disappearing first, kicking uselessly against the wet heat. The resistance was delicious—tight, struggling, squirming. Valeria groaned, pressing Sam deeper, feeling her tiny body sink inside, muffled cries lost in the wet squeeze of her cunt.

Lena thrashed wildly in her other hand, snarling. "You sick fucking—!"

Valeria only laughed, breathy and pleased. "Aw, baby, you're up next."

She turned, shifting her weight slightly, and dragged her free hand down her thick ass, fingers teasing at her tight hole. The realization dawned on Lena’s face a second too late.

“No. No, no, you fucking bitch, you’re not—STOP—”

But Valeria was already pressing her against her puckered asshole, rubbing her back and forth, smearing her in slick warmth.

Then she pushed.

Lena screamed, a high, furious sound that cut off as she was forced inside, her little body wriggling helplessly. Valeria moaned, savoring the stretch, feeling the tiny woman fight as she was swallowed inch by inch. A few more squeezes, a slow clench—then Lena was gone, buried deep inside the giantess’s ass.

Valeria shuddered, exhaling sharply. "Fuck, you all feel amazing." She rolled her hips slightly, savoring the tiny, frantic movements deep inside her—Sam’s struggles sending delicious tremors through her core, while Lena’s furious kicks twitched uselessly against the tight squeeze of her ass. Every little motion, every panicked squirm, only made her hungrier for more.

Her gaze dropped to the last tiny, still shaking in her palm.

Tasha didn’t even try to fight. She just trembled, eyes glassy, completely broken.

Valeria hummed, pinching the tiny's massive tits. "You're no fun. But I’ll save you for later."

She opened her purse, dropped Tasha inside, and snapped it shut.

Valeria let out a contented sigh, adjusting her dress as she rolled her shoulders.

"Well, ladies… that was fun."

With a satisfied smirk, she tossed her purse over her shoulder and turned away, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. The night was still young, and she had plans—maybe a drink, maybe a long bath, maybe a bit more fun once she got home.

Olivia's breath came in short bursts as she watch the giantess casually treat her best friends like toys. She didn't know what to do.

Seeing the giant woman turn away she bolted, trying to get away from this monster. Before she could make it that far, a dark shadow appeared over her. It was Valeria's shoe.

Valeriya didn’t notice the faint crunch beneath her step.

Didn’t hear the tiny, choked-off gasp.

She simply walked off into the city, humming softly to herself, the night swallowing her whole.

[Justhereforamoment1]

This one is follows a maid as she uses her boss for her pleasure. I wanted to do a thing that ShrinkMaster liked (power relationship swap), and this is what I came up with. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

---

The penthouse was immaculate, just as it always was. Not a single speck of dust marred the polished marble floors, not a single pillow out of place on the massive sectional couch. Every surface gleamed under the soft glow of designer lighting, the air carrying the faintest scent of expensive vanilla candles. It was perfection—because that’s exactly how its owner demanded it to be.

Atop the pristine glass coffee table, standing at a mere six inches tall, was Celeste Moreau.

The world adored Celeste. She was the face of tiny activism, a beloved pop star, an actress, a socialite. Every magazine cover bore her flawless face, every interview painted her as the tiny who “defied expectations.” She spoke passionately about equality, about bridging the gap between tinies and giants, about the need for respect.

And yet, behind the closed doors of her penthouse, that veneer of kindness cracked.

“Are you deaf?” Celeste snapped, her voice sharp despite its tiny size. She flipped her long, platinum-blonde hair over her shoulder, her perfectly manicured fingers gripping the tiny cup of coffee in front of her. “I said oat milk. This is almond.”

Across the room, towering over the table, stood Mara—the maid.

Mara had served in this penthouse for two years, her uniform always crisp, her demeanor always obedient. She was tall, curvy in all the right places, with thick thighs and an ass that pressed just a little too tightly against the fabric of her skirt. Her caramel-toned skin was smooth, her large breasts straining subtly against her blouse, her dark hair always pinned back into a tight bun. The faintest accent colored her words when she spoke, her voice deep, sultry, yet perfectly professional.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Mara said, bowing her head slightly. “I’ll fix it.”

Celeste scoffed, rolling her bright blue eyes. “Fix it faster next time. I swear, it’s like you don’t even listen.”

She shifted on her tiny chaise lounge, her body a perfect hourglass even in her miniature size. Her perky breasts barely shifted beneath the silk robe she lazily wore, her toned legs crossing as she huffed.

Mara said nothing. She simply turned, moving toward the kitchen with quiet, measured steps, the swell of her hips swaying subtly beneath her skirt.

Celeste sighed dramatically, draping an arm over the side of her lounge. “I don’t know why I keep you around, honestly. You’re lucky to have this job.”

Mara’s grip tightened on the glass in her hand.

She had heard those words before.

And she was getting very, very tired of them.

Mara moved methodically, placing the offending cup into the sink. Her hands were steady, her face calm—but inside, something simmered.

Two years.

Two years of this little brat barking orders, treating her like a machine, like some faceless, disposable thing. The public saw Celeste as a beacon of kindness, a champion for tiny rights. But behind closed doors, when there were no cameras, no interviews, no staged acts of generosity—she was just another spoiled, entitled bitch.

Mara had put up with it. The long hours, the degrading comments, the endless demands.

But something was different today.

Today, the simmering heat inside her chest wasn’t cooling. It was rising, spreading through her veins like fire.

She glanced back toward the living room.

Celeste wasn’t even looking at her anymore. She was scrolling through her phone, her small, dainty fingers tapping against the screen, likely crafting some self-righteous post about respect and kindness.

Mara’s lips curled.

Enough.

She stepped away from the sink, moving with slow, deliberate purpose back toward the table.

Celeste barely acknowledged her, too absorbed in whatever nonsense she was posting. “About time,” she muttered. “Do you know how exhausting it is having to repeat myself to you, Mara? It’s like you’re not even—”

A shadow fell over her.

Celeste’s words caught in her throat.

Mara wasn’t holding a cup.

She wasn’t bowing her head, wasn’t apologizing, wasn’t scurrying off to fix some minor inconvenience.

She was standing right over the tiny woman now, dark eyes locked onto her, the faintest smirk curling her lips.

Celeste’s stomach tightened. “What are you doing?”

Mara tilted her head, her thick, dark lashes lowering slightly. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

A hand moved.

Celeste barely had time to react before she was plucked from the lounge, fingers wrapping around her tiny body with ease.

She gasped, struggling instinctively, her hands pressing against the soft, warm skin of Mara’s palm. “Put me down!” she shrieked, kicking her legs, her silk robe slipping slightly from her shoulder. “Now!”

Mara chuckled, a low, rich sound.

“Or what, princesa?”

She lifted Celeste higher, bringing her closer, so close that the tiny woman could feel the warmth of her breath against her skin.

“You gonna fire me?” Mara purred, lips just barely parting as she whispered the words. “Hmm? Call security?”

Celeste’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how things went. She gave the orders. She was in control.

And yet—

The heat of Mara’s fingers pressing into her curves sent a jolt through her. Not just fear. Something else.

Something dangerous.

Something that told her, for the first time in her life, she had no power here.

Mara’s smirk deepened.

“Let’s see how much you really believe in tiny equality, chiquita.”

She turned, carrying Celeste with effortless ease, her grip firm but not rough. Not yet.

The bedroom was dimly lit, the air thick with the faint scent of perfume and luxury. Mara strode toward the bed, the plush mattress sinking slightly beneath her weight as she sat. With a slow, deliberate motion, she uncurled her fingers and let Celeste drop.

The tiny yelped as she landed on the silky sheets, barely catching herself on her hands and knees.

Before she could scramble away, Mara’s finger pressed into her chest.

Firm. Unyielding.

Celeste gasped, her delicate frame pinned against the bedspread. She twisted, writhing beneath the weight of just one of Mara’s fingers, her tiny muscles straining, her soft, plush body pressing into the sheets.

The giantess loomed over her, dark curls framing her sharp, knowing smirk. The dim glow of the room traced the caramel curves of her full figure, the tight fabric of her uniform hugging her body in all the right places.

"Not so mouthy now, are you, princesa?"

She shifted her hips slightly, letting Celeste feel the weight of her presence, the sheer difference between them. The tiny woman’s platinum blonde hair was a tangled mess, her once-perfect makeup smudged from sweat and struggle. Her silk robe had fallen open, exposing the expensive lace lingerie barely containing her curves—the heavy swell of her tits, the soft roundness of her thighs, every inch of her body practically designed to be admired.

"You always act so big," Mara mused, slowly dragging her fingertip down Celeste’s stomach, pressing against the taut muscles beneath. "So powerful."

She let her finger trail lower, dipping beneath the hem of the tiny’s robe, tracing the thin waistband of her panties. Celeste whimpered, her plush thighs pressing together instinctively. Mara smirked.

"Look at you," she cooed, dragging her nail along the flimsy lace. "So small. So helpless."

Celeste twisted beneath her, trying to push at the thick, unmovable digit pinning her down. Mara barely felt it.

"Ay, pobrecita…" The maid chuckled, sliding her free hand down between her own thick thighs, teasing herself through the fabric of her uniform. "You act like you’re in charge. Like you’re better than me."

She scoffed, then grabbed the tiny woman by her ankle, lifting her effortlessly into the air. Celeste shrieked, her arms flailing as her body dangled upside down, the lace of her lingerie slipping just enough to expose the curves of her ass.

Mara licked her lips.

"You know what you are, chiquita?" she murmured, bringing Celeste closer to her parted lips, letting the heat of her breath wash over her tiny, trembling form. "You're a fucking toy."

With a wicked grin, Mara opened her mouth and dragged Celeste’s squirming body against her tongue, tasting the soft, trembling flesh. The tiny let out a muffled, gasping whimper as she was dragged deeper, her ample tits pressing against the slick heat of Mara’s mouth. The maid moaned, the vibrations rolling through the tiny’s helpless frame as she suckled lightly, teasing her, savoring the helpless squirms.

She could feel every shiver, every desperate struggle against the powerful, wet muscle holding her in place. Celeste’s soft thighs squeezed together in a futile attempt to resist, but Mara simply pried them apart with her tongue, tasting every inch of her.

When she finally pulled the tiny away, Celeste was soaked—her delicate lingerie clinging to her body, her tiny chest rising and falling in frantic, uneven breaths. Mara grinned down at her, wiping a trail of saliva from her lower lip with the back of her hand.

"You look better like this," she purred, trailing her fingers lower, pressing the tiny’s squirming body against the plush curve of her breast, letting her feel the heat radiating from her skin.

Then, with deliberate slowness, she lowered the trembling woman toward the hungry, wet heat between her legs.

"Let’s see if that pretty little mouth of yours is good for something other than talking back."

Mara didn’t give Celeste a chance to protest. Her grip tightened around the tiny woman’s waist, nails dimpling the soft flesh beneath the lace of her lingerie. She spread her legs, pulling up her maid uniform to reveal the warm, glistening heat waiting between her thick, caramel thighs.

"You wanted to act like a queen in my house," she murmured, dragging Celeste’s writhing body against the dampness pooling at her entrance. "But look at you now. Just a tiny little thing, right where you belong."

Celeste kicked, her hands pressing against the slick skin, but she was nothing in Mara’s grasp—just a trembling doll, a plaything. The maid purred as she pressed the tiny against her folds, grinding her against the wetness, smearing her delicate body in her heat.

"That’s it," Mara groaned, rolling her hips into the sensation. "Keep squirming for me, princesa. Feels good."

Celeste's muffled screams only made it better.

The tiny’s ample curves were slick now, her soft breasts pressing into the sensitive flesh of Mara’s pussy, her thighs kicking weakly against the overwhelming heat. With a wicked grin, Mara pressed harder, forcing the tiny’s face between her lips, dragging her slowly up and down. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through her, and she let out a husky laugh, rocking her hips into the motion.

"You love this, don’t you?" she taunted, voice thick with arousal. "Bet you’ve never felt this powerless before."

Celeste whimpered—her tiny hands grasping at Mara’s clit, trying to push herself away, but all it did was make the maid shudder with pleasure.

"Fuck," Mara groaned, biting her lip. "You're perfect."

Without hesitation, she shifted her grip and shoved.

Celeste’s scream cut off as she was plunged deep into the suffocating warmth. Mara moaned, savoring the stretch, the tiny body forced inside inch by inch. She clenched, feeling Celeste twitch helplessly against her inner walls, struggling, fighting—but there was no escape. Not until Mara decided.

The sensation sent a violent shiver through her spine.

She exhaled shakily, her head falling back as she thrust her hips forward, sinking the tiny even deeper. The pressure, the writhing, the sheer power of it had her panting as her walls clenched around her toy.

"Ahh, fuck," she gasped, rolling her hips. "Stay right there, baby. I’m not done playing."

She traced her fingers down her own stomach, pressing lightly against the spot where Celeste was trapped inside. A lazy smirk curled on her lips.

"You feel so good in there," she murmured, teasing herself with slow, deliberate strokes.

Celeste’s tiny body thrashed uselessly, her muffled screams swallowed by the suffocating heat around her. Mara moaned, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure through her body as she clenched, feeling every frantic movement deep inside.

"Keep fighting, chiquita," Mara purred, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate motions. "It just makes it better."

The pressure was overwhelming. Celeste’s slick, trembling form pressed into every inch of Mara’s inner walls, her soft curves molding to the wet heat that surrounded her. The maid’s muscles flexed around her, tightening, teasing, keeping her trapped exactly where she wanted her.

Celeste clawed at the overwhelming pressure, her delicate fingers pressing into the velvet heat that refused to release her. Her legs kicked, her body twisting, but every desperate motion only made Mara gasp, made her grind down harder, made her shudder with satisfaction.

"Fuck, you feel good," Mara groaned, dragging her fingers down her own stomach, pressing into the faint bulge beneath her skin where Celeste squirmed. "So small, so soft. Just perfect."

She didn’t rush. She wanted to savor this.

Slowly, she pulled Celeste back, just enough for the tiny to gasp a desperate breath—only to push her right back inside, rolling her hips, grinding her deeper, forcing her to endure every moment of it.

Celeste's whimpers turned to muffled sobs, her tiny frame trembling, helpless, completely at the mercy of the giant woman who used her like nothing more than a toy.

Mara bit her lip, smirking as she felt the tiny’s resistance start to weaken.

"Not so powerful now, are you?" she murmured, pressing Celeste’s squirming body harder against her sensitive inner walls. "Not the big, important activist anymore. Just a little thing for me to play with."

She dragged it out—edging herself, savoring every desperate twitch of Celeste’s tiny, helpless body. She let her drown in the heat, squeezing around her, feeling every frantic struggle. And just when the little thing seemed on the verge of losing herself completely, Mara pulled her back—just enough for a single, gasping breath—before plunging her back in.

The maid’s dark eyes fluttered shut, thighs tightening, her breath hitching as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside her. Celeste’s slick curves molded to her perfectly, her soft tits pressing against quivering walls, her weak little legs barely kicking now—spent, trembling, but still enough to send sharp, electric pleasure tearing through Mara’s core.

She rolled her hips, grinding down, taking everything she wanted from the squirming toy trapped inside her. The tension built to a breaking point, every thrust, every squeeze pushing her closer, higher—until finally, a deep, shuddering moan tore from her throat.

“Time to put that pretty little body to real use, princesa,” she purred, voice thick with pleasure.

And then she let go.

With a growl, she clenched, trapping Celeste inside, letting the tiny feel every single pulse of her pleasure as she ground down harder, chasing that peak. The slick, trembling heat swallowed Celeste whole, Mara’s muscles flexing around her like a vice, squeezing, holding her in place.

"Fuck," Mara groaned, her voice low, husky, desperate. "You’re perfect, baby. Just… like that."

She rolled her hips, slow at first, then faster, grinding Celeste deeper, harder, dragging her over every sensitive inch, using every part of her tiny body for her own satisfaction. Celeste's soft curves pressed into her clenching walls, her plush thighs twitching, her muffled gasps swallowed by the overwhelming heat.

Mara could feel her breaking.

The tiny had fought at first—had screamed, had thrashed, had tried to push against the overpowering muscles trapping her inside. But now? Now, all that arrogance, all that righteous fury had melted into nothing but helpless, pitiful tremors.

"You were always meant for this, weren’t you?" Mara groaned, biting her lip, her fingers pressing into her own stomach, feeling Celeste twitch inside her. "Not some big, powerful activist. Just… a little thing for me to fuck."

She shuddered, her pleasure coiling tighter, sharper, dragging her closer to the edge.

Celeste's movements were barely struggles now—just weak little spasms, every tiny gasp sending fresh waves of bliss rolling through Mara’s body. The feeling of her, so small, so helpless, so utterly trapped—

It sent Mara over.

Her hips jerked, her thighs tightening as the orgasm ripped through her, pleasure crashing down in hot, shuddering waves. She clenched, hard, trapping Celeste in the throbbing grip of her climax, moaning deep and low as she rode it out, grinding, pressing, savoring every single twitch of the tiny woman lost inside her.

It wasn’t until the aftershocks finally ebbed, until the tension in her muscles slowly melted into languid satisfaction, that Mara exhaled, her body sinking into the sheets, her pulse still pounding with the afterglow.

A lazy, satisfied smirk curled on her lips.

But she wasn’t done yet.

With a slow, deliberate motion, she reached between her thighs, her fingers slick as they curled around Celeste’s trembling body, pulling her free.

The tiny was wrecked.

Her soft frame was soaked, her platinum hair plastered to her flushed skin, her breath coming in weak, shuddering gasps. Her body twitched slightly, her lips parting in some breathless, exhausted noise—but nothing came out.

Mara chuckled.

"Not so mouthy now, hmm?"

She didn’t give Celeste a moment to recover. Instead, she dragged the tiny up, pressing her against the slick, throbbing heat of her clit, grinding her slowly, lazily, letting the tiny feel every lingering tremor of pleasure.

"You’re gonna stay right here, chiquita," she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction as she pinned Celeste in place with the slow roll of her hips.

"Lick. Clean up your mess."

Celeste whimpered, but she had no choice.

She started to lick.

In the following days, Mara used Celeste however she pleased.

The penthouse, once a sanctuary of luxury and control, became a prison of flesh and sweat. Celeste, the champion of tiny rights, the untouchable socialite, the defiant voice of equality—was now nothing more than her maid’s personal plaything.

Every morning, she woke up to warmth. The suffocating, humid embrace of Mara’s thick thighs pressing against her body, her tiny form shoved between them like nothing more than a toy left in bed overnight. The scent of the giantess was inescapable, the musk of her arousal clinging to Celeste’s skin no matter how many times she was rinsed off—if Mara even bothered.

Throughout the day, Celeste was used. Sometimes it was casual, Mara absentmindedly rubbing her against herself while watching TV, barely acknowledging her except for a low hum of pleasure when Celeste’s soft body pressed in just the right way. Other times, it was rough—her tiny form plunged deep inside Mara’s heat, her muffled screams swallowed by the slick, tightening walls that gripped her like they owned her.

And they did.

Mara made sure Celeste knew it.

“You always loved the spotlight, chiquita,” she purred one night, dragging Celeste’s naked, trembling form down her stomach, toward the heat waiting below. “Time to shine.”

Celeste barely fought anymore. She knew it was pointless.

She knew her place.

---

The press conference was packed. Reporters, activists, fans—all gathered, waiting to hear from Celeste Moreau, the voice of the tiny community. The cameras flashed, microphones angled forward, the world expecting another impassioned speech about justice.

Celeste stood before them, a perfect doll of a woman. Her platinum-blonde hair was styled flawlessly, her makeup impeccable, her designer dress hugging her curves in a way that demanded attention.

And yet—something was wrong.

Her hands trembled.

Her breath hitched.

She swallowed, and for a single, fleeting moment, her bright blue eyes flicked to the side—where, just out of frame, she stood.

Mara.

She wasn’t in uniform. She wasn’t a maid anymore. She was something else.

Celeste’s lips parted, her throat working, her body stiff as she prepared to speak.

Mara’s fingers twitched—subtle, deliberate. A silent reminder.

Celeste flinched.

Then, she lowered her gaze.

“I…” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I was wrong.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Celeste clenched her fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. Her stomach twisted—revulsion, self-loathing, the tiniest, desperate spark of resistance clawing at her throat. She could still fight. She could still—

Mara exhaled, low and slow.

Celeste’s thighs clenched together instinctively.

Her entire body shuddered.

She barely realized she was speaking until the words were already spilling from her lips, rehearsed and perfect.

“The divide between tinies and giants exists for a reason,” she continued, her voice steadier now—almost robotic. “True equality is… impossible. And it’s time we accepted that.”

Silence.

Then, the room erupted.

Shouts. Gasps. Reporters scrambling to ask questions, her supporters staring in horror as their idol, their savior, stood before them, denouncing everything she had ever stood for.

Mara smiled.

It was small. Pleased.

She turned and walked away, leaving Celeste standing there, alone.

Except she wasn’t.

Not really.

Because later tonight—when the lights were off, when the cameras were gone—Mara would remind her.

And Celeste would thank her for it.

Even if, somewhere deep inside, a tiny, broken piece of her still wanted to scream.

[ShrinkMaster]

Wow, that was intense writing. Thank you for that!

[Justhereforamoment1]

I've actually written a couple chapters already but I'm trying to space them out, give them room to breathe. I'd drop like 4 more chapters if I didn't want a backlog lol. Next one is just as intense but with a male giant

[Justhereforamoment1]

Heyo. After the last two being female giants I thought we'd go back to the ol' bread and butter: a male giant. Hope you enjoy!

---

The television bathed the darkened room in cool, flickering light, the only illumination against the deep shadows curling in the corners. Dominic "Dom" Calloway sat sprawled in his chair, broad frame sinking into the worn cushions, one hand lazily palming the thick weight between his legs as he watched her.

Lena Hart.

The tiny weather girl.

She stood atop the glossy news desk, all six delicate inches of her framed in high definition, her every movement sending a fresh jolt of heat down his spine. Her dress, prim and professional, hugged her curves like a second skin, the hem flirting with the tops of her plush thighs as she gestured toward the massive weather map behind her.

He wasn’t listening to the forecast.

He was watching her.

The way her hips swayed slightly as she shifted her weight. The delicate bounce of her perky tits with each practiced motion. The soft, natural pout of her lips as she spoke, completely unaware of how goddamn edible she looked.

His thumb brushed over the sensitive tip of his cock, teasing a slow pulse of pleasure from his heated flesh. He imagined her trapped in his palm, her tiny body squirming against his skin, her voice—so prim, so polished—reduced to frantic little squeaks as he peeled that dress away, inch by inch.

His breath came a little heavier, lips parting slightly as he squeezed himself, his mind conjuring the sensation of her soft thighs pressing together, her tiny hands pushing at his fingers, her perfect little body struggling in vain.

Then—her voice broke through his thoughts.

“A massive winter storm is set to hit the region tonight,” she announced, turning slightly, her golden curls brushing against her shoulders. “Meteorologists are warning that snowfall could reach record levels, leaving residents unable to leave their homes for days… maybe even weeks.”

His grip stilled.

A slow, dark smile curled at the edges of his lips.

Weeks.

The word sent a ripple of something dangerous through him, his gaze locking onto her as she continued to rattle off predictions and temperature charts, blissfully unaware of the shift in his thoughts.

Snow that thick meant no one would be going anywhere. No sudden knocks on doors. No friends checking in. No one expecting her to show up for work.

His cock twitched in his hand.

A fresh wave of arousal rolled through him as his fingers moved again, this time slower, more deliberate, his mind painting the possibilities in vivid detail.

She wouldn’t even know what was happening until it was too late.

Until she woke up somewhere warmer. Somewhere softer. Somewhere she could never leave.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his fingers tightening as he imagined the sound of her voice—breathless, pleading, confused—while he let her realize, inch by inch, just how small she truly was.

And just how big he was.

His strokes grew faster, his breath hitching slightly.

The storm was coming.

And he had every intention of making sure she spent it somewhere safe.

Nestled right in the palm of his hand.

The city was already drowning in snow.

Thick, heavy flakes fell in slow, hypnotic spirals, blanketing the streets in pristine white, swallowing the world in silence. Streetlights cast halos through the storm, their glow barely reaching past the swirling frost.

It was perfect.

Dom adjusted his coat, the crisp night air barely registering against his heated skin. Excitement curled in his gut, an electric thrill tingling at his fingertips. He had waited long enough.

And now, he was going to get her.

The news station’s side entrance was quiet at this hour—most of the staff had already left, eager to beat the worst of the storm. He knew her schedule. Knew Lena always stayed a little later to review scripts, perfect her delivery, put in those extra touches that made her so goddamn irresistible on screen.

He had watched her long enough to know.

His pulse thrummed, a slow, steady beat as he stepped into the dimly lit alley. The back exit loomed ahead, metal and unassuming. He could already picture her stepping through it, tiny legs carrying her carefully across the icy pavement, her heels clicking with every dainty little step.

Completely unaware.

He palmed the small cloth in his pocket, fingertips brushing against the faint dampness clinging to it. It wouldn’t take much. She was so small—so fragile.

The thought made his cock twitch against his thigh.

And then—

The door creaked open.

She stepped out, wrapped in a delicate white coat, her golden curls spilling from beneath the soft hood. A tiny purse dangled from her shoulder, her gloved hands adjusting the strap as she pulled it closer to her body. She was alone.

Fucking perfect.

She barely had time to register his presence before he moved.

A sharp gasp left her lips as his shadow engulfed her, her tiny frame stiffening in alarm. She turned—startled blue eyes flashing up at him, her mouth parting—

His hand clamped over her.

A soft, muffled squeal vibrated against his palm as he scooped her up, the force of his grip pressing her coat tightly against her body. She twisted, delicate fingers clawing at his skin, but it was useless. She fit so perfectly in his hand, so warm, so small.

He pressed the cloth to her face.

Her struggles sharpened, her little body jerking violently as the sickly-sweet scent filled her lungs. She writhed, her thighs squeezing together, her plush ass grinding helplessly against the curve of his fingers as she fought, fought, fought.

His breath came heavy now, heat coiling in his gut. He felt every frantic little movement—her tiny tits rising and falling in panicked breaths, her soft, useless punches against his knuckles, the way her body molded so perfectly against his skin.

She was fighting so hard.

And it only made him harder.

Her movements slowed.

The tiny whimpers against his palm grew softer, her lashes fluttering, those bright blue eyes unfocused, hazy.

His cock throbbed.

He stroked his thumb slowly over her stomach, feeling the last tremors of resistance fade beneath his touch. Her plush thighs twitched, her little fingers twitching weakly against him.

And then—she went limp.

A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest.

He lifted her, tilting her slightly in his grasp, admiring the way her tiny body draped against his palm. Her dress had ridden up, exposing the smooth expanse of her thighs, the faint lace of her underwear peeking from beneath the hem.

He exhaled slowly, his smirk deepening.

She looked like a doll.

His perfect, helpless little doll.

And he wanted to feel her.

His free hand moved to his belt, undoing the buckle with slow, deliberate ease. The winter air bit at his skin as he loosened his pants, pulling them open just enough to slip his fingers past the waistband of his boxers. His cock pulsed at the first touch, heat rolling through him as he spread the fabric, making space—

And then he lowered her inside.

Even unconscious, her tiny form reacted—her soft, warm curves pressing against the burning heat of his arousal, her plush tits squishing against the stiff flesh as he tucked her deep against him. His boxers held her tight, trapping her against the rigid length pulsing with need.

A slow, shuddering breath escaped him.

She was perfect.

Every tiny shift, every unconscious twitch, sent a jolt of pleasure up his spine. His cock throbbed against her softness, the warmth of her body seeping into his skin.

Not here.

Not yet.

Fastening his belt once more, he made sure she was snug—secured exactly where he wanted her. Every step he took would remind him of her presence, every twitch of his cock pressing her tighter against him.

The snow swirled around him, cold and silent.

But inside, warmth burned through his veins, spreading with each heavy pulse of need.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders, his smirk widening.

And then he walked away, leaving nothing but footprints in the snow.

The first thing Lena felt was heat.

Thick, humid, suffocating. It clung to her skin, dampened the layers of her winter clothes, filled her lungs with every desperate breath. She tried to move, but her limbs were pinned, trapped against something firm and pulsing with slow, heavy beats.

Then—motion.

The world tilted, pressure shifting, the humid air rushing past her as she was dragged upward. The moment her head broke into open air, she gasped—sucking in the crisp chill of the room, blinking against the sudden light.

And then she saw him.

Dom was staring down at her, dark eyes gleaming with something hungry.

She barely had time to process before she felt it—his fingers curling tighter, his grip possessive and hot against her chilled skin.

Fucking hell.

He exhaled slowly, his cock giving a heavy throb as he uncurled his fingers to drink her in.

Lena was tiny in his palm, still warm from being stuffed against his cock, her body trembling from more than just the cold. Her winter coat was ruffled, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin, damp from the heat of where she’d been nestled.

And fuck—those curves.

Even under all those layers, he could see them, could feel them against his fingers when he gave her a slow, testing squeeze. Her tits—small but full, perfect for her size—shifted with the movement, barely restrained beneath her sweater. His grip tightened instinctively, thumb brushing over her stomach, relishing the little twitch she gave in response.

Too much fabric.

That needed to go.

His grip shifted, pinning her with two fingers while his free hand toyed with the zipper of her coat. He could have undone it—could have taken his time easing it down, exposing her inch by inch.

But he didn’t feel patient.

Rip.

The coat tore apart like tissue paper, exposing the sweater beneath.

A small, startled gasp left her lips, her tiny hands scrambling at his fingers, nails digging uselessly into his skin. "Stop!" she yelped, squirming frantically. "What the hell are you doing?!"

His cock twitched.

She really didn’t get it yet.

"Getting comfortable," he murmured, smirking as he ran a slow finger over her exposed collarbone, relishing the contrast of chilled skin against his heated touch.

“Fuck you!” she spat, jerking against his hold.

Adorable.

His fingers curled into the hem of her sweater, giving a teasing tug before—

Riiiip.

The thick fabric shredded, baring her stomach, her soft tits now hidden by only a thin lace bra.

"No—!" She thrashed harder, her tiny fists pounding uselessly against his fingers, her breath coming in frantic little gasps. "Let me go!"

He chuckled. "And miss this?"

His breath came heavier now, his cock pressing eagerly against the fabric of his boxers, aching for friction.

The bra barely contained her. The delicate lace was stretched tight over her breasts, the soft flesh swelling slightly over the top. Her nipples—pebbled from the cold, or maybe from something else—pressed visibly against the fabric, drawing his attention like a magnet.

He ran the pad of his thumb over one, relishing the way she tensed.

"D-Don’t—!" Her voice hitched, her entire body stiffening in his palm. "Don’t touch me!"

A fresh pulse of arousal sent another twitch through his cock.

His smirk widened.

“Cute,” he murmured.

His fingers dipped beneath the delicate strap, giving it a teasing little snap before curling around the center.

"Please!" she gasped, her hands grabbing desperately at his fingers. "Don’t do this!"

Rip.

The lace disintegrated between his fingers, her bare breasts bouncing free, soft flesh jiggling slightly from the force of the motion.

His breath came thicker, eyes drinking in every inch—her nipples were tiny, flushed a delicate pink, standing stiff against the cool air. He rolled one between his fingers, pinching just enough to make her squeak.

Fucking perfect.

"No—!" she whimpered, squirming uselessly, her legs kicking against his palm. "Stop touching me!"

But she wasn’t stopping him. She couldn’t.

And he was far from done.

His gaze dragged lower—to the waistband of her leggings, the stretchy material hugging her hips like a second skin.

One sharp tug—

Rip.

The leggings came apart, leaving only the thinnest scrap of lace covering her trembling little slit.

His cock gave another needy throb, precum dampening the fabric of his boxers.

"P-please," she whimpered, her voice cracking. "Please don’t—"

His thumb pressed lightly between her thighs, feeling the delicate, vulnerable warmth beneath the lace.

She shuddered.

A slow, predatory smirk spread across his lips.

"Shhh," he murmured, rolling her gently in his palm, relishing the friction of her bare skin against his heated flesh. "You’re already so much fun."

She was tiny in his palm, soft and trembling, her bare skin flush against his heated flesh.

Dominic let his fingers explore, rolling her onto her back with the slightest shift of his grip. She squirmed, her little hands pressing uselessly against his palm, her chest rising and falling in frantic, panicked breaths.

"S-stop—!" she gasped, her voice small and desperate.

God, she was so beautiful.

He smirked, letting his thumb drag slowly down her frame, over the curve of her stomach, then back up, tracing lazy circles over her tits. They fit perfectly beneath the pad of his thumb, soft and plush, barely more than a tease against his skin.

"D-don’t—!" she stammered, pushing weakly against him.

Like that would do anything.

His cock twitched at the sight—her pitiful resistance, the way her little body molded against his touch. He pressed his thumb down, just enough to make her arch involuntarily, squeezing the delicate swell of her breast beneath his skin.

"Ngh—!" She tensed, thighs clamping together instinctively, her face flushing as she wriggled against him.

Fuck. She was so responsive.

His grip shifted, rolling her onto her stomach with ease. She let out a frantic squeak, scrambling against the ridges of his palm, her bare ass pressing against his fingers.

His smirk widened.

Smack.

He flicked his fingertip against her ass, watching with delight as her whole body jerked.

"A-ah—!" she yelped, her legs kicking out. "S-stop it!"

He chuckled, giving her another sharp tap, just to hear the sweet little gasp that followed. Her body shook against him, chest heaving, fists clenched in helpless frustration.

"Mm," he mused, letting his fingers roam lower. "So sensitive."

She gasped as his pinky pressed between her thighs, nudging at the last sliver of lace barely covering her.

"N-no—!" she choked, her voice raw with panic. "D-don’t touch me there—!"

Her legs squeezed tight, her body twisting as she fought to wriggle away.

Like she had anywhere to go.

His thumb pressed down between her shoulder blades, pinning her in place as he toyed with her, rubbing the damp fabric of her panties against his skin.

"Let me go—!" she sobbed, squirming desperately. "P-please, you can’t—!"

His cock ached, straining against his boxers, hungry for more.

"Oh, sweetheart," he purred, his grip tightening around her tiny frame. "I can do whatever the fuck I want."

She barely had time to gasp before he lowered her, his other hand shoving down the waistband of his boxers. The thick, flushed length of his cock sprang free, stiff and leaking, the head already burning hot against his skin.

Her eyes went wide.

"N-no—!" she shrieked, her struggles renewed as she thrashed in his grip. "Please, please don’t—!"

He groaned, bringing her closer, feeling the heat of her bare body against his fingertips.

"Oh, we’re just getting started," he murmured, voice thick with hunger.

And then, he moved her down.

Lena’s world was a blur of motion and heat as she was dragged down toward the pulsing monster between his legs. Her screams barely made it past her lips before the thick musk of his arousal hit her like a wall, stealing the air from her lungs.

Dom’s fist tightened around her waist, keeping her completely at his mercy as he guided her toward the leaking tip of his cock. He could feel her tiny body trembling against his palm, her hands desperately pushing at his fingers, her legs kicking uselessly in the air. It only made him harder.

“God, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his other hand wrapping around his shaft, giving it a slow, teasing stroke. A thick bead of precum welled up from his slit, glistening in the low light, and he didn’t hesitate—pressing Lena’s squirming body right into it.

Her muffled shriek was lost in the wet squelch as his slick arousal smeared across her face. Dom groaned, dragging her up and down his tip, spreading the mess across her delicate features. Every tiny, frantic breath she tried to take only pulled in more of his scent, drowning her in his need.

She was struggling so beautifully. Tiny hands clawing at his skin, her little body twisting, trying to escape the inevitable. But there was nowhere to go.

Dom let out a low chuckle. “Breathe it in, sweetheart. Get used to it.”

He held her there, letting his slit pulse against her face, smearing another thick droplet over her lips. Then, slowly, he dragged her down his shaft, rolling her soft curves along his length, letting the heat of her tiny body send electric jolts straight to his core.

Lena kicked wildly as her body was pressed and rolled along the throbbing pillar of flesh. Dom adjusted his grip, pinning her legs up against his shaft, her smooth thighs spread open just enough for his fingertip to tease between them.

She let out a ragged sob, her voice hoarse from screaming. It only made him throb harder.

His pace quickened, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps as he lost himself in the feel of her. Her warmth, her struggles, the slickness of his arousal coating her from head to toe. He was so close.

Dom’s breath hitched, his grip on Lena tightening as the pressure building in his core reached its breaking point. With a low, guttural groan, he pinned her trembling body against the swollen, leaking head of his cock and let go.

The first surge erupted with brutal force, a hot, thick jet of cum slamming into her tiny frame. Lena choked instantly, her small mouth flooding with the salty, viscous flood as it coated her face and chest in a relentless wave. Before she could even react, a second pulse followed—then a third—each one heavier and more punishing than the last. The sticky heat plastered her golden curls to her skin, drenching her tits, her stomach, her thighs, until she was nearly buried under the sheer volume of his release.

Her tiny hands flailed, clawing at the mess, but Dom wasn’t done. With a dark smirk, he pressed her harder against his pulsing slit, forcing her face into the slick, throbbing tip. Another thick spurt gushed out, flooding her nose and mouth, smothering her in the overwhelming tide. The pressure was merciless—his cum poured into her, cutting off her air, forcing its way down her throat as she gagged and sputtered helplessly. Her little body convulsed, overwhelmed by the taste, the heat, the sheer excess that stretched her tiny stomach taut.

For agonizing seconds, she was nothing but a receptacle for his pleasure, drowning in the relentless flow until the final shuddering pulse slowed to a dribble. Dom exhaled heavily, his cock still twitching as he eased his grip, letting her gasp for air. Lena’s chest heaved violently, her face smeared with thick, glistening streaks, her bloated belly swollen from the load she’d been forced to take. She coughed, choking on the remnants, her body trembling as she fought to breathe through the mess.

“Damn, Lena,” he murmured, smirking as he ran a fingertip through the sticky mess on her body. “You weren’t kidding about all that white stuff coming in heavy tonight.”

A weak, broken whimper escaped her, barely audible beneath the thick coating of his release.

Dom chuckled, rubbing his still-hard cock against her cum-slicked form. “Hope you’re ready, sweetheart. The storm’s just getting started.”

Lena could barely breathe. The thick heat of Dom’s release clung to her skin, sliding down her trembling limbs in heavy, viscous trails. Her golden blonde hair, once sleek and perfectly styled for the camera, now hung in damp, matted strands over her flushed face. She shivered, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it all—his scent, his heat, the possessive way his fingers flexed around her, keeping her exactly where he wanted.

Dom let out a satisfied hum as he lifted her from his lap, holding her up to the dim light. His cum dripped from her soft curves, trailing glistening lines over her delicate body. He smirked, running a finger over her tiny, heaving chest, spreading the mess even further.

A strangled whimper caught in Lena’s throat as she weakly pushed at his fingers, but she had no strength left to fight. Not that it would’ve mattered.

Dom let out a low chuckle before standing up, carrying her effortlessly in one hand as he strode toward the bathroom.

"Let’s clean you up. Can’t have my little prize all sticky, can I?"

In the bathroom, Dom held her under the icy stream of the sink, rinsing away the evidence of his release with slow, deliberate strokes. The cold water blasted over her, shocking her system, and Lena’s stomach churned violently.

The pressure of the cum she’d had forced into her stomach, combined with the frigid rinse, was too much. With a ragged gag, she lurched forward, vomiting up a thick, milky stream that splattered into the sink. It came in heaving waves, her tiny body shuddering as she purged the overwhelming load, her breaths ragged and desperate between each retch.

Dom paused, watching with a mix of amusement and curiosity as she trembled in his palm, cum leaking from her mouth, the water washing away the mess. “Sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” he mused, resuming his task. His fingers rubbed over her skin, methodical and possessive, ensuring every inch of her was clean again. Lena whimpered and squirmed, but he only grinned.

“Much better,” Dom mused as he lifted her up, inspecting her freshly scrubbed skin. “Now you’re perfect.”

Then, before she could even process what was happening, he parted his lips and lowered her inside.

Lena let out a panicked shriek as her feet slid over his tongue, the slick muscle curling around her calves, pulling her deeper. The heat inside his mouth was instant and overwhelming, his breath rolling over her in hot, humid waves. Her hands clawed at his fingers, desperate for purchase as he held her in place, letting only her head and shoulders stick out.

Dom groaned in satisfaction, his lips pressing firmly around her waist as he rolled his tongue against her thighs. The wet muscle pushed between them, parting her trembling legs with ease, stroking over the sensitive skin there. His saliva coated her inner thighs, making her slick, making her squirm.

He chuckled, the vibrations of his amusement rattling through her tiny frame.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he muttered around her, voice thick with hunger.

Lena whimpered, her entire body shuddering as his tongue explored her most vulnerable places. He sucked her in deeper, his lips sliding up her stomach until only her shoulders and head remained outside. The heat around her was suffocating, every breath filled with the scent of him.

Dom’s tongue moved greedily, dragging over her soft breasts, rolling over the tiny peaks of her nipples before gliding lower again. He pressed the tip between the plush swell of her ass, savoring the way her little body jerked at the invasion. He chuckled again, then licked her in one long, slow motion from her thighs to her chest, tasting every inch of her writhing form.

The suction deepened.

Lena gasped as his tongue flicked between her legs, teasing her relentlessly, pressing and rubbing against the most sensitive part of her with unrelenting heat.

Dom groaned as he sucked her in just a little deeper, letting his tongue explore every inch of her slick, trembling body. She was completely at his mercy, her tiny form writhing helplessly against the wet muscle that rolled and pressed against her. Every time she struggled, it only made him moan in satisfaction, the vibrations rattling through her fragile body.

Lena whimpered, trying to push against his lips, but he barely noticed. His hold on her shoulders remained firm, keeping her head just outside his lips, letting her breathe, letting her feel every lazy stroke of his tongue against her thighs, her stomach, her breasts.

He wasn't going to swallow her—not yet. No, she was far too precious for that.

Instead, Dom leaned back against the couch, his cock still twitching from release, and let himself fully indulge. His lips sealed tight around her, trapping her inside the suffocating heat of his mouth, letting his tongue curl and flex, keeping her completely drenched in his spit.

Lena’s muffled cries barely registered. She was nothing more than a toy on his tongue now. Something to savor.

The storm outside raged on, thick blankets of snow piling high against the windows, cutting them off from the rest of the world. No one would come looking for her. No one even knew she was here.

Dom exhaled slowly, savoring the feeling of her tiny, squirming body against his tongue. He gave one last, slow roll of the muscle, pressing her even tighter against the roof of his mouth, before settling back with a satisfied hum.

The night stretched on, the snowstorm showing no sign of stopping. And Dom?

He kept her in his mouth, savoring her, tasting her.

Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy.

He didn’t bother taking her out.

As his breathing slowed, as he drifted off into the depths of sleep, the last thing he felt was the faint, pitiful squirm of the tiny woman still trapped between his lips.

And then, silence.

[ShrinkMaster]

Wonderful story!

[Justhereforamoment1]

Hey everyone, back with another chapter. This one was inspired by the story 'Breaking Brianna' (viewtopic.php?f=9&t=2346) with my own spin on it.

---

The campus pulsed with early fall’s restless vigor—golden leaves crunched underfoot, voices wove through the breeze, and a crisp, cool scent hinted at the season’s turn.

For Riley Carter, it was her first taste of freedom.

At just six inches tall, she’d spent her life dodging the careless strides of giants, but here, in a state granting tinies legal rights, college offered refuge.

She clutched her student ID, her dorm key, and the history major she’d battled fiercely to claim. Thick auburn hair spilled in waves past her shoulders, framing a delicate face with wide, hazel eyes that burned with quiet resolve.

Her figure was soft and lush—round breasts pressed gently against her sweater, a slim waist flared into curved hips, and her plump butt nestled snugly in her jeans. She moved with effortless grace, blind to the allure she radiated.

Ethan had become her rock.

Towering and broad-shouldered, with warm brown eyes and a laugh that rumbled through her when she perched on his shoulder, he’d been her shield since orientation. He ferried her to classes, let her nestle against his neck during late-night study marathons, and indulged her rants about ancient empires. She trusted him completely, her tiny form safe in his steady hands.

She didn’t notice how his gaze lingered.

Like that afternoon in the dorm lounge, when she rested in his open palm, chatting brightly, her full breasts pressing into his skin, their soft weight spilling over the edges. His breath hitched, fingers twitching as he forced a strained smile, his eyes tracing her curves.

Or that summer day by the pool, when she perched on his shoulder in a tiny bikini—leaning forward to adjust her towel, her large, plump ass swaying inches from his face. The flimsy fabric slipped, baring smooth, full cheeks close enough to taste. His throat tightened, heat surging low as he shifted beneath her, but she only giggled, flicking water at him, oblivious to the hunger in his stare.

Lunch was her quiet haven. Alone at a picnic table near the quad, she nibbled a bite-sized sandwich, her shapely thighs crossed, her breasts swaying faintly with each motion. Ethan was in class, leaving her unguarded but serene—until a shadow swallowed her light.

“Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be out here alone,” a rough voice rasped.

Riley froze, sandwich hovering near her lips. She glanced up into a stranger’s face—tall, muscled, with a chiseled jaw and steely eyes that glinted cold. His cropped dark hair and worn jacket sharpened the edge of his crooked grin.

“I’m fine,” she said, steadying her voice. “Just eating.”

He scanned the empty quad. “Where’s your owner?”

Her stomach knotted. “What?”

“Your owner,” he drawled, words slow and deliberate. “Who owns you?”

“I don’t have an owner.” She straightened, her breasts swelling against her sweater. “I’m a student. I go to college here.”

His grin twisted into something darker. “College, huh?” He glanced around—only distant murmurs rode the wind. “Not everywhere’s so kind.”

His hand struck fast.

She yelped as thick fingers snatched her from the table, hoisting her into the air. Her sandwich tumbled, crumbs scattering like fading hopes. She kicked her curved legs, her plump butt squirming in his grasp, but his hold was iron.

“Let me go!” she shouted, her voice splintering.

He didn’t answer—just turned and strode off, pinning her against his chest. Her cries muffled against the coarse fabric of his jacket as she clawed helplessly.

The car was a battered husk, rust chewing its edges. He tossed her onto the passenger seat, slamming the door before she could scramble free. The engine roared, and the campus shrank in the rearview—her freedom slipping away.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, her chest heaving, her sweater clinging to her trembling frame.

He kept his eyes on the road. “Somewhere you belong.”

Hours bled into endless highways. She pounded the window, screamed until her throat burned, but the world outside stayed deaf. A faded sign flickered past: Welcome to West Hollow.

No tiny rights here—just ownership laws etched deep into the state’s marrow. Registration here stripped protections everywhere, a truth that sank into her like ice.

He dragged her into a grimy office, the air thick with stale coffee and dust. The clerk barely glanced up as he slapped a form onto the counter. “Registering her,” he said, voice flat.

Riley thrashed, her wide hips twisting, but he squeezed until she stilled.

“Name?” the clerk mumbled, pen hovering.

“Call her Fifi,” he replied. “It suits her.”

“That’s not my name!” Riley snapped, her full lips quivering.

He ignored her. The clerk nodded, then produced a thin metal collar linked to two delicate chains, each tipped with a sharp piercing needle. “Hold her steady,” the clerk said, stepping closer.

Riley’s eyes widened. “No—wait—” she gasped, but his grip tightened, locking her arms as the clerk’s rough hands tore at her sweater. It ripped away, her generous breasts spilling free, rosy peaks stiffening in the stale air.

She cried out, wriggling, but the clerk was precise—seizing one breast, he drove the needle through her nipple. A shrill scream erupted as pain flared, blood beading around the piercing. The second followed just as mercilessly, her body quaking as the chains threaded through, linking to the collar that snapped shut around her slender neck.

She sobbed, the metal’s weight tugging painfully at her tender breasts, the thin chains swaying with each shudder. The clerk stamped the form and waved them off. Her new name—Fifi—etched into the collar, cold and final.

The house was a cluttered wreck—worn furniture sagged under a haze of cigarette smoke. Kurt—that was his name—dropped her onto the kitchen table as two figures stepped forward.

Kurt, a divorced dad in his mid-forties, leaned against the counter, his graying hair mussed, his eyes snagging on her full breasts and the chains dangling from them. His daughter, Rachel, eighteen and wiry, hovered nearby, staring at her rounded thighs. Little Milo peered out, his face alight with a gap-toothed grin.

“Is that our new pet?” he chirped.

Riley’s heart sank.

“Yeah, kiddo,” Kurt said. “This is Fifi. Part of the family now.”

They stripped her bare that first day. Her jeans were tugged away, baring her smooth thighs and bouncy butt. Her torn sweater was long gone, leaving her naked save for the collar and chains, which clinked faintly as they tugged at her pierced breasts. She stood trembling under their gazes, the metal biting into her sensitive skin with every breath.

Kurt’s voice sliced through: “Pets don’t wear clothes. You’re Fifi now. Say it.”

“Riley,” she hissed, hazel eyes flashing.

He smirked, his hand crashing against her plump ass—once, twice—each smack rippling through her tender flesh, her cries cutting the silence. “Wrong,” he growled. “Try again.”

Another sharp spank, her soft butt quivering as tears welled. “Fifi,” she whispered, the word bitter on her tongue.

“Good girl.”

Training unfolded over weeks and months. Days later, Milo plopped her onto the coffee table, grinning as he arranged tiny plastic soldiers around her curvy form. “You’re the princess they’re guarding!” he declared, nudging her plush thighs into place with a gentle poke.

She sat rigid, her heavy breasts swaying faintly, the chains glinting as he giggled and posed her like a doll, blind to her discomfort.

Two weeks in, Kurt snatched her onto the table one evening, arms folded. “Dance for me,” he ordered, voice low and hard.

Her heart pounded. “What?”

“Dance,” he repeated. “Move that pretty little body.”

Trembling, she swayed her hips, her full breasts jiggling faintly, her plump butt rocking side to side under his heavy stare. He watched, smirking, until her steps faltered from exhaustion.

“Good,” he grunted, then shoved down his pants. His thick cock jutted free—hard, throbbing, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Now give me a kiss.”

“No!” she shrieked, kicking her shapely legs.

He flipped her over, spanking her jiggly ass three times—each blow sending waves through her flesh—before pressing her face toward the hot, slick head. Tears streaked her cheeks as she relented, her full lips brushing the throbbing tip, her small tongue licking up the beading precum, gagging at the musky saltiness.

A month later, Rachel set Riley on the kitchen counter one morning, smirking as she drizzled honey across her rounded thighs and soft breasts.

She lapped the sticky sweetness off Riley’s skin with slow, deliberate swipes. Riley squirmed, her breasts trembling as Rachel’s tongue roamed every inch, the chains clinking faintly, the moment thick with humiliation.

Days later, Milo seized the chains with a gleeful giggle. “You’re my captured spy!” he chirped, yanking her up.

The chains jerked at her nipples, a sharp scream tearing from her throat as her heavy tits stretched, her body hoisted into the air.

He hooked the chains over a low cabinet knob, leaving her dangling. Her plump ass swayed, every slight twitch sending sharp pain through her tender breasts. Oblivious, Milo grinned and arranged toy soldiers beneath her for a mock battle before skipping off for a snack—forgetting her entirely.

Time crawled.

Her body ached, the chains biting, unrelenting. Soft, broken cries slipped past her lips, lost in the quiet. It wasn’t until evening that Kurt wandered in, pausing with a grunt at the sight of her. With a lazy tug, he freed the chains, letting her crumple to the floor.

Three months in, Rachel cornered her one afternoon. She pinned Riley to the counter, shedding her shorts to reveal her slick, swollen pussy. “Make me feel good,” she purred, spreading her thighs.

“Please, no—” Riley pleaded, but Rachel’s hand descended, spanking her tender butt until it blazed red, her sobs breaking free.

“Do it,” Rachel demanded, pressing Riley’s face into the warm folds. Shaking, she complied, her lips grazing Rachel’s clit as the giantess sighed with pleasure. Rachel gripped her head, guiding her in slow circles, grinding her face deeper into the pulsing heat.

Her screams buzzed against the clit, drawing moans of delight from Rachel.

One night, five months in, Kurt hauled her to his lap, his thick cock free from his pants, rigid and dripping.

“Please… no,” she begged, dread pooling as she sensed what was coming.

He didn’t listen. Starting slow, he leaned her back against it and groped her heavy tits, thumbs circling her raw nipples as she whimpered and squirmed.

He flipped her around—spreading her creamy thighs and wrapping them around the base, savoring her helpless warmth as he gripped his cock and her together, molding her to the length.

Kurt pressed his thumb to the back of her head, pinning it immobile. His cock—rock-hard—aimed straight at her face. The cold, slick tip hovered inches away, and before she could plead again, he forced her face into the pulsing slit.

Her whimpers choked off, smothered by the overpowering musk and heat as her mouth and chin sank into the sticky, pungent precum leaking from the tip. She fought for air, her tiny body trembling against him.

He didn’t wait long to start dragging her up and down his shaft, rolling her soft curves along his length, her warmth stoking his pleasure.

Riley struggled to breathe, pressed tight against the throbbing pillar of flesh, the precum coating her in a slick sheen. Kurt’s pace quickened, grinding her plump body into his cock. Her heat, her feeble twists, the slickness drenching her from head to toe pushed him to the edge.

His breath hitched, and with a guttural groan, he pinned her against the tip. A hot, thick jet of cum erupted, blasting her tiny frame—flooding her mouth, drenching her chest, swelling her stomach taut. She choked, a dripping wreck, as he smirked and let her fall to the floor.

Coughing on her back, she shuddered from the brutal deluge. Was this all life was now? A vessel for their pleasure, drowning in their need?

Weeks later, Milo showed her off like a trophy, dropping Riley onto the table with a grin. “This is Fifi!” he announced, giving her bouncy ass a playful spank. The boys snickered as her soft curves jiggled, their gazes roving her body.

“She’s our pet!” Milo bragged.

Eager hands followed—nudging her thighs, squeezing her breasts, pinching her ass—prodding and testing her like a toy. A dare sent one boy further, his mouth closing around a bare tit. His tongue flicked her nipple, wrenching a sharp squirm from her as heat flushed her skin.

He lapped greedily over the swollen breast before switching to the next, sinking his teeth in hard. She screamed, pain flaring as he pulled back to show his friends the fresh bite mark.

The boys just laughed, while she burned with shame and agony.

Six months in, Rachel pinned Riley against her palm one night, shedding her clothes. “I bet you think you’re someone still?” she mocked, spreading her thick thighs to reveal her glistening cunt. “That one day you’ll get out and go back to college, right?”

“Please—” Riley tried to scream.

She pressed Riley’s trembling body against it, grinding her soft curves into the wet heat, dragging her face across her clit. “Wrong.”

She shoved her face in, silencing her screams with the slick, pulsing walls.

“Squirm for me, Fifi,” she purred, pinning Riley’s arms, shoving her deeper as she moaned. The slick, trembling heat engulfed Riley whole, Rachel’s muscles clamping like a vice, squeezing her tight.

“Fuck,” Rachel groaned, voice low. “You’re perfect. Just… like that.”

She rolled her hips, slow at first, then faster, grinding Riley deeper, harder, dragging her over every sensitive inch, using every curve of her tiny body for her own satisfaction. Riley’s plush thighs twitched, her muffled gasps swallowed by the overwhelming heat.

“You were always meant for this, weren’t you, Fifi?” Rachel groaned, fingers pressing into her own stomach, feeling Riley twitch inside. “Meant to be a pet, a toy.”

She shuddered, her pleasure coiling tighter, sharper, dragging her closer to the brink.

Her hand lingered, rubbing her clit in slow, lazy circles, drawing out the ecstasy as Riley’s feeble struggles buzzed within—her legs kicking faintly, her soft hips shifting weakly.

Her other hand slid up to cup a breast, kneading the soft flesh slow. She pinched her nipple hard, biting her lip as she moaned softly.

Riley’s sobs trembled through her.

Her movements were barely struggles now—just weak spasms, each tiny gasp sending fresh waves of bliss through Rachel’s core. Her thighs quaked, her belly shivering as she squeezed her tit again, nails digging in.

She shuddered hard.

Her hips jerked, her pussy clamping down on Riley as the orgasm tore through her. She panted, dragging her fingers off her clit slow, letting the aftershocks ripple through her pulsing walls, warm floods soaking Riley’s battered form.

Eight months later, Riley was a hollow shell—her once-bright hazel eyes dulled, her voice a ragged whisper, her spirit crushed beneath the collar and chains.

Rachel had enrolled at Riley’s old college, dragging her along in a bag, her bruised body tangled in the metal. The dorms loomed like a cruel mockery of a lost life. Tinies brought from out of state had no rights here—a loophole to appease the system.

Rachel dumped her onto a bench outside the dining hall, smirking. “Stay put, Fifi. I’ve got class.” She strode off, leaving Riley shivering, the chains glinting against her battered breasts.

She spotted him then—Ethan, laughing with friends near the hall, his familiar silhouette stirring a buried flicker of hope. Her chest tightened, a fragile spark flaring in her shattered spirit.

His gaze caught hers mid-laugh, the sound dying as he saw her—naked, collared, slumped, trembling. He broke from the group, steps hesitant, his warm brown eyes softening as he crouched beside her.

“Riley?” His whisper trembled with tender disbelief. He reached out, brushing her hair back with care, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “What… what happened to you?”

“Ethan,” she rasped, tears brimming as she pressed into his touch, the chains on her nipples clinking faintly. “Please… help me. Get me out of here.”

His eyes roamed her—full breasts bound by cruel metal, thighs quaking beneath her. A flush of heat stirred in him, unbidden. “God, Riley,” he murmured, his hand cupping her gently, thumb grazing her thigh. “I’ll fix this, I swear—”

A shadow cut across them, Rachel’s sharp footsteps ringing out. “Who’s this?” she asked, her tone dripping with mockery.

“My friend,” Riley croaked, desperation fracturing her voice. “Ethan, please—”

Ethan rose, glancing at Rachel, his face shifting—concern hardening into something curious, darker. “She’s yours?” His voice dipped low.

“Yep,” Rachel replied, smirking. “She’s called Fifi now. All official.”

Ethan’s gaze slid back to Riley, tracing her ravaged form—lush breasts taut from the chains, plump ass shivering. “Official, huh?” he muttered, a rough edge bleeding into his tone.

“She’s… fuck, she’s hot like this.” He paused, then met Rachel’s eyes. “Mind if I…?”

Rachel’s laugh sliced the air. “Be my guest. She’s used to it.”

The spark in Riley guttered out. “No,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “Ethan, don’t—”

He didn’t hear her—or didn’t care. His touch shifted, tender strokes turning possessive as he gripped her heavy breasts, thumbs circling with intent.

“I always wanted you, you know,” he said, parting her thighs with slow deliberation, a finger teasing her slit. Her pleas melted into sobs as his pace quickened—hands clamping her waist, spanking her soft, jiggling ass, first lightly, then with force, watching it quake. “You’ve got a sexy body, you know? Always teasing, always just out of reach…”

“Please,” she choked, her voice a fraying thread. “Stop—”

“Fifi’s a perfect name for you,” he growled, hooking a finger through the chains and tugging upward. The metal yanked her nipples high, her breasts stretching as she gasped, plush ass swaying with the lift.

Her screams—thin, desolate—dissolved into the air as he toyed with her, lost in the body he’d craved for years. Her helpless twitches went unheard, the hall deaf to her ruin.

[Justhereforamoment1]

So none of my next couple planned stories are going to have an almost happy ending like chapter 2 'Home for the Holidays' did (where she gets out in the end). Everyone happy with worse ends for the tiny ladies similar to this one?

[Justhereforamoment1]

This one is a bit crueler than some of the others. Includes snuff, nothing gruesome but some of those girls won't survive. Also includes tiny on tiny.

---

The stash house reeked—a rancid stew of sweat, piss, and rust clogging the air, its sagging walls trembling under flickering bulbs that buzzed like dying flies. Reid’s boots slammed the warped floorboards, each thud deliberate, his task force badge glinting faintly as he sliced through the murk.

In the corner, a rusted crate crouched—seven tinies jammed inside, their bodies slick with filth, quivering soft and fragile.

Sara gripped the bars, her torn shirt clinging desperately to her full, heavy breasts, dark curls spilling wild across her deep cleavage, her thick ass straining the cramped space behind her. Ash pressed close, pale and frail, red hair a snarled halo framing her delicate jaw, her shredded tank baring small, perky tits that rose with shallow, frantic breaths.

Jenna sat back, tall for a tiny, her chestnut braid shifting slow, smooth hips catching a faint gleam. Grace huddled beside her, slim and petite, blonde hair a tangled wreck, green eyes piercing as her thin thighs quaked.

Lila leaned hard against the bars, wiry and bruised, her ponytail snapping taut as her lean legs tensed. Tara curled near, plump and soft, brunette waves plastered to her tear-streaked face, her skirt hiked high to reveal a thick, juicy ass.

Ruby stood alone, her torn top stretched tight over heavy, round breasts, auburn curls loose and untamed.

Reid towered over them, his bulk casting the crate in shadow, his presence heavy yet restrained.

“You’re safe now, girls,” he said, voice low and gritty. He pried the crate open with a slow, creaking groan and scooped them up—seven warm, trembling bodies spilling into his palm. Sara’s plush curves sank against his thumb, Grace’s slender frame dangled limp, their heat bleeding into his skin.

“Thank you,” they gasped, voices frail and overlapping—“You saved us”—teetering on the brink of relief.

He nodded, lips twitching faintly. “Names. Give ‘em.”

“Sara, Grace, Tara, Ash, Lila, Jenna, Ruby,” they stammered, fear and hope threading each syllable.

“Alright,” he muttered, fingers curling tighter, firm but steady as he drew them closer.

The cruiser’s engine purred low, its sticky vinyl cupholder creaking under their weight. Sara’s full hips sank into the curve, Grace sprawled loose beside her, Tara’s thick thighs splaying wide. Ash pressed tight to Jenna, her small frame shivering, while Lila sat stiff, her ponytail grazing Ruby’s shoulder.

Ruby murmured low, “He’ll drop us off,” her gaze flicking to Reid’s steady hands on the wheel.

His jaw clenched, a slow heat twisting in his gut as their soft bodies rocked with each turn, helpless in their sway. He scratched out the evidence log in rough, hasty strokes—no drugs, no cash, no tinies—ink smearing under his heavy grip.

Sara’s voice quavered, “What’s that mean?”

“You’re logging us free, right?” Ruby pressed, leaning forward, her heavy breasts shifting under her torn top.

He glanced down, face blank, a smirk creeping slow. “Soon enough.”

The garage door slammed shut with a jarring clang. His hand swept them up, fingers clamping tight—Sara’s curves yielding soft, Grace’s slender legs kicking faint against his knuckles. Tara whimpered, “This ain’t right,” her plump rear trembling as he hauled them inside, Ash quivering beside Jenna’s bare skin.

His pulse thundered, a sharp hunger clawing his chest.

He dumped them onto the cold granite counter—six tumbling into a sweaty, breathless heap, slick with panic. Ruby stood apart, fists balled, eyes blazing.

“Shift’s over,” he growled, voice low and rough, badge clattering to the floor as he ripped it off.

His hand snagged Sara first. A finger hooked her shirt—rip—and it tore, her full, round tits spilling free, dark nipples stiff against flushed skin.

“Don’t!” she cried, curls whipping wild as she writhed. But his hands worked her slow, thumbs tracing deliberate circles around her hardening peaks. A trembling moan slipped from her, her thick thighs clamping shut as he drew her closer to his face.

Then—his mouth closed around her breast.

Sara shrieked, the others staring in horror as his lips engulfed her soft tit, sucking hard. His tongue lapped over her, dragging slow and wet across the sensitive flesh before locking around her nipple. He groaned deep, savoring her, teeth grazing the tender peak before biting down—not enough to wound, but enough to wrench a gasp from her, her tiny body jerking in his grip.

She quaked, a choked sound spilling from her throat as his mouth ravaged her—sucking, biting, licking—his hold pinning her helpless. His free hand slid lower, fingers spreading over the curve of her ass, pressing her flush against his palm.

“All of you,” he rasped around the tit in his mouth, still clutching her yielding flesh, his voice hardening. “Pair up. Kiss, touch, fuck each other—make it hot. The losers get eaten.”

Grace’s green eyes flared in shock. “What?”

Ash recoiled, her perky breasts trembling. “No, wait…”

But Ruby stalled him. She lunged forward, fury blazing in her gaze. “You sick fuck! You can’t—”

His grin cut through, cold and lethal. He released Sara—she hit the counter with a soft thud, her curves bouncing faintly.

“Wrong answer.”

He seized Ruby, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her breasts. “You bastard!” she spat, auburn curls lashing wild as he hoisted her high. His lips parted, breath thick and hot, dangling her above his mouth.

“Watch,” he said to the others, his tongue easing out, dark hunger glinting in his eyes. “This is what happens if you refuse.”

Ruby’s scream ripped through the room as he dragged her across his tongue, tasting her—grime, sweat, and fierce defiance bursting on his palate. He pulled her in slow, her curvy ass grazing his teeth, her kicks scraping his gums as his tongue coiled around her, relishing her rich, heated essence.

She clawed at his lips, muffled cries fading as his throat tightened—gulp—and she was gone, a faint bulge slipping down his neck.

The six froze, breaths jagged, eyes locked on him in raw terror.

“Strip,” he barked, voice a low snarl, hand brushing his belt.

Lila tore her shirt off, lean muscles taut under bruises, ponytail swaying as her small, firm tits caught the light. Ash fumbled, quaking as her top peeled away, red hair spilling wild over her perky breasts, nipples stiff with cold—or dread.

Jenna shoved her skirt down fast, thighs parting faint, smooth ass taut and ripe, braid sliding over her bare shoulder. Grace stripped quick, blonde hair tumbling over her fragile frame, small tits bouncing with each shaky breath, green eyes darting wild.

Sara stood bare already, curls framing her flushed face, heavy tits swaying as she trembled, lips tight. Tara sobbed soft, skirt slipping from shaky hands, thick thighs quivering, plush ass jiggling with every breath.

“Pair up—make it good,” he growled, unzipping slow. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, the head slick and swollen, pulsing hard.

Reid leaned back, smirk lazy as he watched them scramble.

Sara pinned Ash flat on the counter, prying her legs wide, trembling in her grip. Her mouth clamped over Ash’s cunt, sucking hard, tongue flicking fast and rough. Ash jolted, small hands clawing the granite, tits bouncing with sharp gasps. Sara swung a leg over, slamming her dripping pussy onto Ash’s face, grinding down hard, smearing slickness across her lips.

Reid’s cock twitched. Sara rocked fast, gasping into Ash’s cunt, moans buzzing against her flesh. Ash quaked beneath, soft cries choked under Sara’s ass, the wet sounds of their bodies loud and desperate.

Jenna bent Grace over, tiny hands braced on the counter, back arched tight. Her fingers spread Grace’s pussy wide, then rammed in, pumping deep and fast. Grace choked a gasp, hips jerking as slick, nasty sounds filled the air.

Jenna’s free hand seized Grace’s soft breast, gripping it rough, fingers pinching the nipple hard. Grace’s hips bucked back, thighs trembling, her green eyes glazing as Jenna’s teeth sank into her shoulder, then shifted to suck fiercely on the taut peak, relentless.

Lila sprawled out, fingers twisting in Tara’s thick hair, shoving her face between her thighs. Tara’s muffled sobs sank into slick heat as Lila ground down, hips rolling fast, using her hard. Reid’s eyes traced Tara’s quivering curves—plump ass shaking with each thrust, thick thighs trembling. Lila’s nails clawed tighter, forcing Tara’s lips to work, wet gasps spilling as she flicked a desperate glance his way.

He stroked himself slow, savoring the chaos—wet slaps, frantic moans, and writhing bodies bending under his gaze. They moved with survival’s urgency, fear fueling every shudder and twist.

Then he lunged, tearing them apart with a single swipe, scooping them up slick and quaking in his grasp. Their chests heaved, sweat-drenched and bare. “Lila, Tara—out,” he purred, voice low and silken.

Lila’s ponytail lashed weak as she squirmed. “Please!” she gasped, voice splintering as he dragged her to his lips. His tongue licked her lean thighs, teeth grazing her firm ass as he sucked her in. She whimpered, twisting faint, then—gulp—her wiry frame slid down his throat, gone in an instant.

Tara hung limp and broken, sobbing “No, please!” as he slid her across his tongue, tasting her lush, warm flesh. A shame she lost—that ass was a masterpiece, plush and soft.

Oh well, he shrugged.

Her thick thighs gave feeble kicks, a weak cry dissolving as he swallowed—gulp—her form a fleeting bulge gliding down his neck.

Four left—Ash, Grace, Sara, Jenna.

“Jenna, Grace—your turn,” he growled, snatching them up tight, their breaths snagging as he pulled them toward his cock—massive, throbbing, glistening with need.

Jenna’s hazel eyes flared, a sharp “Wait—” cut off as he shoved her face-first into the dripping tip. Precum smeared her features, streaking hot as she twisted helpless. Grace squirmed beside her, slim frame pinned hard against the pulsing shaft, blonde hair snagging in the mess, a choked sob slipping free as he rubbed her rough along the veins.

He dragged Jenna slow up his cock, her long legs gliding slickly, her slight frame dwarfed by its girth. Grace mirrored her, pressed just as tight—her small breasts flattened against him, nipples grazing the searing heat. Her gasps sharpened as he coated her with precum, glazing her slender curves, her feeble squirming only stoking his hunger higher.

“Sara, Ash—keep it going,” he snarled. Sara’s hands clawed Ash’s tight ass, sucking her thighs hard, leaving red welts on pale skin. Ash arched, moaning raw and loud, pussy grinding into Sara’s tongue as their slick hips rocked wild under his stare.

He mashed Jenna against his cock once more, her muffled sob swallowed as he ground her harsh along the shaft. Grace twisted beside her, her slender body slipping through the slick mess, precum painting her from chin to chest, her frantic gasps spilling into the air. Across the counter, Sara pinned Ash tighter, sucking harder, their tangled heat a fevered blur.

He paused, dangling Jenna above the swollen head—her braid drenched in precum, clinging to her cheek. Grace hung beside her, quivering, blonde hair tangled and matted, her body gleaming as he dragged her across the tip one last time.

A thick bead oozed out, trickling slow, coating Jenna’s face, then Grace’s. He smashed their faces together, mashing their lips into one another, fusing them in the sticky slime. They sputtered, gasping for air, overwhelmed by the flood.

Seeing them struggle to breathe, undone by a single drop of precum, pushed him over the brink.

His grip tightened, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he pressed them rough against his shaft. Jenna’s smooth skin scraped raw; Grace’s slender form smeared deeper, a jagged moan tearing free. “Take it,” he snarled, voice thick and coarse.

His cock throbbed, the first spurt erupting hot—thick ropes splashing across Jenna’s trembling frame, soaking her hair and thighs. Grace took the next wave—her slim body drenched, small breasts dripping as her sob drowned in the deluge. He tilted, cum arcing toward Sara and Ash—splattering Sara’s face, coating Ash’s arched back, burying them both beneath the sticky flood.

A third wave crashed over Jenna and Grace, their bodies shuddering, slick from head to toe. A final surge washed across all four—Jenna’s braid hanging heavy, Grace’s curves glistening, Sara and Ash’s entwined skin shining as their moans melted into the thick, hazy air.

Jenna quivered, her sleek frame and taut ass wrapped around his cock, chestnut braid sodden, cum streaking her smooth thighs. Grace trembled beside her, slim and clinging to the shaft, blonde hair soaked, small tits slick, green eyes glassy as it dripped down her thin legs.

Sara lay atop Ash, full breasts and thick ass dripping, dark curls plastered to her flushed skin, pressing down on Ash’s tiny, pale form, her red hair a sticky halo, perky tits glistening beneath.

He scooped them up—four trembling, cum-soaked bodies in his palm, soft and raw.

A scratched glass jar sat ready, its lid punched with jagged holes. He dropped them in—Sara pressed against the glass, her full breasts smearing cum across the surface; Ash curled into a tight ball, her small frame quaking; Grace lay tangled in her own blonde strands; and Jenna slid smoothly down the side, her body slick.

The drawer slammed shut, plunging them into pitch-blackness. Their stifled sobs and whimpers vibrated through the wood, a faint hum lingering as his smirk faded into the dark.

[Justhereforamoment1]

You ever have one of those tutors that really pushes you, really tries to genuinely help you? Yeah, this isn't what happens here, but he does inadvertently help. Anyways, enjoy!

---

Hope’s dorm was her sanctuary, the one corner she’d carved out as hers. She’d claimed the nook by the window, where faint starlight seeped through a cracked pane, bathing her tiny desk in a silver sheen.

Star charts sprawled across the surface, scribbled with her penciled notes—constellations she’d mapped under midnight’s hush, dreaming of the cosmos.

Posters of ancient ruins clung to the walls, their peeling edges curling from cheap tape, faded images of shattered temples and lost cities murmuring tales she ached to unearth.

A battered telescope perched beside her bed, its lens smudged from her restless fingers—a silent oath to chase the stars.

At six inches tall, she’d clawed for this. For her scholarship. For her astronomy major. For a chance to transcend the suffocating label of a tiny in a giant’s world.

She wasn’t here for their eyes, though they tried.

Her full curves strained her worn tank top, leggings molding to the soft dip of her hips and the plush swell of her ass. Dark curls cascaded past her shoulders, framing wide amber eyes that blazed with resolve.

She ignored the stares, the whispers—let them fade into the background.

Her real fight was calculus, its equations blurring no matter how long she hunched over oversized textbooks, pencil gouging her cramped fingers.

It was drowning her—threatening her grades, her scholarship, her future. She couldn’t let it win.

That’s why she’d scoured TinyTutors.com, settling on Elias Kane—solid reviews, affordable enough for her threadbare budget. She’d pictured a tiny like her, someone who’d grasp the grind of surviving a world scaled five times too vast.

She sent the deposit, set the time, spent the day bracing herself—rehearsing how she’d untangle her mess with integrals, smoothing her curls as the dorm’s heater purred softly in the stillness.

The knock came late—a single, heavy thud that jolted her desk, sending pens skittering across her charts.

Hope flinched, her breath snagging in her throat.

“Come in,” she called, tugging her hair straight with a quick flick.

The door creaked open, and her stomach plummeted.

Elias wasn’t a tiny.

He was a giant.

He strode in like he owned the place, green eyes sweeping her room with a glint of amusement, a lazy smirk curling his lips. The dorm’s dim glow traced the sharp cut of his jaw, the taut stretch of his button-down over broad shoulders. A leather satchel dangled from one arm, landing on her desk with a thud that nudged her telescope askew.

Hope’s fingers clenched around her pencil, her chest lifting with a swift breath. “You’re not a tiny.”

He tilted his head, grinning faintly. “Yeah, looks like the site fucked up,” he said, dropping into her chair like it was his throne. His knees grazed her desk’s edge, his bulk swallowing her space.

“I’m here now, though. You’re Hope, right? Struggling with calculus?”

She straightened, shoving down the unease coiling in her gut. “I don’t need a giant looming over me. You can go.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his breath ruffling her curls. “And flunk out instead?”

His voice was casual, almost teasing, but carried a razor’s edge. “I know my shit, Hope. I can get you through this. But if you’d rather waste my time…” He shrugged, letting the silence press in.

Her pulse hammered in her throat. She couldn’t afford to fail—not with everything on the line.

Her jaw clenched. “Fine,” she snapped, flipping open her notebook, her tone biting. “But don’t touch me. I mean it.”

The semester crept in slow.

Elias came twice a week, always late, his satchel hitting her desk with that same reckless thud. He was sharp, brusque—snapping when she faltered, jabbing at errors with quick slashes of his pen.

“You’re overthinking it, Hope. Simplify.”

She bristled but obeyed, her pencil scraping corrections as she raced to match his pace. He didn’t cross her line—just hovered over her desk, his presence a heavy weight she could tolerate.

Her first test hit three weeks in. She’d burned the midnight oil, star charts shoved aside for calculus scrawl, her hands trembling as she stepped into the lecture hall.

When the grade posted—a solid B—she exhaled, relief unknotting her chest.

Elias had dragged her there.

She hated admitting it, but it worked. Maybe he wasn’t the worst?

The shift crept in later, subtle at first.

He didn’t knock one night, a month into the semester—just sauntered in, his satchel crashing hard enough to scatter her notes, a pen clattering to the floor.

Hope jolted, her curls bouncing as she snapped up from her textbook, mid-equation. He sank into her chair, legs sprawling wide, crowding her space, and leaned in—too close—his breath hot against her temple as he eyed her work.

“Keep your eyes on the problem,” he murmured, his voice low and silken. His fingers grazed her arm, light but intentional, tracing the bare skin above her elbow.

She stiffened, yanking away fast. “Don’t touch me,” she barked, her tone cutting, amber eyes flaring up at him.

He raised his hands, smirking faintly. “Relax, Hope. Just steering you right.”

She glared, her heart thudding, but turned back to her notebook, her pencil digging harder into the page. His gaze lingered, slow and weighty—roaming the curve of her tank top, the way her leggings hugged her hips with each shift.

It prickled her skin, the air growing thick, but she forced through the problem, her strokes tight and fierce.

“Good,” he said when she finished, his voice softer, almost pleased. She didn’t meet his eyes, just nodded, willing him to leave. But he stayed, his shadow spilling over her star charts, and she felt it—the first fracture in her grip.

Weeks later, her second test loomed. She’d been meeting Elias steadily, his gruff lessons sinking in despite the unease he churned.

She passed again—another B, steady ground.

It kept her scholarship intact, kept her in the fight. She told herself it was worth it, even as his stares grew hungrier, his presence denser.

Then the rules shattered.

It was mid-semester, the air cooling as fall deepened. Hope hunched over her desk, her star charts crinkled from Elias’s careless satchel drops. She’d been wrestling an integral for half an hour, her pencil hovering as she second-guessed every move, her tank top clinging damp to her skin. He’d been quiet that night, watching her flounder, until his hand struck.

Fingers clamped around her waist, firm and abrupt, his thumb pressing into the soft curve of her stomach—not hard, but enough to snag her breath. She twisted, shoving at his grip, her nails raking his skin.

“Let go of me,” she hissed, her voice quaking with rage.

His fingers tightened, just enough to make her squirm, her plush hips bucking against his hold. “That’s wrong,” he said, his tone calm, even, like he was noting the weather. “Try it again.”

Her pulse roared, heat flooding her face. She shoved harder, her tiny fists rebounding off his knuckles, her breasts heaving with each jagged breath. “I said let go!” Her voice splintered, sharp and raw.

He smirked, holding her a beat longer, his green eyes glinting as she thrashed. Then he released her, leaning back like it was trivial. “Getting all worked up over nothing, shortstack,” he murmured, his voice low and taunting.

Her chest surged, fury and shame blazing under her skin. She snatched her pencil, hands trembling, her glare boring into him.

“I’m reporting you,” she said, her words steady despite the tremor in her throat. “You can’t just grab me like that.”

He tilted his head, unfazed. “Report what, exactly?” His tone was smooth, almost intrigued. “That I’m keeping you from failing? You need me, Hope. We both know it.”

Her stomach knotted. She hated that he was right—hated how her grades chained her there. Her third test came a week later, and she passed again—a B+, her best yet. Elias’s twisted methods worked. She clenched her jaw, swallowing the anger, and pressed on.

The touching didn’t stop.

It grew over weeks, slow and deliberate. A brush on her arm became a lingering grip on her shoulder, then a hand resting heavy on her thigh during problems. She’d snap—

“Don’t!”

“Stop it!”

And he’d pull back with that same smirk, murmuring, “Just keeping you sharp.” She hated the heat it seared into her skin, the way her body tensed under his fingers, but her grades climbed—another test, another pass, a low A this time. It tethered her to him, the progress outweighing the dread.

Then he rewrote the rules.

It was late fall, the semester teetering toward winter. Elias strode in one night, tossing his satchel onto her desk, knocking her pencil cup askew with a faint clatter. Hope stiffened, her notebook splayed open, her curls snarled from raking her hands through them in frustration.

He sprawled in her chair, legs stretching wide, his presence pressing against her like a wall.

“Let’s make this interesting,” he said, his tone light, almost playful, as he leaned in. “A game, if you will.”

“What kind of game?” she asked, her voice tight, wary.

He smirked. “Every wrong answer? You lose something.”

Her stomach iced over. “Lose what?” she pressed, her voice low, though the answer loomed clear.

He tilted his head, green eyes catching the light. “A piece of clothing,” he said simply, like it was nothing.

Her breath stalled, her fists curling on the desk. “You’re disgusting,” she spat, her words hard, slicing.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. “You wanna pass?” His voice was soft, coaxing, but thick with intent. “This’ll keep your head in it, Hope.”

She should’ve told him to get out. Should’ve screamed at him to fuck off. But her last test had been an A-, her scholarship locked for another term. Elias was the key, and she couldn’t deny it—not with the final looming, the one that’d seal her fate.

Her chest constricted, her nails biting into her palms. She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no, either.

The first mistake hit a week later. She’d been working a limit, her pencil scratching unevenly as her mind raced, when she scrawled the wrong answer, her heart sinking as she caught it. Elias’s hand darted, pinching her thigh—quick, sharp, the sting flaring under her skin as she yelped, her leg jerking.

“Tank top,” he said, his tone light, expectant.

Her hands trembled as she gripped the hem, hesitating, her breath shallow. “This is messed up,” she muttered, her voice quaking, but his stare didn’t waver.

She peeled the fabric off, letting it fall, her bra cutting into her skin as she crossed her arms over her chest. His gaze roamed her, slow and heavy, lingering on the plush swell of her breasts.

“Sit up straight,” he murmured, his fingers brushing her hip, light but deliberate. “Helps you think.”

She slapped his hand away, her curls bouncing with the motion. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, her voice raw. He only laughed, a low, quiet sound that crawled under her skin.

The stripping dragged over weeks.

Each wrong answer cost her—socks one night, leggings another, until she sat shivering in her bra and panties, the dorm’s chill gnawing her bare flesh.

Her star charts rustled faintly as Elias loomed over her, his shadow swallowing the lamp’s glow. She kept passing tests—another A-, then an A—her progress a lifeline she couldn’t sever, even as his hands lingered longer, his smirks darkened.

Then he pushed harder.

It was deep into the semester, the air thick with winter’s bite. Hope sat at her desk, her pencil trembling as she tackled a derivative, her mind a haze of numbers and dread. She’d been at it for hours, her tank top long gone, her bra and panties her last shield. She slipped—missed a factor, her answer glaringly wrong.

Elias moved fast. His fingers pinched her breast through the lace, dwarfing its soft swell, twisting just enough to make her jolt, a sharp cry ripping from her throat as her plush thighs quaked under the desk.

“Please,” she gasped, kicking weakly, her voice fracturing. “Stop it.”

He didn’t. His grip held, steady, the pain sharpening as she writhed. “Wrong again,” he murmured, his tone low, almost lazy. “Bra’s next.”

Tears stung her eyes, her fingers fumbling with the clasp, her body shaking. The lace fell away, her breasts bared to the cold air, nipples tightening as she crossed her arms over her chest. He leaned closer, his breath hot against her shoulder, his fingers tracing her bare skin—slow, deliberate, grazing the curve of her side.

“You’re getting there,” he said, his voice laced with dark satisfaction. She shivered, her fight fraying, her hands clutching her notebook like a lifeline.

Weeks later, he went further.

Hope sat naked now, her clothes a crumpled heap by her desk, her body exposed and raw under the dim light. It had taken time—each piece stripped over nights of errors, her resistance thinning with every test she passed, every A she clawed for.

She’d been grappling with a limit, her pencil scratching haltingly as sweat beaded on her skin, when she faltered—her answer off, her stomach sinking as she saw the slip.

Elias smirked, snatching a pencil from his scattered supplies, twirling it between his fingers like a toy. “Maybe this’ll motivate you,” he said, his voice dark and heavy, his eyes locked on hers. He leaned in, the blunt tip teasing her pussy, circling her entrance with slow, deliberate strokes that snagged her breath.

“Don’t—please,” she begged, her voice trembling as she gripped the desk’s edge, knuckles whitening. “Take it out.”

He didn’t listen. He slid it in, stretching her tight walls with cold, unyielding pressure that made her gasp. Her hips bucked, her curls falling into her face as she twisted, but he twisted it deeper, her cries bouncing off the dorm’s walls.

“Learn from it, Hope,” he said, his smirk widening as he pulled it free, only to grab a pen—thicker, colder—and press it against her ass. She let out a muffled squeal, her body clenching as he eased it in, pumping it slow, each thrust a humiliating ache that made her tremble.

“You’re too smart to keep screwing up,” he murmured, watching her writhe, her resistance melting into broken whimpers, her amber eyes glistening with tears.

The final push came near semester’s end.

Elias loomed over her desk one night, his shadow engulfing her star charts, and unzipped his jeans with a slow, deliberate rasp that made her flinch.

“You’re not taking this serious enough,” he said, his voice a low growl as his cock emerged—thick, veined, dripping precum.

“I know a way to make you learn.” He scooped her up, her naked body quivering in his grip, and pressed her against it, her breasts flattening against the pulsing heat.

Her whimpers drowned in a wet squelch as he smeared her face with a heavy bead of precum at the tip, coating her features in slick warmth. Every frantic breath she stole only dragged in more of his musk, submerging her in his need.

She fought with what little she had left—tiny hands clawing at his skin, her body twisting to escape. But there was no out.

Elias chuckled low. “Breathe it in, sweetheart. This is what it takes to learn.”

He held her there, letting his slit pulse against her face, smearing another thick droplet over her lips. Then he dragged her down his shaft, rolling her soft curves along his length, her heat sending electric jolts through his core.

Her thighs straddled it, soft and shuddering, as he slid her up and down, slicking her skin with precum. “This is what happens when you slack,” he grunted, his breath quickening, her cries spurring him on.

Hope kicked feebly, her body pressed and rolled along the throbbing pillar of flesh. Elias shifted his grip, pinning her legs against his shaft, her smooth thighs splayed just enough for his fingertip to tease between them.

She let out a ragged sob, her voice hoarse from screaming. It only made him throb harder.

His pace surged, his breath hitching in harsh gasps as he lost himself in her. Her warmth, her struggles, the slickness of his arousal drenching her from head to toe. He was so close.

She fought, her tiny fists pounding his fingers, her voice raw and fading, but her strength ebbed fast. He rubbed her quicker, her curves molding to every ridge, his grip tightening as the pressure in his core hit its peak.

With a guttural groan, he pinned her trembling body to the swollen, leaking head of his cock and erupted—hot spurts coating her chest, dripping down her stomach, her plush ass glistening in the dim light. She sagged in his hand, her fight flickering out, her body quaking under the sticky weight.

“Should’ve studied harder,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, his smirk lazy and sated.

The semester dragged on, a haze of torment.

Elias came three nights a week, breaking her further. One night, he pinned her pussy to his cock’s tip, splaying her legs wide with his fingers, her thighs trembling as he held her there. He came hard—thick, relentless jets flooding her womb, the pressure bloating her abdomen until she whimpered, her holes burning raw from the stretch.

Pencils, pens, anything he could grab—he shoved inside her over weeks, stretching her tender flesh, leaving her swollen and aching.

She’d clawed at him once, early on, screamed until her voice splintered—now she just trembled, limp, taking it as he loomed over her desk, her star charts crumpled beneath his satchel.

Another night, he pressed her face to his pulsing slit, his grip iron as he let a surge drown her—hot, sticky waves pouring into her mouth, her nose, her ears ringing as she sputtered. Her stomach swelled, her soft curves slick and glistening, her fight long extinguished.

She gagged as he forced more down her throat, cum spilling from her lips, flooding her nose until she choked, her eyes red and stinging, blackened from exhaustion and mess. “Swallow it,” he said, his voice rough, watching her struggle with a faint, pleased tilt of his head.

The calculus final loomed at semester’s end.

Hope sat in the lecture hall, her body shrouded in baggy clothes—a hoodie swallowing her frame, sweatpants masking the tender ache between her legs.

Every shift stung—a reminder of her ruin—her womb heavy, her holes raw, her amber eyes dull behind tangled curls. The problems blurred on the page, but the answers flowed, etched into her by pain. Her pencil moved mechanically, her hands shaking as she finished.

Later, she learned she’d aced it—perfect. Elias had delivered, just as he’d vowed, through every test, every A, every step of her fall.

Back in her dorm, he waited.

The door creaked open, and his shadow engulfed her space. He scooped her up with a lazy grin, his fingers curling around her soft, broken curves. “Heard you passed. Best score there.”

“Told you you’d make it,” he said, his voice soft but smug, unzipping his jeans with a slow, familiar rasp.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. Her amber eyes stared blank as he pressed her to his length, his touch tracing her trembling frame. A semester of torment had stripped her fire, leaving a hollow shell—his toy to keep, her dreams of the stars snuffed out.

“Let’s celebrate,” he murmured, his cock twitching against her. She yielded, silent, as he began again.

[ShrinkMaster]

Great work! My favorite so far is chapter 6.

[Justhereforamoment1]

I think you'll like the next one I've got cooking up. It's got the power switch stuff you like

[Justhereforamoment1]

A house full of horny frat bros and one tiny professor. Wanted to try my hand at one tiny with multiple giants, I think it turned out well.

(Includes the power shift stuff ShrinkMaster enjoys)

---

Dr. Cynthia Reed had dreamed of this moment since childhood—hunched over tomes five times her size, tiny fingers smudged with graphite as she traced the rise and fall of ancient empires. At six inches tall, the world loomed hostile and unyielding, but she’d fought her way up. A PhD by twenty-eight. A coveted history post at Easton University, one of the state’s finest.

New laws had pried open doors for tinies, forcing institutions to bend. Cynthia saw it as triumph—proof she could stand, if not shoulder-to-shoulder, then at least desk-to-desk with giants.

Her office was a repurposed drawer in a massive desk, a cozy sanctum she’d claimed—miniature books stacked with meticulous care, a laptop perched on a custom stand, a tiny teacup steaming with chamomile. She’d sit there, fiery red hair twisted into a messy bun, hazel eyes glinting behind glasses, poring over lecture notes with a quiet thrill.

Her lush frame—modest breasts hugged by a tailored blazer, a plump ass straining her pencil skirt—drew lingering stares she dismissed with a shy chuckle, too lost in her work to catch the slow burn of resentment simmering around her.

Fall draped the campus in gold, leaves crunching under giant boots, voices weaving through crisp air. But beneath the season’s glow, a bitter rot festered. Old-guard professors grumbled about “forced diversity.” Students echoed the disdain.

Cynthia didn’t care.

Her lectures were her arena, her voice amplified through a mic from her tiny podium, dissecting ancient power struggles with warm, fervent precision. Giants towered over her—some scribbling notes, others smirking, slouched in lazy defiance. She pressed on, naively trusting her title and passion would armor her.

She was wrong.

Enter Delta Rho.

The frat was a blunt force—towering, beer-drenched giants, their house a sty of crushed cans and stained couches. They’d been seething about tiny rights for months, a personal affront to their kingdom where bros reigned and “little shits” knew their place.

Blake led the charge.

A linebacker with a buzz cut and a cruel grin, his sheer mass eclipsed even his crew. Justin shadowed him, lanky and leering, a stoner’s lazy smirk perpetually curling his lips. Richy completed the trio—wiry, brash, phone always out, primed to immortalize their chaos.

They’d lurked in Cynthia’s class from the start, their whispers cutting through her lectures—

“Damn, bro, she may be a tiny, but that ass is massive,” Justin muttered, nudging Richy as she bent over her podium.

“Maybe I’ll show her something else massive,” Richy snickered, eyes glinting.

Laughter cracked like a whip, sharp and shredding.

Blake, though? Blake had hit his limit. He leaned back, fixing her with a dark, predatory stare. The laws felt like a personal jab. They needed to act—reclaim control, show tinies they didn’t belong.

The plan was crude: snag her, drag her to the house, have her ass.

It went down late on a Thursday, campus hushed under a dusk-bruised sky. Cynthia stepped from her office, arms laden with graded midterms, her soft hum mingling with the rustle of her skirt against her thighs.

She didn’t hear the boots stalking her.

Didn’t see Blake’s shadow swallow her whole.

A massive hand clamped around her mid-stride.

She yelped, papers spiraling to the ground like wounded birds, her skirt riding up as she thrashed. “What the—let me go!” Her voice splintered, breathless. Blake’s laugh rumbled, deep and vile.

“Yo, lock her shit up, bro,” he barked.

Justin snatched her keys from the drawer’s edge, slammed it shut, and pocketed them. Richy was already filming, phone aloft, cackling. “This is fuckin’ epic, dudes.”

Her blazer ripped at the shoulder, buttons popping as she fought. Red hair tumbled free, glasses sliding down her nose. Blake’s grip tightened.

He pinned her arms, thick fingers coiling snug around her waist.

She dangled like a trophy.

She was theirs now.

The ride was a blur of chaos. Stuffed into a backpack, she was hemmed in by journals, papers, and loose pens jabbing her sides.

The noise hit first—Delta Rho’s roar assaulting her senses as they arrived. Music pulsed, voices boomed, the sour reek of spilled beer choking the air.

“Fresh meat, boys!” Blake bellowed, kicking the door wide.

The living room sprawled like a pit—couches sagging under giant weight, a pong table sticky with last night’s filth, bros slouched and buzzing, heads snapping up at the commotion.

Blake didn’t pause. He upended the bag onto the table—a hard glass slab streaked with rings and ash. Pencils scattered, papers soaked in stale booze, and there she was.

She hit hard, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as her skirt hiked up, blouse splitting open. Her lacy bra clung to her tender breasts, panties stretched taut over her plump ass, quivering under their stares.

For a heartbeat, silence held. They hadn’t thought Blake would actually do it. Maybe they’d hesitate. Maybe they’d help her, she prayed.

“Check out Red’s fat ass, man,” one of them hooted. The mob surged. Hope died.

Blake’s fist locked around her waist, pinning her with brutal ease as he unzipped his pants. His thick cock sprang free—swollen, leaking, a monstrous threat against her tiny frame.

“Wait—please, no!” she begged.

Blake didn’t hear her.

“Fuck yeah, you’re ours.” He pressed her squirming body to the searing tip, a fat bead of precum glistening in the dim light. Her yelp drowned in a wet squelch as he smeared it across her face.

Her tiny hands clawed at his fingers, legs flailing, but it only stoked him harder.

“Goddamn, Red—you’re perfect,” he groaned, dragging her soft curves along his shaft. Her blouse and skirt shredded, her plump ass molding to his throbbing ridges, her tits bouncing as he ground her against him, electric jolts ripping through his core. But he was a leader—eventually, he passed her on.

She was handed from man to man, each claiming their piece.

Cock after cock rubbed her raw, precum streaking her delicate features. Her face was a slick mask, her breasts dripping with it. Every frantic breath she stole only dragged in more of their musk, drowning her in their hunger.

She fought with all she had—tiny hands scratching at their groping paws, her body twisting to escape. But there was no out.

Her naked form thrashed, slick with sweat, chafed red by the heat of countless dicks. Her bra and panties were long gone, her plush ass and soft breasts pulled and stretched, reshaped by the cocks encircling her. Fiery red hair clung to her cute face, damp with sweat and terror, framing wide, pleading eyes.

“Please—I can’t—”

Richy loomed close, dick in hand, stroking slow.

He shoved the swollen head at her face, smearing musky slickness over her delicate features as she twisted away, choking on a scream. He dragged the tip across her, coating every inch of her face in his mess.

“I—sto—ple—gmph,” she stammered, words garbled as a heavy bead of precum welled up, flooding her mouth. He pressed her face into it, engulfing her in the sticky heat.

Her head sank into his pulsing slit, his groan rumbling as her muffled shrieks vibrated through him, her cute face buried in the throbbing mess.

It lasted seconds—her gasping for air in the pungent muck—before Justin, the stoner, grew impatient and snatched her away.

He flipped her upside down, gripping her ankles tight. “Watch this, boys.”

He dragged her tiny pussy along his shaft, her soft thighs splayed wide. She jerked in his hold, tiny hands shoving at his fingers, her screams piercing and helpless against the friction.

“Stop! No! I’m gonna—ahh—”

Her body shuddered, gasping as he grunted and came, aiming the hot, thick surge at her face and chest. It coated her trembling skin, flooding her features as she convulsed, choking on the excess, her own unwilling release shaking her frame.

“Aw, look, little Red came too!” a frat boy jeered.

“Dude, she’s fucking loving it!” another mocked.

Cock after cock claimed her, each painting her in their own way. Some targeted her face, relishing her struggles to breathe through the muck. Others coated her whole body, turning her into a glistening canvas of their cum.

“Please—let me go! I won’t—I won’t tell anyone!” she screamed.

Blake chuckled low. “Aw, Red’s begging.” He pinned her face to his slit as she was passed back to him. With a groan, a brutal jet erupted, slamming into her tiny frame. She choked instantly—hot, sticky waves flooding her mouth, her nose, every hole clogged as she sputtered, her stomach bloating under the relentless tide.

The night dissolved into a haze—her body a plaything in their unyielding grasp.

She was left a trembling, whimpering wreck, sprawled out as cum leaked from every aching hole. Her swollen belly jutted taut, stuffed with their loads. Some bros had found a trick—sealing her pussy or ass over their slits before unloading, flooding her until it burst free when they released her.

When they finished deep into the night, one tossed her into an old rat cage. She coughed, then retched, a thick stream of cum spilling out as her stomach slowly deflated. She collapsed to her hands and knees, cum dribbling from her lips, her massive ass quaking in the air—unwittingly teasing the few bros still awake.

Over the next few days, she was used hard. Her meals—beyond cum—were scraps she had to beg for. One night, Justin sauntered in with a hazelnut brownie, her favorite, and caught her wide, pleading eyes.

He laughed, pinning her thighs to his shaft. “Oh, you want this, huh? Fuckin’ work for it.” He rolled her plump ass slow along his length, her curves soaked in his heat, her choked gasps sending shivers up his spine as he smeared her with another thick bead, kneading her soft flesh possessively.

He came, her hair tangling in the mess, sticking to her face. With a few hard squeezes and a sharp spank to her ass, he tossed her back into the cage—brownie withheld.

The chaos stretched on—days bleeding into weeks, her tiny body drowning in their lust.

One night, they hauled out the keg for a ritual dunking.

“Swim, Red,” Blake shouted, hoisting her over the steel rim.

They dropped her in, the foamy beer swallowing her whole. She flailed in the slosh, hair matting to her face, choking as it flooded her mouth. The bros cheered, pounding the table, their laughter a deafening roar.

“She’s chugging it, bro!” Justin hooted, leaning close.

Her arms thrashed, legs kicking, but the current dragged her under. Beer stung her eyes, burned her nose, her tiny body gulping it down as she grew drunker, dizzier, her struggles slowing.

Chad fished her out, dripping and gasping, her soft breasts heaving. “Time for a real stretch, Red.” He forced a bent bottle cap into her pussy—cold, jagged metal stretching her tender flesh raw.

She screamed, her body jolting, her plump ass clenching in his grip. “No—stop—it hurts!”

“Shut it, Red,” Chad snapped, twisting it deeper. Her walls burned, slick with beer and sweat, the cap scraping as he pumped it slow, her cries slicing the air.

Richy joined in, snagging a straw from the table. “Let’s fill her up, bro.” He jammed it into her ass, her tight hole spasming around the plastic.

Her voice cracked, ragged sobs spilling out. “Please—no more—”

“Double-stuffed—fuckin’ classic,” Richy grinned, grinding the straw in, her body quaking as they worked her over, her soft curves trembling under their hands.

Blake swaggered over, cracking his knuckles. “She’s our keg queen now, boys.” He pinched her thigh, smirking as she whimpered, beer and cum dripping from her wrecked frame.

One afternoon, Dylan hunted for her. “Bro, where’s Red?”

Blake chuckled. “Ethan took her to the third bedroom with his girl. She got jealous about Red.”

He shook his head. “Last I heard, she was stuffed up his girl’s ass while they fucked.”

In the third bedroom, two bodies collided, Cynthia battered inside Jess’s tight hole. Ethan’s girl—Jess—moaned, her thick thighs flexing as she rode him, Cynthia’s muffled shrieks lost in the heat and musk.

“Fuck, babe—she’s kicking in there,” Jess groaned, grinding harder.

Ethan laughed, thrusting deep. “Told you Red’s a freak—keep her squirming.”

Cynthia clawed at the suffocating walls, her tiny frame shoved deeper with each thrust, her soft curves crushed by the pulsing flesh. Her screams faded to choked gasps, her limbs twitching as Jess clenched, trapping her tight.

Her moans spiked, Cynthia’s struggles buzzing inside her, the tight hole slick and quivering around the tiny’s wriggling form.

Ethan groaned, his cock throbbing. “Gonna fill you up, babe—Red’s getting it too.” He slammed harder, heat coiling in his gut, his thrusts pounding Cynthia deeper into Jess’s ass.

Jess shuddered, her walls tightening. “Do it—drown her in it.”

With a guttural growl, Ethan came—hot, thick jets flooding Jess’s hole, surging around Cynthia’s trembling body. The cum poured in, sticky and relentless, filling the tight space, coating her soft curves, her body drowning in the mess.

Cynthia sputtered, her tiny frame jolting as the flood pressed in, no room to move, no air to breathe, just searing heat and cum clogging her senses. Jess moaned louder, clenching hard, the slick tide trapping Cynthia in the pulsing grip, her struggles fading under the weight.

Ethan panted, smirking. “Red’s our little cum sponge now, babe.”

Jess laughed, her thighs quaking as she rode out the aftershocks, Cynthia lost in the drenched, suffocating heat of her ass.

Kyle stuffed her in his boxers one evening. “Get used to it, Red.” He smeared her face-first into the sweaty musk, her tiny mouth flooding with the stench as she gasped, her soft tits dragging along his skin, her struggles buzzing against him.

He sprawled on the couch, legs wide, letting her stew for hours. Her hands clawed at his flesh, her plump ass squirming against his hardening cock, but the fabric pinned her tight.

“Fuck, she’s wiggling good,” Kyle muttered, stroking himself through the cotton.

Justin peeked over, grinning. “Yo, lemme borrow her, bro.”

Kyle snorted. “Wait your turn, asshole—she’s busy.” He fished her out, slick with sweat, and shoved a vape pen into her pussy.

Her scream was sharp, her tender flesh stretching around the cold metal. “No—no—take it out!”

“Shut up, Red,” Kyle growled, twisting it deep, her body jerking as he pumped it, her plump ass trembling in his grip.

Justin snatched her next, pinning her to his shaft. “My turn, dickhead.” He ground her against him, her cum-slicked curves sliding, her choked sobs fueling his heat as he fought Kyle for control.

One day, they grabbed her and a pencil. “Need help on a paper, Red. You were a professor, right?” They shoved it into her ass, scribbling as it stretched her tender walls, her ragged sob choked by the eraser lodged in her guts.

A marker went up her pussy next. “Red’s helping with our art project.” Richy grinned, grinding it deeper, her body slick with sweat and their mess, her plump ass trembling as they drew.

Chad barged in, waving a Sharpie. “Move, bro—I got dibs.” He yanked the marker out, jamming his thicker one in, her scream piercing as it stretched her wider, her soft thighs quaking.

“Fuckin’ tag team, boys,” Richy laughed, filming as they traded her, each object—pencil, marker, Sharpie—grinding her raw, her holes burning under their rough hands.

She’d started fierce—clawing, pleading through tears. The bros mocked her. “Teach us somethin’, nerd.”

They broke her fast.

The university noticed her absence, eventually launching an investigation—knocking on doors, asking after her.

“They’re looking for that professor,” a bro grunted from the frat house’s open door.

“Haven’t seen Re—I mean, that professor in a bit,” another lied, knowing she was stuffed in some girl’s pussy upstairs.

Weeks later, someone shrugged, and the search fizzled. “Heard they hired some new guy.”

No one came for her.

She was theirs—voice a fractured whisper, body a cum-drenched ruin.

Weeks on, Cynthia lay wrecked—curled on a stained couch cushion, panting, soft breasts heaving, her massive plush ass quivering.

The bros sprawled around, cracking beers, chuckling.

“Red’s our MVP.”

“Took it like a champ.”

Blake flicked her thigh with a thick finger. “You’re Delta Rho’s now, Red—ours for keeps.” His grin was wide and mean.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t speak—just lay there, chest rising shallow, red hair a tangled mess streaked with their filth.

Her office drawer stayed locked, her teacup cold, her notes rotting in the frat’s trash.

The pledge initiation sealed it—newbies lined up in the basement, hooting.

Blake stood at the center, gripping her waist firmly, his voice cutting through the din. “Listen up, you sorry sacks of shit—everyone hear me? Good. You gotta blast Red to join,” he declared, hoisting her up for all to see.

Her naked body trembled in his grip, her soft breasts quaking, plump ass slick and gleaming from their “cleaning” prep. A wicked grin tugged at his lips as he held her higher, making sure every single pledge got a good look.

“Red here?” he smirked. “She’s our worst-kept secret. Whole damn campus knows she belongs to Delta Rho—professors, cops—none of it matters. She’s ours, and you’re gonna mark her to prove you belong.”

A ripple of cheers surged through the room, hungry and electric. Eyes locked onto her, eager and waiting.

One by one, they stepped up—rubbing her along their cocks, her soft curves gliding through sticky heat, unloading on her shuddering form.

“You’re in—Red’s the ticket.” The mess piled on, her tiny frame choking under the flood.

A lanky pledge with greasy hair pinned her to his shaft, groaning as he erupted, a brutal jet slamming her chest, thick heat dripping down her swollen stomach.

Another, a stocky kid with a patchy beard, forced her face to his slit. “Fuck yeah, Red—welcome me in.” His cock pulsed, flooding her mouth, her nose, her tiny body convulsing as it poured down her throat, her belly bulging painfully.

The room roared, beers raised, her glistening body a wreck—breasts coated, ass dripping, thighs trembling.

Her naïve spark was gone—drowned in their cum and chaos, her professor days a faded echo lost in the frat’s grind.

Blake tossed her back onto the cushion, cracking another can. “Red’s our legacy, boys.”

The bros cheered, shouts ringing as she lay there—a shattered toy in their sticky pit, hazel eyes blank, dreams of history crushed under their weight.

The bros’ cheers rang out, shouts echoing as Cynthia lay there—a shattered toy in their sticky pit, her hazel eyes blank and drifting, catching the glint of a frat trophy on the shelf. Delta Rho Forever was etched in bold, mocking script, its shadow falling over her cum-streaked form, her dreams of teaching crushed under their weight as their laughter faded into the haze.

[Saxanas]

Absolutely adore these types of stories? Have you considered adding in some butt/fart content from the giants or giantesses? It's such a good way to further break down the tiny hehehe

[TheMacroMan]

I second this, love some more butt content on here lol.

[Justhereforamoment1]

So I myself don't really enjoy fart stuff, though butt stuff can be fun. However, I did say let me know if there's something you'd like to see and I'd see what I could do. Could you lay out a scenario for me just so I could see how it should be written? In my head I'm thinking giant gets girlfriend a tiny for her birthday and she uses the tiny as a butt toy (ie keeping her in there almost all day when she's not using her to masturbate). Does that sound interesting or could it be tweaked?

[Syndrea]

The last story was really amazing. Any chance you might have a part 2 when Blake is about to graduate. A finality to Cynthia's story will be great.