The Dispatches of Cpt. John C. Gulliver - [Dispatch 1] SM/SW

[Comrade]

Hey Team.

This is an SM/SW story, but I thought it might be of interest to you all here. It was have further instalments. Not everything has been revealed.

Please leave a message.

The Dispatches of Cpt. John C. Gulliver - Year of Our Lord 1856

Dispatch 1: Observations on the Kingdom of Lilliput


[For immediate dispatch to publishers John Thresham and Co. 394 Victoria Road, Embankment, London].

Empress Mittoria Contrida Gurtrine Silvianus Mully Ully Gue (The Second) reclined upon her soft bed (The softest in the known world) and sighed with a blissful contentment that could only come with the true freedom her regal-reality provided. It was, however, understood to be true that this contentment not only came from a position of royal prerogative. Far from it. It stemmed more from the ineffable, unspoken, knowledge that her Kingdom was emerging as a major player on the world stage. Its growth was seemingly unstoppable. In a manner of thinking, at least. This, indeed, was what I have been sent to observe. By her Majesty Queen Victoria herself, no less. And observe the kingdom I have done. In all its new-found grandeur.

For it is that story, and the many within it, that I, Cpt. John C. Gulliver, will relay to you now. And indeed over the coming weeks.

The Empress turned to me, as she had many times before, and demanded my company. “Come Tun Ranfulo (Little Breeches in the language of the land) tell me more of your country. Of your land across the wall of waves.”

I smiled, it was her favourite thing to ask. I was a highly educated man and my tales of English weather, tense cricket matches and of our own Little Queen (all be it not quite as divine in appearance as the one before me) enthralled her. For it is worth noting now that the young Empress held form and beauty unmatched by anyone I have come across in my own lands. Or indeed during my travels across the known world. The people here are tanned, like those of olive skin in Mercia, Greece or The Papal States. But, they are lighter of hair and of eye. The Queen herself had long golden brown hair, large oval eyes, of a piercing blue, and tanned skin cursed by the near perfect placement of a hundred little beauty spots. Her figure too, for she was only of a the age of 25 upon her last birthday celebrations, was tight and high. Huge valleys of curves, meeting at her bosom and large round behind, curling up her plump lips, caused a cascade of slopes across her shoulders and down to her navel. They daunted me and truly everyone who saw them. However, her turning to me had sought to dislodge her figure from it’s current silken purple wrappings. Fortunately, the giant metal clasps clipping the light ensemble together, ornate and beautiful, held - for now.

What didn’t hold were the two Blefuscian maidens that had been attending to her hair. Making a good attempt of braiding it, in fact. Each was about the size of the Empress’s index finger and had been quickly dislodged from her shoulder as she turned onto her side. With a couple of barely audible little squeaks the two had tumbled down her breast bone and then slid into her her inflated royal cleavage. So smooth was her skin, that despite the size of her bosom, both quickly vanished down into her dress. The Empress made no attempts to rescue them and I knew better than to ask about their current well-being.

Instead, her eyes flashed bright and brilliant as she surveyed me, waiting for her story. It was usually the case that she would raise a general topic with me and then I would provide her with entertaining comparisons between my land and hers. She adored these. Often finding everything about England ‘Paipi’ (Meaning: Cute and quaint: small). It was tough for me to retell all the details though, what with my native language skills still below that of my journalistic aspirations. And what with her breaking into fits of giggles whenever I tried to impress a sense of England’s power and scale onto her. Thankfully, I was a bit of a wit back in the London clubs, where my stories of travel especially got me far. (With the gentlemen listeners and, also with many of the ladies). So, adding flavour for any audience was hardly a personal deficiency.

Today I was explaining pets to her. Well, dogs to be precise. And I’d been very good at it. Talking for over an hour. Mammals weren’t naturally as common in this part of the world, with only the odd small snub-beaked parrot of interest to the average citizen. (Not that they didn’t bread those into the most wonderful colours mind). But pets, outside the fields, were a rare thing.

“Hekinah degul!” She exclaimed for the eighth time “Oh Tunny, I could have so many of these loyal fluffy creatures. They would be very popular. I would train them to be transport for the Little Blefies.” She giggled in a very un-regal way. “When we visit your country we are certainly collection some!”

I wondered what I’d done. Describing England in such delicious detail. I should have been turning her away from the place. Towards France perhaps or the riches of the Americas. However, it is hard to prevent oneself from bragging, especially when they hail from such an illustrious homeland as ours. Considering that potentially we could all be at this young lady’s royal whims, the idea of her simply collecting our dogs seemed like the least worrying of her recent flights of fancy.

”When I go to your country I’m not just going to collect your animals you know…” I gulped as she extended a finger towards me. I knew full well what she meant.

Then, seconds later I was pinched up by the scruff of my neck and dangled over the bedspread. Within a further few seconds I had been deposited atop her high soft bosom. Each breast was the size of a Montgolfier balloon to me and I struggled not to fall due to the excess of slippery silk. Still, with a bosom as large and lofty as hers, there was a suitable plateau on top to store my body. I shuffled back, feeling the wrinkles of her areola underneath the thin fabric of her gown. It made for excellent purchase. She smiled. A giant toothy smile.

I must say gentlemen reader, experiencing a bosom like this, although not for the faint of heart nor faint of masculinity, does come highly recommended. The fairer sex does benefit from an engorgement in scale. One day, perhaps, we could all experience such pleasures.

“There, comfy?” She said, in an accent with no hint of a dialect. I gave her a little nod and she extended her fingertip and ruffled my moustache, something which always delighted her. “You must be so happy to view your Queen from this angle. I know the minds of men. You clearly prefer this status. Why allow Queens and Empresses otherwise?” I smiled. “It is truly the most unique and unexpected of pleasures.” She laughed and raised an eyebrow. “And I see that you are responding to such pleasures in a very undignified manner too.” She very gently poked my appendage, as it made a hearty protuberance into my breeches. Gently she lifted me up and very careful, with a skill born of great practice, unhooked my breeches and pulled them down and off my bare ankles. She marvelled at my little offering, like a stiff grain of rice. It was very much the case that if Her High Majesty wanted something, she got it. Gently she lifted me up and to her huge soft lips, together the size of a exquisite piece of furniture. My whole torso melted in and she proceeded to envelop me with her tongue. It was simply a case of little flicks for this great monarch. Each at the end of my shaft, or indeed along the shaft itself. She could tickle my tiny balls too, with ease and power.

Barely three minutes later and I rumbled up to a tiny crescendo that spurted out across her giant tile-sized teeth. She licked them clean in a single swipe. “See, easy. I know men. Especially tiny ones.” She wasn’t wrong. I grinned at her, praying such a smile wasn’t out of turn, and she popped me back onto my ornate velvet carry-pillow, ordering me to do up my breeches and make myself presentable.

When I was sat nice and still, Indian fashion, she clapped her hands and her petite handmaid, Daemini, entered the room. Me and Daemini had a close relationship, as it was her who’d first trained me to be handled, and given me language tuition and instruction in court etiquette swiftly afterwards. “Ready little fellow” She said looking down, grinning at my lack of size. I nodded twice (and once to the side), as was custom here to give complete confirmation, and she raised my pillow up to carry me to my quarters. It was held level to the young lady’s hip and I enjoyed watching it sway, thinking about trying to climb across her thing cloth belt like a tiny trapeze artist. She smelled wonderful. As we turned to leave me and Daemini spotted that the Queen had fished the two Blefuscian maidens out of her dress and was making then dance atop her breasts for her own amusement.

Entering her bed chambers, where I slept, she carried my pillow over to the beautiful, homely cottage that sat on her high wooden dresser. Doll size, durable, and deliberately built just for me, it rivalled anything they had in the rolling hills of the Cotswolds. When me and my pillow were deposited down next to it I slid off and scurried towards the large oak door. It opened before I got there in one dramatic motion. In front of me stood the 7th Baronet of Tallinn, Patron of the Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet, Reader of Philosophy at St. Petersburg State University and official Russian Imperial Envoy to Lilliput, Lady Elena Demidov - shrunk to the diameter of one of Daemini’s little powder puffs. No bigger than a Lilliputian playing card. The same height as a Mildendo peach.

She gave me a ‘huge’ hug, grabbed the lapels of my jacket. Then, stood on tip toes and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Home so soon? I hope Her Royal ‘Largeness’ didn’t tire you too heavily.” Her smooth pale right leg slipped up along my thigh, as if made from the fairest porcelain. She appeared to have missed me while I was gone. “I’ve cooked a minnow for supper, and we have some drops of wine left over.” She pulled me into our cottage. There was a tiny fire roaring. She purred. “But first…” She dragged me up stairs, under the low slung beams of the ceiling, and pulled me into the soft fluffy bed. (It was mainly furnished with Daemini’s spare underwear). I grinned as the miniature blonde noble mounted me and then started to smother me in kisses.

In many ways dear reader, this could have been the perfect life. If it hadn’t been for the giant feminine eye watching at the window, that is.


[End of Dispatch].

[Comrade]

The Dispatches of Cpt. John C. Gulliver - Year of Our Lord 1856

Dispatch 2: Internal and International Relations: Lilliput and Bleufuscu. (As observed by Lady E. Demidov of Tallinn)

[For immediate dispatch to publishers John Thresham and Co. 394 Victoria Road, Embankment, London].

My writing desk is large, and I small. I sit at it on a discarded ball of cotton, tightly-packed, yet un-spun. Harvested only yesterday. It is as fluffy as my hair and as white as my skin. This fact the giant has told me. I like her. My pencil is but a tip of a larger maternal trunk. My pages scraps. However, I am grateful. The chance to retell even a fraction of my story is something I thank my Englishman for.

If you are reading this, I hope it finds you well, and I hope that you know that what I say true. My current reality may hold portents. Portents of your own personal relations with this little nation, and your status within that interaction.

Status is indeed important in Lilliput. There are official ranks and denominations for everyone within the land. Even a humble baker can be classified into up to eight separate strata. It is a country of formality, but yet a new-found youth and vitally, driving a greater opening up process. The status of the average Bleufuscian will be my main concern over the next few pages, as Lilliput’s growth is opposed by their reality.

My inspiration for this writing comes not only from the necessity with which it should be read, but from an incident that occurred only a few days ago. The Empress has special need for me at times. One such time is Tea Time. She is convinced that her tea tastes sweeter with me in it. To this end, a few times a week, I find myself bathing in her hot teacups as she relaxes and sips. Sometimes this is with other giant ladies of the court, or indeed giant dignitaries, foreign or otherwise. But often it is simply a personal indulgence. A more private affair. On this occasion I was reclining, my hair high and dry in a Rostov-braid, chatting to her as she lay on her stomach. She was always keen to know of my experience as her more personal Miniature. Of all her reductions I was considered among the most prized. You see, she didn’t quite talk to the Bleufuscians in the same way. It is clear to me that they are viewed very much as ‘naturally-small’. Of course, this has always been the case to us in the West, however, not quite in the way it currently manifests. You see sometime around the Queen’s formative years they had all been reduced, swiftly and almost instantly, to their current stature. It was true that Lilliput possessed construction and artisanal skills unknown to even the world’s most powerful states. However, it was within their alchemy where their true ingenuity lay. At some point around the mid-forties, a scientist by the name of Mapsic Goona-Farnus invented a way to dwindle natural objects down in size. This had been an obsession within Lilliputian society since the discovery of their true scale all those decades before. Impressively, this substance was produced with such care as to make Lilliputians immune to its belittling effects. It was clearly time to open up the tiny hermit kingdom. And open they had.

This had been disastrous for their near-neighbours the Bleufuscians. You see, the two little kingdoms had always had a rivalry. But it was mostly impossible for one to gain the upper hand. Everything about them seemed equal. The size of their Armies, the size of their Navies, the size of their economies, the size of everything, even each other. But, not any more. It has never been revealed, to me at least, the means by which it was achieved on such a grand scale. However, the nation was soon found to have been reduced down to its current scale.

I have visited the island once upon my giant owner, Daemini’s, shoulder two summers ago. It was mostly occupied by Lilliputian settlers by then, with the Bleufie population being relocated to more fitting accommodation, mostly on the Lilliputian-main. I can testify personally that the Kingdom of Lilliput are now experts in Dollshouse construction.

As I sat in my Empress’s teacup this last week I had enjoyed watching the little Bleufuscians work. The Empress was naked, her body expanding for yards and yards along her bedspread. Upon the dramatic curves of where a whole baker’s dozen of young Bleufuscian women, each wearing a numbered silken robe, working on hands and knees to massage the giant’s smooth back. The Empress wiggled and sighed as they did so, clearly adoring their mini-ministrations. My favourite to watch was Number 1, a girl of maybe 28 years or so, perhaps older. She was standing in the imperial bum crack and directing the attention of Numbers 2-12. It was good to see her in a management position. You see, despite their size, the Bleufuscian population do have reasonable standing. You may be surprised to learn that there are extensive laws to protect the rights of all Lilliputian citizens, despite a clutch of caveats in place for their smaller charges. In many ways they were like a pocket Dominion, such as would be seen in the British Empire, just much easier to manage. Most were still rewarded for their work (Albeit at a fitting payscale) and some even held reasonably important positions. The Queen’s Royal Shoe Cleaner, or the Minister for Shaving, for instance. The applications for such a small, capable, workforce were endless.

As a population they seem to have become adjusted to their new role. Many of the younger generation have grown up knowing no other size. And, well, as subservient as their new position naturally is, it is also stable and free from the greater materials wants and needs that befall relative-giants. There are, however, little in the way of laws or social conventions about Miniatures being teased, or indeed played with, that prevented the larger party from doing what they saw fit. But this was, unfortunately, something they had to accept. If I could learn to appreciate being an Imperial Tea-sweetener then they should focus on the positives in their scale too. It was, frankly, reassuring, if chilling, to be at the mercy of such giants.

At least twice in a teacup bath would the Empress compliment my little body. It always made me blush, despite my education and noble status. Something so big and powerful taking an active interest in me would always do that. The tea itself was slightly oily and very smooth. It gave the sensation of being in one of the Japanese Onsen I’d experienced in my travels to far-Siberia. I would often lean against the edge popping my breasts up to the lip of the cup, all silken and smooth. To her they were around the size of green Lilliputian peas. She would often flick her tongue over them and wink. A tease. That’s what I was trying to be. It was one of the only true powers I had left and she’d never truly risen to it. After all, it would not be the done thing for her to be seduced, especially not by one of my scale and statue.

I enjoyed being part of a few more hot cups and watched the tiny people finish up on The Empress’s back. I also watched then spending a further 30-40 minutes struggling to massage her voluminous buttocks as the last bits of tea cooled and I shivered. I enjoyed seeing how especially with how springy each cheek was. Once finished they approached her with a giant contraption that made them look as if they were a fire-crew operating a hose. Rather than water though, it sprayed a large cloud of perfume. The Queen tittered and the tiny people coughed. Gently she leaned her huge body over and reached for her purse. She offered down a few little coins, bigger than sliver serving trays to the workers, and then bid them leave us. In strictly under the time of two minutes. This required that the tiny people had to scamper, climb and then run, to escape the room in time. All the while carrying or rolling coins they’d struggle to store under their beds, let alone in their coinpurses!

It was at this point when I was usually returned to my own lodgings, to retire for the evening, all free of evening and tea-smelling. However, today was a little different, and all the more pertinent for this particular dispatch as a result.

At this point I was carried over to her gargantuan dresser and popped down onto a large folded pair of silken gloves. I slipped for a few seconds, still very oily, before sliding down into a heap. I’d hurt my dainty bottom on the wood because of the fall and rubbed it with a pained expression. The Queen looked down at me. “Elena, how very silly of you to be overpowered simply by a pair of gloves. You must do better.” I stood on shaky legs and threw my hands up in mock annoyance. I had learned to play along with her teasing. I knew she preferred me to do this, and it gave me an intense tingling in my spine. Frankly enjoyed the process a little, despite myself. “Well, yes, I do apologise your Great High Magnificence, it is just that I have been reduced to a size whereby I can be overpowered by even the simplest of your adornments.” She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, that appears to be so. However, I expect better from somebody of your status within my court.” I tried not to blush. Feeling a stronger tingle. “Forgive me Ma’am, I shouldn’t use my size as an excuse for my failings. You have informed me of this before. And, as this is the proper size for a lady of my calibre I should not view this scale as an inconvenience.” She let my words hang in the air. I was unsure as to whether or not she was satisfied. “Agreed, and let that be the end of it.” She reached down and pinched my miniature bottom as punishment. I hopped in a little circle, settling a few moments later and standing to attention, bum stinging.

She looked down at me, not acknowledging the teasing. “Behind that open book you’ll find a new dress I have had made from the drawing in your book of Russian Court Etiquette. It is to your measurements. Please dress in it.” My eyes lit up and I nodded, scurrying behind the open book, which she could easily see over. I picked up the tiny dress, as it had been draped over her ivory hairbrush, and then slipped into it, only emerging for her to do the back up with deft giant fingers.

It is forbidden in Lilliput for foreigners to dress in the local styles. The Empress especially proposed this law as she deems that local dress would remove our uniqueness. After all, ‘unique’ is one of the key prerequisites of a collectable. This meant though, with limited source material available, I rarely got new styles. This new dress though was exquisite. White satin and lace, frilly and sheer it clung to my pale skin and made my firm bouncy bosom appear quite high and mighty. For a woman of my elegant ballerina’s frame at least. It would have been almost good enough for a wedding. (Not that white was the colour of such things in Lilliput).

She offered her palm to me and I daintily hopped in. Carefully she rose me up to bosom-height and then carried my the few giant steps required to take me to the dollshouse in the corner of her room. This house was old, one of the first to be made in the kingdom after the conquest of their neighbours. It was extremely exquisite and housed one of the most special and important Miniatures for miles around.

The Empress lent over. “Oh Princess Dimufflie…come out of your Doll Palace. The Empress wants to speak with you.” There was a few minutes of relative silence, wherein giant regal eyes scanned the upstairs rooms of the scaled down royal seat. However, it didn’t take long for the sound of tiny footsteps to increase, coming from the direct of the ‘East Wing’, before the front door heaved open and out stepped a minuscule raven-haired Bleufuscian beauty. She was ailing towards the slim, like myself, and was equally as tall. Her bottom sat high and remarkably-petite atop long crafted legs and her bosom too looked dainty, yet full and empowering. She was closer to my age and clearly a portion senior to her giant ruler.

In fact, me and the Princess Dimufflie III (The last monarch to reign over Bleufuscu) had met twice before. Once upon the breakfast table and again within the pocket of the Empress’s petticoat. But, alas, both times we’d barely been able to make each other’s acquaintance. What I did know of her was that she had only been a young ruler when she was reduced. Immediately, upon shrinking, she had been gifted to the even more adolescent Empress, to be her personal Dolly. This situation had been the case throughout all the Queen’s formative years and a significant proportion of The Princess’s. They had a bond, one slightly more unusual then those which the Empresses had cultivated with other citizens of Bleufuscian stature. It seemed more embedded somehow. Like they knew each other better than anyone else did, or could. This perhaps was true, as they’d grown up together in such a close manner. Regardless, The Princess was still her possession and was keen to please, just like I.

“Good evening your Royal Giantness, Ruler of Lilliput, Reducer of Whole Peoples and Great Shadow of Bleufuscu” She curtsied. The Empress loomed over her, her chest blocking out the gas lamps above. “Good evening to you too Glarif. (Meaning a type of small black local sparrow) please bring your little list out of your palace for me to read.” The little Doll Princess scurried off and returned dragging a scroll the size of her. Dropping it at her feet she stood by the last sentence and The Empress perused it. “Let me see…” She turned to me. “You need to be taking notes her Ms. Russian Ambassador; I have decided that Princess Dimufflie needs to be more useful to me. I need more applications for her. She has written me a short list. So, Number 1: Brush your royal teeth for you.” She gnashed hers giant ones a little after she read it and lent in leaving them eye-to-eye with the Princess’s face. They were already terribly white. “Such a personal touch would be appreciated. Also, Number 2: Tend to the Royal Garden…” This meant The Empress’s down below and she seemed to have mixed feelings on the idea. “We will see if you can be trusted little one. Onto Number 3.” This was the last of the little list. “Be worn as a necklace.” I cursed in my head. That would have been my suggestion for myself! “This is more than achievable, you are still one of the fairest in the land and would make an excellent centrepiece to my bosom.” The Empress stroked under Dimufflie’s chin as if she were a kitten. The tiny woman raised her face to meet the huge digit. “All in all good suggestions. There is no need to worry about your status.”

Then, she turned to me. “However, little Bula Mdros (White Flower), it is important that you also justify yourself in this manner. Lilliput is a Kingdom that moves further forward each and every day, always improving. You, well, you need to match that.” She looked down at the mini Princess. “Glarif, prepare yourself for me this evening.” The toy nodded and ran off to get dolled-up. I, on the other hand, I was lifted back up, still in the Empress’s palm. She looked down at me, musing. “You have been a little silly at times today, however you tasted very sweet in my tea. Thank you. A small reward, perhaps?” She very gently plucked me up and then hung me over her cavernous bosom. It rose and fell like the bellows on a giant industrial foundry. With a glint in her eye she lowered me down. Being only at the relative size of 3 and 7/8th inches to this lady meant that her bosom posed as more of a scaled down landscape. Like the rolling hills you may find in the grounds of stately homes. I felt my feet touch it and squeaked. It was so large and springy. Just one breast dwarfed me many times over. I had seen half a dozen Bleufuscians try, and fail, to tackle just one before. And here I was, doing it alone!

Essentially I was tucked into her nightdress. There was a small pocket inside that she had had sown in for the express purposes of carrying tiny people in an erotic, concealed, manner. This was unknown to me up until that point. It was incredible. So deep and soft. I found it had been positioned so that the occupant was eye-to-eye with her nipple. Something I took great awe in. You may have found enjoyment in the feeling of a stiff pert nipple in your own life. But, imagine the areola, wrinkled and puffy, blown up to the size of a dining table, with a nipple one could use as a stool. Now imagine enjoying it again.

I lent against it as she walked, bouncing against her regal nub. I rubbed my breasts on it too, finding them dwarfed. I would recommend the experience to any British citizen, if your size is ever found matching my own. The journey only took about 10 minutes. The Empress rarely walked me back ‘home’ to Dimufflie’s room. Not a role that was befitting of her, you see. So I must have tasted great in that tea. Once there, she opened her dress and peered down at me, raising an eyebrow at my actions on her giant nipple. She made no acknowledgement that I had even dented her libido. Very gently I was lifted out and found myself dropped down next to my cottage, where there was a tiny Englishman waiting at the door. I was blessed to have him.

My Empress leaned over me. “A list, three new applications for you, by this time tomorrow, or you will be in a jam jar for the night.” I bowed and then saluted, a little cheekily, but she let it pass. She then turned to leave I hopped up and into the door of my cottage. I settled down on a cotton spool to chat with John. “Whatever am I to do, I need to think of three new ways she can enjoy me by the end of tomorrow!” John just grinned and leaned behind his best tiny armchair, pulling out a list of his own. “You could just copy mine?”

[End of Dispatch]

[FifteencentiKim]

Although as a rule I don't like shrunken men stories, or stories with shrunken men elements, I do appreciate the language you use in Gulliver's dispatch, and some of the interactions are very reminiscent of Swift's description of the more bawdy interactions that Gulliver had with the giantesses of Brobdingnag. A very fitting and well written tribute indeed!