Shelby's TV Dinners

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tecks
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Shelby's TV Dinners

Post by tecks » Mon Jul 05, 2021 3:07 pm

Hi all,

I'm a long-time lurker, first time poster, maybe familiar to some people from my giantess/SW/SM collages or videos from many years ago. I've been recently taking some time to write some macrophilia fiction, and I have one story that's quite SW-heavy that I thought I'd share here (it involves SW/SM throughout but it's pretty much SW-focused until the last chapter which is SM).

Some background: I'm a writer by trade and have been trying to write fiction with giant/shrinking media in a mainstream form, through monster horror stories (so these are more like thrillers, with less emphasis on the sexual side). For those interested, I've already released a giantess novel, Kacie-B, which has a giantess interacting with a lot of women, and while I try to go into variations of all kinds I do lean most towards FF (and mostly focus on handheld and softvore).

Anyway, without further ado – here's the first couple of chapters of Shelby's TV Dinners, I'll post up some more later!


Shelby's TV Dinners
Chapter 1

On Thursday, May 18th, my friend Shelby became a murderer. She was drunk at the time, and in a bad place, which isn’t much of an excuse, and my own excuse for not stopping her isn’t any better: I was a bit drunk, too, and plain unable to believe what I was seeing. But in my defence, it was pretty unbelievable. She was a friend since childhood, and I wanted the best for her, no matter how she’d squandered her potential. No matter what she did. You don’t throw away friendship like that, especially not over something that doesn’t entirely make sense.

It all started when she got a replacement TV.

But before we get to that, and how it led to me ending up where I did, let me explain her situation. Shelby didn’t do well after university. An arts degree didn’t exactly set her on a clear career path, and a recession hit right around when we graduated. Well, about six months after we graduated, which was around the time she started looking for work – having blown through her savings. She didn’t travel, she just worked in a pizza kitchen and drank. She found she couldn’t get a better job without experience, and couldn’t get experience without a job. She got rejection after rejection, with maybe four interviews in eighteen months. Two went really badly and one went really well, but she still didn’t get it.

She gradually gave up on everything and it hurt to see it. She stopped going out and even cut her hours at the pizza kitchen. Two years later, she’d lost contact with most of our mutual friends and her family had never really been close, so she resigned herself to a lonely life watching TV and playing video games. She drank and smoked and kept to herself.

I’d always liked her; she was fun, carefree, and yeah, I had a thing for her when we first met. A curvaceous girl with a big, usually messy, head of hair and dark eyes that always looked in the midst of a sly joke. She wasn’t into me, though; she was never really into anyone, that I knew of. I got over it, accepting some people were happy alone, and there were plenty of other girls that caught my eye at uni, but I still enjoyed her company. She was always frank and made me laugh. So when she tried to recede from society, I didn’t want to lose that, and I kept visiting, knowing she needed at least someone on her side.

We settled into a relaxed routine of dinner around hers twice a month. I stopped suggesting going out, as she always made excuses. Long-term disappointment made her bitter, but I held out for those moments of the Shelby charm still buried underneath. I’d started work in an accountancy firm that promoted clean, responsible living, so there was something refreshing about seeing her still swigging alcohol from the bottle, in loose sweatpants and a stained t-shirt two sizes too big, making fun of things on TV, singing too loud to songs.

We might’ve grown apart too, eventually, I guess, but before that could happen, there was the whole TV incident. Something blew in the set she owned. After a few incensed messages about it, she invited me around on a Thursday for spaghetti anyway, saying she had everything sorted and I had to come round. I was reluctant, with a meeting the next day, but she was so excited, I at least had to put in an appearance. That was Thursday, May 18th, the day Shelby realised her potential in the most unlikely way.

I turned up and found her in her usual baggy grey sweatpants, loose white top hanging off one shoulder, hair in need of brushing. She gave me a quick hug before setting my bottle of wine aside and taking my hand to drag me through to the living room. She bounced aside, spread her arms and announced, “Ta-da!”

I wasn’t sure what to say. She had replaced her TV, but not with a new one. It had a screen barely 20-inches wide, and was encased in a free-standing box of wood, with chunky buttons. Not even flat screen. My reaction rolled out: “How old is that?”

“At least twenty years, I reckon!” Shelby laughed. “But it works, look.”

She jumped onto the sofa and grabbed a remote with the size and appearance of a police taser. The TV came on with a pop; the image flickered for a few seconds then steadied. Sure enough, there was today’s news, not a black-and-white report from decades past. Shelby flicked through channels, which took about two seconds to change each time, then she grinned proudly. The happiest I’d seen her in months.

“Well,” I said, “it fits in.”

That was true enough: between her wilting pot plants and in front of tangled Playstation cables and discarded magazines, it definitely belonged in Shelby’s unaspiring living room. She blew a raspberry and said, “I got it down the street market from the weirdest old lady; she only wanted a fiver, and kept telling me to be careful, but didn’t speak good English. The wiring looks alright though, and it connected up to the Freeview box no problem.”

“Great.” I gave a weak thumbs-up, but despite my reservations, it was hard to resist her delight. We soon settled into our usual routine, chopping the veg and throwing together a basic pasta (Shelby rarely invested in anything beyond the cheapest foods), then we put a music channel on and focused on drinking wine before eating. An evening like any other, with us getting slowly drunk, despite my protests that I had to be up the next morning.

Then it happened.

Popstar Pepper Diamond came on the TV, and Shelby’s mood shifted. Pepper was a long-term irritation for Shelby: an over-achieving, always beautiful, enormously successful musician who everyone loved. Shelby had read an article that very day about Pepper’s donations to charity, and she snorted that Pepper spent a lower percentage of her income on charity than Shelby had on buying this TV. Big deal. It didn’t help that Pepper looked stunning in the new video, in black slacks with suspenders over a tight white top that showed off an incredibly toned stomach, and rounded, perky chest, her long hair flowing in blonde and pink. The singer couldn’t have looked happier, and it aggravated Shelby enough that she lifted the controller to angrily switch channels.

Except the channel didn’t change.

The TV fuzzed and the screen lit up brighter, and in the video, impossibly, Pepper reacted. The singer, at that second dancing on a carousel, reeled away from the camera with shock, but was somehow drawn towards it. Then with a flash, Pepper was thrown out of the TV. Like. The fully-formed singer, in 3D, toppled onto Shelby’s carpet, making Shelby shriek and throw her bowl of pasta in the air.

If it sounds impossible, it was, and we felt exactly that as we both stared in shock.

The TV buzzed and switched channel. It was like an old vending machine had just ejected a can of Coke, except that can was a six-inch tall, exact effigy of one of the world’s most famous stars. And she was moving. Pepper quickly stood, patting herself with confused, frantic motions, in as much disbelief as us. Then she looked up, and all around, eyes widening in terror.

“What. The. Fuck?” Shelby said.

“Are you sure it’s that old?” I asked quietly, desperate for an explanation. As if this was actually a new TV designed which contained hugely advanced holographic technology? I looked to Shelby, but she kept staring at the miniature Pepper. As the singer steadied herself, trembling with fear, a delighted look crossed my friend’s face.

“No, no – what is this?” Pepper said, her voice exactly as I knew it from interviews, only much smaller. She was backing off, hands up, as Shelby bent towards her. I was about to say something, anything, to diffuse this, but Pepper turned to run, and that sparked Shelby into action. Quick as a cat, Shelby pounced over the mess of magazines and spilt spaghetti, arms outstretched. Pepper sprinted for the edge of the TV set, but Shelby snatched her up in both hands. She fell back on her haunches holding up the tiny singer, hands clasped around Pepper’s waist as she screamed and kicked, little hands beating at Shelby’s fingers.

I retreated deeper into the sofa, stunned, and it’s something I’ve kept thinking about since. If I had more sense, and wasn’t half-drunk, maybe I could’ve said or done something that would’ve changed the whole course of events to follow. But instead I watched as Shelby slumped triumphantly back against the TV, one arm down to support her as the other lifted Pepper up.

“Get off me, put me down!” Pepper shrieked, with as much volume as her tiny frame could manage.

Shelby laughed. “I don’t think so. This is my living room you’re trespassing in.” She gave the woman a squeeze, knocking some of the wind out of her, and Pepper slumped over her fist. The singer pushed both hands down, trying to muster the energy to break free, but it was clear all her strength wouldn’t be enough to move Shelby’s grip. Shelby said, “I was just telling Brian how I’d like to give you a piece of my mind.” Her words were slurred and I could see from the way her big eyes moved and her arm swayed that the drink had a hold on her.

All I could think, as Shelby casually rotated the small woman, inspecting her little limbs and shoes, was that drunk Shelby was capable of irrational things. I dreaded what she was about to do.
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Re: Shelby's TV Dinners

Post by tecks » Mon Jul 05, 2021 3:07 pm

Shelby's TV Dinners
Chapter 2



“Who are you?” Pepper Diamonds wheezed from Shelby’s fist. “How did I get here? Must be dreaming.”

“It’s a dream alright,” Shelby agreed with a grin. “But not for you. Oh, what was I saying I’d do, if I met her? A slap to bring her down to size. Ha – down to size!”

“Let me go,” Pepper insisted, quietly, her legs hanging limp. “Please. I’ve can pay –”

“Pay? We don’t even know what you are!” Shelby pushed herself up to standing. She swept Pepper up above her head, making the singer squeal and flap her arms and legs again. “Maybe the real Pepper has money, but you – you’re just here for us, I reckon.”

“Shelby.” I finally managed to speak. A one-word warning to slow down.

But Shelby’s mind was racing ahead and she responded, “Relax, Brian, this is a gift. What shall we do? Pin her up? Flush her down the toilet – that’s what she deserves.”

“No!” Pepper cried, beating her hands against Shelby’s finger.

Shelby scanned the room, searching for ideas, and let her arm drop down to her side, where Pepper twisted in her grip, trying to keep the floor in sight for fear of falling. Shelby’s eyes rested on the overturned bowl and the spilt pasta on the carpet. She said, “Ah, you bitch, that was my dinner.” Shelby lifted Pepper back in front of her face. “You made me spill my dinner. I’ve had a bottle of wine on an empty stomach.”

Pepper pleaded almost wordlessly, growing more frightened and desperate as Shelby’s disregard grew clearer.

“Shelby, can we take a beat?” I asked, pressed back into the sofa arm, feeling like I hadn’t blinked in an hour. “A tiny woman just fell out of the TV –”

“Not just any tiny woman,” Shelby said, flashing me a wicked grin. She held up the singer. “This is Pepper Diamond. Champion of poor kids and feeder of the Third World. But what the hell’s she ever done for me? She never fed me – same as everyone else that left me to rot.”

“I don’t know you!” Pepper cried. “Whatever you want –”

“I wanted a good dinner with my friend, that’s all!” Shelby replied loudly, a darker look crossing her face. “It’s about all I can hope for these days, and then you come and fall into my living room and make me drop my pasta? Any other way you want to ruin this evening?” Her eyes screwed angrily into Pepper, who shied back, both hands up in futile defence.

“I don’t think she meant to –” I tried, lamely.

“Exactly!” Shelby snapped, thrusting Pepper about as she spoke, the small woman flopping like a rag doll. “She doesn’t think a damn about people like me. What’ve I got? Not even charity. Well. She can do one thing for me.” And on some sudden, inebriated impulse, Shelby shoved the woman headfirst into her mouth. Pepper barely managed another shriek before she was engulfed, right up to her chest, her struggling arms filling out Shelby’s cheeks as her legs pedalled frantically from her fist.

I jumped right onto the sofa and shouted, “Jesus!”

Shelby’s jaw worked for a moment, eyes rolling as she sucked the woman, then she pulled Pepper back out and laughed. Pepper came away with shuddering sobs, wet hair slapping down over her face. Shelby licked her lips and said, “Fuck, she even tastes good.”

Breathing relief, I climbed back down from the sofa and said, “All right. I think that’s enough. Let’s stop –”

“She ruined my dinner, Brian,” Shelby said, factually. “And you know what” – her eyes roved hungrily over the tiny woman – “I’ve deep-throated bigger dicks than her.”

“What the hell?” I said, my fears peaking as I recognised that tone. Drunk Shelby relished terrible challenges. She’d never shown much interest in men, or sex, but she liked to believe she could be good at it. She overcompensated for a lack of experience by practising taking large vegetables down her throat – she’d shown me once and made things really uncomfortable.

“I’m saying” – Shelby gave me an irritated look – “that I’m not exactly going to hurt a tiny woman; that would be horrible.” She opened her mouth, stretching her jaw, right then left. “She’s a prick, that’s how I’ll treat her.”

It was mad, drunken logic, and I’d barely unravelled it in my mind when she threw her head back, opened her mouth as wide as it would go. Shelby raised the woman above her head, with care to position her right, and Pepper waved her hands before her face screaming as she was given a good view of where she was going. I was too horrified to move, unable even to believe what was happening: my friend Shelby lowered a doll-sized Pepper Diamond into her mouth, and with small movements of her jaw and fingers, gently pushed the squirming singer deeper down. Gulping like a pelican, Shelby took Pepper all the way in, lips closing on the woman’s tiny shoes as they flicked as hard as they could, the rest of her body constricted. Shelby’s throat bulged, her head tilted right back, and she struggled not to gag, but kept going. Pepper’s screams were just audible through Shelby’s body. With little convulsions, she swallowed Pepper, the bulge slipping down her throat, and then Shelby leant forward and let out a huge gasp. Her eyes reopened with wonder.

“I did it,” she gasped, to herself, then looked to me. “You saw? I actually did it!” She laughed, then twitched, shoulders hunching as her hands went to her belly. “Oh my God, I can feel her struggling!” Shelby lifted her t-shirt to show me. Her own body was much less defined than Pepper’s – hard to see what movement was coming from inside and what were jiggles from Shelby’s delighted giggle. I wasn’t sure if I could still hear Pepper screaming, or if it was just the memory, lodged in my mind.

“Holy shit, Shelby,” I finally managed. I shook my head, realising now something had to be done. “Holy shit. You have to spit her out. You have to throw her up. Shelby!”

She locked eyes with me, considered it for a second, then twisted her mouth to a cheeky smile. “No chance. It was hard enough getting her down, I’d choke if she came back up.”

I backed off, and bumped into the sofa, almost tripping to the floor. I didn’t even know who I was looking at. Shelby had just swallowed a woman alive.

“Oh relax,” Shelby flapped a hand. “It wasn’t like she was the real Pepper Diamond. I told you this TV was special! I knew it! How did I –” She turned on the spot, searching for where she’d dropped the remote. “I think I pressed the wrong button. Do you think it would work again?”

“I don’t know what it was,” I said, but she was focused back on the TV. She switched channels, narrowing her eyes at the people that came up.

“Oh, looks who’s on!” she exclaimed. “Trent Halton, I bet he’s tasty.”

“Shelby, stop,” I said, about all I could manage. And I know I was pathetic, and that I enabled her, but really, nothing could prepare you for a moment like that – how was I even supposed to react? I didn’t know what that small woman was, let alone how anything could’ve possessed Shelby to so quickly gulp her down. And as my friend mused over recreating that horror, I panicked, wanting only to get away. I had a meeting the next morning. I had my own life to manage, I didn’t want to be there.

As Shelby clicked the remote, I snatched up my coat and ran for the door.

You’ll know the consequences now, even if you wouldn’t have connected them at the time. At 19:31 on Thursday, May 18th, 2016, Pepper Diamond died suddenly of a brain hemorrhage which doctors never satisfactorily explained. Eight minutes later, at 19:39 that same night, Trent Halton died from the exact same cause, equally inexplicable. They were the first of a handful of celebrities to suffer similar fates, in a mystery that was so bizarre it could not be explained, yet many investigators lost years of their lives trying to solve it. The closest anyone got was that some kind of electronic pulse weapon might’ve been used at distance, by a group of people with a grudge. The stuff of science fiction, this was roundly derided, and people mostly settled for it being a strange, cruel coincidence.

The reality was far stranger, and this was just the start: it had woken Shelby to a new hunger.
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Re: Shelby's TV Dinners

Post by tecks » Fri Jul 09, 2021 11:32 am

Here's the next part:

Shelby's TV Dinners
Chapter 3


I wish I could tell you that I went home, slept and went to work the next day all in denial that I hadn’t actually seen Shelby swallow a miniature Pepper Diamond. The truth, though, is that I was made painfully aware of what had happened, and the consequences, through a series of messages from Shelby. She texted me about an hour after I left, asking why I had gone, and said it was a shame I hadn’t met Trent Halton. Then, as she sobered a little, she messaged to say sorry, maybe she’d acted rash. Then the news came in about Pepper and Trent dying, in real life, and she sent messages freaking out. I sent some back equally freaked. I told her she had to find the woman who sold her that TV, had to steer clear of using it, had to tell no one what had happened.

I barely slept, running wired on terrified, nervous energy, reliving that sight over and over in my mind: Pepper’s kicking legs disappearing into Shelby’s mouth. I could still hear her screams, and I couldn’t help but imagine the same scene played over again with Trent. A dashing actor, utterly lovable. Now dead, through some unreal connection to my layabout friend sucking people through her TV.

That was, after all, exactly what she suddenly had the power to do.

The next morning, I was wracking my brain for where to go with this. It wasn’t like we could confess to these crimes; there was no way anyone would believe it, and if they did, what sense would it make that Shelby eating a small version of a celebrity would kill the original, halfway around the world? Taking responsibility was hardly an option, then, but I determined that we must destroy the TV. I messaged Shelby to say so before work, and convinced myself that would be the end of it. Put it out of my mind.

Shelby’s last messages in the night suggested deep remorse: I can’t believe I did that. Why didn’t you stop me? and finally, They’ve stopped moving. I’m a monster. But when I finally heard from her again, almost midday, it was another shock: It still works!

I made quick excuses to leave the office and called her from the toilets, demanding, “What do you mean it still works?”

“I’ve got Jenny Fallop trapped in a bowl right now,” Shelby said with amusement. A daytime TV chef – crap, I could picture it, Shelby getting hungry watching a cooking show. “Do you want to come round for lunch? I thought maybe you might –”

“Are you crazy?” I hissed, lowering my voice and double-checking outside the cubicle that no one was there. “Two people are dead, Shelby.” I paused. Oh no. I told her to wait as I brought up Twitter and checked the trends. Hell, hell – it was breaking that very minute. “Oh my God, Shelby. Three people. Jenny’s collapsed live on air.”

“Huh,” Shelby said, surprised but not with the kind of shock she should have. “Well then you’ve got nothing to worry about. She’s still alive here, kicking up a storm. The deaths can’t be related to me eating whatever these small versions are – this one is still alive.”

“How can they possibly not be related?” I replied quickly. “Not to you eating them, but them getting dragged into your living room! There must be a way to send her back –”

“Now that she’s seen who I am? Sorry, but no. Look, I wanted you to come for a reason. Something I want to share.”

“I’m not interested,” I send. “You’re out of your mind, and this needs to stop. Shelby, I swear – you can’t do this, you can’t –” I ran out of air, talking too fast, too stressed. I tried to take quick breaths.

“You’ll give yourself a brain hemorrhage to go with them,” Shelby joked, and moved on before I could express horror at her attitude. “Look, I’ll wait a half-hour, come if you want or don’t. But you ought to see this.”

She hung up and I was left almost in tears at what was happening. My friend, through means that I couldn’t comprehend, had turned into a murderous cannibal overnight. What could I do? In half an hour, the police could break down her door and rescue Jenny Fallop. Except, would they even respond to my claims? I went back to my desk sweating and on the verge of a panic attack.

Nothing came to me, and pretty soon my supervisor came to check what was wrong. He suggested I go home, I looked awful. I reluctantly agreed, but he added a caveat: “Right after the presentation.”

That made me operate on automatic. I went into our meeting that afternoon looking like a warmed-up corpse, mumbling through my points, dabbing my head with a tissue, all the while trying to stop thinking about Shelby and her TV. It went terribly. And by the time I finished, Shelby had sent me another message: As we always knew: Jenny Fallop makes one delicious meal!

I closed my eyes, pushing it down, and found, surprisingly, something like relief. It was done. There was nothing more I could do, either way. I didn’t reply to the message and went home to try and sleep the horrors off.

Shelby’s messages slowed down after that, and I avoided talking to her. She dropped hints that she was still using the TV and I should get involved, but nothing specific. I watched the news for more unexplained deaths, but saw nothing reported. Days went past, then, and I gradually let myself believe she had backed off, having realised how terrible her actions were. All the while I followed the investigations into the celebrity deaths but the details were sparse, and the conclusions generally dismissive: it was a huge and terrible coincidence, nothing more.

I’m sorry to say all I wanted to do was put it behind me.

Two weeks passed before Shelby messaged me again, with something akin to how we usually communicated: Dinner and a movie tomorrow night, be there or be square!

I spent an afternoon mulling it over, barely able to focus on work. We needed to talk. I needed to see where she had got to, and check that it was over. But I was scared that it wasn’t. Eventually, I convinced myself there was no way I could let things lie the way they were. I’d go and find the happy, friendly Shelby I knew, having put the mad few days behind her.

The truth was far, far worse.

I could see Shelby was different from the moment she opened the door. Her usually loose t-shirt looked even looser and her sweatpants hung off her hips. She wasn’t an unhealthy weight, though, quite the opposite: her face glowed and her bare arms looked toned. Even her hair was cleaner and neater than usual, if a little roughly cut, around shoulder height. I asked if she’d been working out and she responded with her usual, light laugh. She lifted her shirt to show off a flat stomach, saying, “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Best shape I’ve ever seen you,” I told her, as she led me to the living room. Another surprise waited there: the apartment was clean. Nothing on the floor, PlayStation neatly set to the side, glasses and dishes in the sink or put away. My heart lifted with the hope of something I’d been wanting to see for years: had the incident with the TV triggered her into getting her life in order?

“No, Brian,” she said playfully, apparently reading my expression. “I’m lazy as ever. But settle down, relax, I’ll show you.”

I did as she asked, sitting on the sofa while she served up dinner from the kitchenette: a salad, pre-prepared. She had a small bowl and gave me a slightly larger portion. It didn’t look like enough, and that made me uncomfortable. She wasn’t eating right, I supposed, after the trauma of what she’d done.

But she explained, “We’ll have the main course later.” Alarm bells rang as she turned on the TV. “I’ve already got something lined up. Look. Remember Isla Carr? She was in a bunch of soaps in the 80s but had a drug overdose. Here she is.”

I frowned as the promised show came up. Isla Carr in the middle of an argument with a moustached man, the image grainy with age. I wanted to ask where this was going. Shelby was watching the screen intently, waiting for something. She spoke out the side of her mouth, “I’m not an idiot, Brian. I’ve been careful. It works when the person is already dead – without the real-world consequences.”

“What do you –” I started to ask, dumbly, but the scene shifted, blinking to a shot where Starr was walking down a hall, on her own, and Shelby punched the button. The TV flashed as I shouted an instinctive protest – but it was too late. A miniature version of Carr was tossed out of the screen.
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Re: Shelby's TV Dinners

Post by TheBigG » Sat Jul 10, 2021 1:16 am

Om nom nom

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Re: Shelby's TV Dinners

Post by tecks » Mon Jul 12, 2021 10:44 am

Here's the penultimate part:


Shelby's TV Dinners
Chapter 4


Shelby descended on the six-inch Isla Carr before the actress had a chance to steady herself. This time moving with sober deliberation, Shelby took a quick stride to loom over Carr, then bent down and grabbed before turning back to me. The woman kicked but couldn’t scream, as Shelby had wrapped a fist around her upper half, smothering her head. With all the poise of someone at an investor meeting, Shelby held up the struggling woman and explained, “I can only do it once per person, but I’ve checked carefully that taking those who’ve already died doesn’t impact anyone. I’m taking it slowly. You only need one a day.”

“One a day?” I echoed lamely, as shocked now as I had been the first time.

“Yes,” Shelby said. “To look like this.” She struck a quick, model’s pose. Not exactly glamorous in her lounging wear but notably healthy. “It’s what I wanted to show you. After Pepper Diamond? I felt amazing the next morning. No hangover, not hungry, and just full of energy. I’ve been pulling double shifts at work, I’m so awake. And the best part is that they’re super useful, too. I put them to work for half the day, first.”

“What?” I was struggling to keep up, or really comprehend that she was still doing this, but I double-checked the clean apartment. “What have you been doing?”

“Nothing much,” Shelby said. She sat beside me on the sofa, hiking one knee up under an elbow. She dropped Carr onto the cushion between us and the actress shot up onto her elbows and backed off, gasping for air, looking up terrified at us. I recoiled from the unnatural sight of such a rapidly moving, tiny person, as unsettling as seeing a spider.

“Relax,” Shelby said, “both of you. But tell him” – she stabbed a finger down at Carr, pinning her chest to stop her fleeing – “you’re not going to run or scream are you?” Carr got both small hands up on Shelby’s finger to push back, but froze, petrified. She shook her head. “You’ll do whatever I ask, won’t you?” A rapid nod. “There’s a good girl.”

Shelby released her finger and Carr tentatively sat up, looking from Shelby over to me, pale with fright. She opened her mouth to talk, but Shelby spoke over her, “Ah. No talking. No questions. Don’t worry, everything will be okay.”

I met the tiny woman’s eye and wanted to apologise, or offer to help, anything. But again I was inert, enraptured by the strangeness of the situation, and, this time, by how calm and confident Shelby was about it.

“There’s no crime here, Brian,” she told me. “No one’s actually getting hurt. It’s just a bit of fun. Well, more than that – I got a stockbroker the other day who gave me some investment tips. I can do so much with this, don’t you see? Housework is nothing; I get world-class entertainment. I bet she could tell us some stories, huh Isla?”

Carr swallowed loudly, too afraid to respond.

“This is inhuman,” I finally decided. “Whatever they are, even if you’re not hurting actual people, you can see they have feelings. To say nothing of what they could be capable of. If this is really happening – Jesus, what does it mean for science?”

“What’s science matter?” Shelby scoffed. “Besides, they have to go. I wouldn’t want to get attached or leave any loose ends. This is a diet of gods, you’ve got no idea how it feels. That’s why you have to try it.”

“I don’t want to die,” Carr finally spoke up.

“Then you’ll do as we say,” Shelby told her with a smile, leaning a little closer and making the small woman cringe.

“I’m so sorry, Ms Carr,” I said, quickly trying to get a handle on things. “We don’t fully understand this. Where were you before? How did you get here?”

“I don’t know,” Carr answered, on the verge of tears. “There was light, after – when I was –” She swallowed again. “I know I shouldn’t have done it. I’ve been taking too much. But this, oh God – what’s happening to me?”

“Shouldn’t have done what?” I frowned, and as she continued blabbering, about a needle and drugs, the details fell into place. Her last memory was what she was doing before she died. She hadn’t been taken from that scene on TV, but from real life, all the same; even if she was dead, Shelby had somehow reached through time to take her. I couldn’t shake the feeling this was still the real Isla Carr. Was it really an overdose that killed her? I said, “Shelby, have you tried sending them back? Is there any way –”

“All right, that’s enough,” Shelby huffed impatiently and grabbed the woman again. Carr gave a tiny yelp but held onto Shelby’s hand with otherwise quiet dignity as my friend held her up. “Once they come through that TV, they’re mine. I don’t have much, Brian, but I have this. My smelly little apartment is my empire, and those who enter it serve me however I please, right down to dinner. I treat them right while they’re here; I’m not cruel or violent, except where they’ve forced me to be.”

“They’ve forced you to?” I exclaimed, and she waved that off with a gesture that made Carr flop about.

“Some have bitten or pinched me and I stood on one by accident – it’s nothing. But it’s my life. It’s what I’m here for. I had nothing before, now I have everything. I’m asking if you want a part of it, Brian. You’ve been there for me, you believed in me, now I’ve got something I can share back.”

“I don’t want this,” I insisted. “Not for you and definitely not for them. This is psychotic.”

Her eyes shimmered, mad anger focusing on me. “You aren’t listening.”

“I’ve heard it all, and seen it. A normal person doesn’t behave this way.”

“Who’s normal? Look, we can do whatever you want. This actress is hot – when would you ever get a piece of her out in the real world? I’ll give her to you, you can play with her. No judgements. Just, you have to eat her when you’re done. That’s how this works.”

“No!” Carr cried. She pushed herself up, stretching out of Shelby’s fist. “You’re joking, surely? Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, but please – I’m a respected –” She looked from Shelby’s stretching grin down to the hand that held her and lost momentum, as the reality of her situation sunk her argument. “I’m . . .”

“You’re whatever I say,” Shelby said, wickedly. “Unless Brian grows a pair.”

She looked up at me, decision time, and I hesitated. Absolutely no way I wanted a part of her mania, but I couldn’t leave Carr to this fate. If I pretended to go along with it, I could take her away, do something to help. Maybe find someone who could explain what the hell was going on. But in the seconds it took me to process that, Shelby’s face steeled over. I said, “Wait. I’ll take her.”

“No, you won’t,” Shelby replied, suddenly icy. She held Carr to her chest, looking fierce, making the actress push hopelessly against her bosom.

“Shelby –”

“I know you, Brian, I can tell what you’re thinking. Ah. This was a mistake. For fuck’s sake, I won’t convince you, will I?”

I wanted to lie, to try and persuade her, to do something for Isla Carr. But Carr was struggling, smothered, and the truth came out: “No, I’m not going to kill people.”

“Okay.” It was one word that carried everything. She’d given up on me in a cruel instant. I tried to say more but she huffed, a sound that said I was dismissed. With Shelby’s grip slackened, Carr slid away from her chest and breathed in deeply. She looked up from her to me.

“Don’t let her –” Carr started.

“You can go,” Shelby sighed. “I don’t think I want company anymore.”

“Shelby, wait,” I said, but she moved in a flash to cut me off. I flinched back, thinking she was about to strike me, but she lifted her hand to her mouth instead. Carr desperately cried out, to me, “Help, stop her!”

By the time I focused, Shelby’s mouth was over the actress, lips closing on her waist. For once, I managed to act, raising a hand to pull Carr out, but Shelby slapped my arm away and stood in one motion. I stumbled, as she worked her jaw and shovelled Carr’s legs into her mouth with both hands. Her throat bulged just as with Pepper, and again I heard tiny cries and screams inside her gullet. This time it was over much faster. Shelby had her technique down to snatching up a person and swallowing them whole in seconds: by the time I shouted at her to stop, Carr was gone.

Shelby rubbed both hands over her belly and gave me a sinister look, eyes narrowed with horrible pleasure. With one hand still up, impotently, I croaked, “Why?”

“Now you don’t have to decide,” Shelby said. “You can go, think about it. Come back if you want to be a part of something special. But only if you really mean it. I’ll know, Brian. You know I will. And if you try anything, I’ll come for you. Anyone you’ve ever cared about who’s been on TV? Or I could make an exception, maybe I’ll eat you as you are.”

I was off the sofa, backing towards the door. She looked deranged, grinning clownishly, watching me like her mind was already ticking over how I’d taste. I banged into the door and fumbled sideways for the handle, not taking my eyes off her as I made my escape. My last image of her, as I squeezed through the door, was Shelby pursing her lips with pleasure as she whispered, “Oh, Isla’s putting up a fight. I shouldn’t, but I love feeling it.”

I ran without closing the door and never looked back.

Once again, I wished I’d done more. Wished I had some idea of what to do, or the bravery to do it. But the truth is, once I got out of Shelby’s building, all I wanted was to never see nor think of her again. I had witnessed impossible things, punctuated at the end by a shift in her from a harmless, hapless friend to a monster. I was convinced, without doubt, that if I saw her again, it could be the death of me.

So I didn’t call the police. I didn’t tell anyone, ever, what I had seen. I went numbly back to work, met friends for drinks, and barely interacted with the world. Gradually, I came back to myself, as the distance of time let me believe maybe it was all somehow imagined, or at least not as bad as I recalled. My dreams – nightmares – occasionally showed me otherwise, when I relived the scenes in Shelby’s apartment, or saw her swallowing handfuls of struggling people, or marching giant through a city. In the worst dreams, I was the victim, falling into the abyss of her mouth. But on waking I convinced myself it was nothing.

Shelby never texted me again, and after half a year I deleted her number, to put her completely out of mind. I met an ambitious, caring woman, Gillian, a few months later, and we quickly built a life together, as she helped me forget I ever knew someone like Shelby. Years passed: Gillian and I moved into the suburbs and I managed to move on, avoiding all news of celebrity deaths.

I determined to never so much as think of Shelby again, and hadn’t done so for a very long time when something terrible happened. A gas main blew on my street and a manhole cover was blasted across the road. I ran to push a neighbour’s child clear. Years of regret over not acting quicker to stop Shelby manifested in that one selfless action. Truthfully, it wasn’t much, and the child might’ve been safe without me, but I had, at last, acted in the face of danger. A local news team were impressed and in the excitement I didn’t even consider that I shouldn’t give a short interview.

That was my final mistake.
Last edited by tecks on Mon Jul 12, 2021 10:47 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Shelby's TV Dinners

Post by tecks » Mon Jul 12, 2021 10:47 am

And here's the final chapter; fair warning, the conclusion is SM not SW, so people may like to tune out here!

If you liked the story, please consider supporting my Patreon so I can produce more. I've got plenty of ideas to further develop this scenario and others, and will continue to share some content free, though I'm not sure how far up people's street it is here. These stories almost always have some form of SW with handling, sometimes crush, often vore, though also cross over into giantess and SM.


Shelby's TV Dinners
Chapter 5


“You’re coming on again!” Gillian called from the living room, and I hurried to finish pouring her wine and join her. I entered with a smile, seeing the news anchor on TV, stood in our street with emergency vehicles in the background, leading into my small contribution. The third time it had been aired that day, and it still hadn’t clicked that it might be a bad thing. I came to Gillian and put an arm around her as we watched. She said, “My hero.”

My face came on the screen and I told the camera in a bumbling manner that it was nothing, I just acted. Suddenly my stomach knotted with anxiety. I tensed and Gillian gave me a sideways glance, sensing something was wrong. I realised it only a second before it struck: I was on TV.

In a painful instant, my head was struck with a sharp spike of pain and my vision suddenly went blindingly, glaringly white. Something was rushing towards me. I couldn’t feel anything for a second and heard nothing but crackling static. Then my vision blurred, things coming back into focus, and I was pulled forward, and suddenly falling. I cried, weightless for a terrifying second, before I slammed into soft ground and bounced. I blinked to clear my vision but knew exactly where I was. I scrambled onto my hands and knees, up to my wrists in the thick knots of brown carpet pile, then sat onto my haunches to look up. Up.

Up.

Before a ceiling as vast as a sky, Shelby towered over me. Her socked feet stood to my left and right, poking out from the folds of her loose grey joggers; her legs rose in an impossibly huge triangle, each bigger than any tree I’d seen, up to her immense torso, baggy t-shirt down over her waist, bare arms folded over her chest. And there, so high up, was her smirking, satisfied face. She didn’t look a day older than the last time I’d seen her, though her hair was longer, hanging in erratic strands, never quite taken care of properly.

I shoved up to my feet and took two steps back. I hit something, twisted and looked up the impassable wall of the TV stand. To the side, from my perspective, it was a thirty-foot dash to the corner. In the other direction, the PlayStation, the same PlayStation, sat like a building blocking my path. I hurriedly scanned around Shelby’s legs. It was the same apartment – the same paint-peeling walls, a familiar unwashed mug on the same tatty coffee table. Magazines on the floor. Even Shelby’s clothes looked the same. The only difference was the sofa: her old one replaced with a big, luxurious blue one.

My heart beat fast as I realised Shelby was waiting for me to accept my situation. There was nowhere to run. Under the sofa or behind the TV stand, maybe I could get out of reach, but then what? The door was far off the other side of the room, and in the other direction there was only the kitchenette. Trembling, I looked back up at her, meeting her dark eyes.

Her smile stretched as she crouched, knees bending out either side of my head with immense span. Only now did I truly appreciate how Pepper had felt when she emerged – none of my nightmares had quite captured this same terror that had fuelled her struggling and screaming. Shelby was absolutely huge, and I was barely up to her shin.

“You don’t look happy to see me,” she said, with a volume that shook me. “How’s long’s it been, Brian? Three years?”

I stared up, speechless for a moment. How could I have been so stupid, to set myself in front of a camera? But then, how crazy was she, waiting for me to show up on TV? I said, “You’ve been here all this time?”

Shelby cocked her head to one side, tilting an ear towards me to better hear. She nodded. “Nowhere better to be. I thought you might call eventually; there was so much I wanted to show you. You’ve got no idea how entertaining it’s been. I’ve had the whole world, right here in my living room. A different guest every day.”

“You’ve been . . . eating them?” I replied feebly, with the implied extra detail of all this time. She wrinkled her eyes in amusement and my mind raced at the maths. Three years, and she’d said one a day was enough. Over a thousand people. I swallowed. “But you only took ones that were already dead.”

“Oh, you’ve missed loads,” she replied merrily, shifting as though for a casual conversation, one hand resting on a knee. It hung about three feet to the right of my head, and I couldn’t help but focus on those frighteningly powerful fingers. “I found it works for everything that’s broadcast. Even things people have published on the internet, which I can connect through the PlayStation. So I didn’t have to worry so much about people spotting patterns in celebrity deaths; I could literally get almost anyone I wanted.”

“But . . .” I searched her face for any sign of sanity. “Why? You said the old videos were harmless.”

“I’ve been talking to a lot of my guests,” Shelby said, “and I can’t be sure, but some of them came to the consensus that they’d still been drawn from their life, even if it ended earlier. You’re not a manifestation of the body, is my guess” – she rotated her hand and I fought the urge to cower – “but maybe it’s your soul? Your essence? I don’t know, it’d explain a bit about how it keeps me so healthy.”

“My soul,” I echoed worriedly. “Then . . . what happens when you eat them?”

“I get happy.” Shelby laughed, as though that was the only thing that mattered in the great metaphysical question of her power over countless people’s afterlives. I squeezed my eyes closed at the injustice – the horror that of all people, in all places, this power had fallen to her, and this fate to me.

“You’ve been here all this time,” I repeated, still scarcely believing it. “There’s so much that could’ve been done with this. So much you could’ve done.”

“What more could I want?” Shelby said. “I’ve had all the company in the world, fascinating conversation, the luxury of all kinds of pampering, and that feeling” – she inhaled with great, deep relation – “there’s nothing quite like that feeling, of having someone’s life in your hands. Or in your stomach. Absorbing it as your own.”

I had been a fool before, but felt worse than terrible then, as it dawned on me that this was inevitable. I had kidded myself that Shelby might make something of this sick gift, or that she might tire of it and move in. But Shelby, the girl who’d achieved nothing since university, who never wanted to achieve anything, was bound to have done exactly this. Found a comfortable niche and stuck to it. At the great expense of other people. I said, “And you’ve been waiting to get even with me?”

“No.” Shelby shrugged. “Don’t flatter yourself, I watch a lot of TV and happened to see you come on. I thought, I wonder what became of my friend Brian. My one friend who stuck by me through everything. Everything except when I found something really meaningful to do with myself.”

“Something meaningful?” I cried back. “You’re a slob turned cannibal!”

Her face darkened like a stormy sky as she loomed closer, head almost directly above me, body filling my view. I pressed harder into the TV stand as she said, “You used to like it. You were happy enough before. And look at you now. You’re back, aren’t you?”

“Because you wanted a chat? Shelby, I’m begging you. Send me back.”

“Ah, not possible.” She rested back again, mood lightening. “I did try it. I wasn’t completely selfish, and I snagged a guy I liked one time. I remembered your suggestion, and tried to put him back through, but there was no way. It doesn’t work in reverse. That actually turned out for the best; when we couldn’t send him back, that guy got really obnoxious.” Her eyes rested back on me in a questioning way, as though to ask if I would be the same.

I shook my head. “We were friends.”

“I know, and I’m not a monster. I didn’t take your girlfriend as well, and I could have. This isn’t me being malicious or anything. You’re the one who never came back.”

There was nothing to say to that. All I could do was run my eyes back to the floor, considering the best escape route. At this point, there was only one thing that was certain: if she got a hand on me, all hope was lost.

“So, go on then,” Shelby said brightly. “How’ve you been? Still at that stuffy old job?”

With one sharp breath, I ran.

I aimed right between her legs. But as I sprinted, she quickly dropped and I jumped back just in time before she landed on me. I almost skidded straight into the thick cotton wall of her crotch. I turned and found the paths to both sides blocked by her legs as they fell down straight, and I saw her socked feet pressing into the TV stand, trapping me in a triangle. I got only a second to consider climbing over a leg, before her hand closed around me. Shelby’s fist closed over my chest and pinned my arms to my sides. All I could do was swing my head and kick my feet as she lifted me.

I was airborne, flying up before her face, a big drop below. She studied me with a curious eye as I tried uselessly to push out against her fingers. She said, “Brian, you think I haven’t had people try and escape before? And I told you, I know you.”

“Shelby, please,” I tried, voice strained by her pressure.

She rolled her eyes, a big, expressive gesture of boredom. “I guess I should’ve known; you weren’t much fun when you left, I don’t know what I expected. But look on the bright side.” Her lips stretched to a horrible, huge grin, each white tooth bigger than a book. “You’ll finally help make me a better person.”

“Stop!” I cried, panicking as I saw her intention. Her mouth opened into a cavern, saliva dripping in strands between her teeth, tongue flat and waiting. I yelled as she raised me towards it. “Wait, we can talk! I can still be fun!”

She paused to speak, that huge tongue moving powerfully before me. “I know, you will be.”

“Let’s have some wine –” I started, desperately, but she pushed me into her mouth, hot and muggy, my shoulders clipping her teeth. When her fingers slackened I shrugged my arms forwards and tried to push against her tongue, the hard teeth, anything, but the mouth that contained me was moving, and I was being drawn in. Her throat widened, accepting me as I begged and screamed. But there was no way back, no way out. I was sucked deeper in, arms pinned tight into me, only able to kick my feet before they got squeezed in too. I slid down hugged on all sides by wet flesh, down, until I was released and dropped into the acid of her stomach.

And there, thrashing within the tight space, cursing and begging Shelby alternately, I felt her acid bite into me, as my flesh burnt. The truth hit me, with immense yet simple clarity. This journey from start to finish, everything that had led to me falling into this trap, where my death will be total and absolute, all of my being consumed to fuel a small part of my former friend. She says something above, and even in my terror I can picture it perfectly, Shelby, rubbing her belly, expressing satisfaction at what I have been reduced to.

Another meagre dinner.
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