Wednesday, August 8, 2018

New Novel Sneak Peek

Coming Soon

I started a writing project last year and I'm very near completion.  It's the longest story I've ever created; longer than all three Shrink Inc books put together.  It also marks the furthest I've stretched myself as a writer in terms of story structure and plot.

And it's dark as fuck.

And hopefully sexy, fetishy, and as twisted as my other size writing.

There's a story behind this book, but I'll save that for the post announcing its release.  For now all you need to know is that I gave away print outs of this scene at SizeCon last weekend and am sharing it now with a wider audience.

What I haven't told the SizeCon crowd is that this piece is a commission from the very warm and creative gentleman behind Rated Raw Pictures.  I'll go into more details about how that happened in the announcement e-mail, but for now I'll just thank him for his support, his friendship, and his willingness to indulge some of my weirder impulses.

You'll find a sample scene after the fold.

To give you some context.  John is a reporter.  John put his nose where he shouldn't have.  Dr. Vaughn shrank him.  Unfortunately she had to sneak him out of the lab she was in and her only good option was inside a piece of plastic inside her.

The problem is he ended up staying there much much longer than he was supposed to.

NSFW in case you hadn't figured that out.

John. October 26 (3)

The sphere was full now and had been for a little while. He would have drowned hours ago if he hadn't found a gap in the place where the plastic sphere met Vaughn's flesh. 

The gap was small. He couldn't imagine how minuscule it must be to seem tiny to him now. It was too small for him to reach through let alone get his head outside. The best he was able to do was place his mouth against it and suck in as much air as he could while trying not to breathe in the discharge that still tried to seep in.

He tried not to think of what he was doing. He tried not to think about the moist rumbling flesh half his face was buried against, who that flesh belonged to, or where in her body his mouth was currently pressed.

As the hours passed it became easier to forget all that. He still felt a growing hunger and thirst, but they were also becoming easier to ignore as his exhaustion mounted. He wanted to sleep so badly. Wanted to just drift off and not have to make so much effort just staying alive.

He was floating inside her now. The liquid medium conducted the heat radiating off her walls; cushioned him against the violent shifts she made whenever walked, crossed her legs, or did whatever else she was doing in the outside world. The warmth and the gentle rocking were lulling him to sleep.

Her juices stung his eyes so he kept them closed. They were useless in the dark anyway. He could no longer smell her. Smelling meant breathing in with his nose and that meant drowning and death. 

At some point he'd peed. He tried to hold it in, but eventually the pressure became too much and he let go into the fluid he was floating in. She was so much hotter than he was the urine cooled his warm skin. Briefly. 

I'm not going to die here. He kept telling himself, but he was starting to doubt. It was getting harder to keep his face pressed against the gap. Harder to use his arms to keep him from drifting away from his only source of air.

As a reporter John was familiar with torture. He'd read about dictatorial regimes using it against dissidents. He'd written stories about terrorists who used it to suppress. He'd lost friends who'd gotten too close to dictators and terrorists. They'd been made examples of. Warnings for the curious.

He wondered how long Vaughn had planned this torture. Whether it was meant to break him or kill him in the most humiliating and prolonged way she could imagine. 

He could feel Vaughn move even if he didn't know what she doing. He felt several bursts of motion followed by a long lull. It was too much to hope that the lull meant he was about to be freed.

He blacked out briefly, but rushed awake as soon as he breathed in the salty sweet liquid he was swimming in. His hands thrashed out to find the gap. Fortunately he hadn't fallen too far from it. He managed to keep from breathing in any more until he'd pressed his mouth to the gap again, coughed up what he'd taken in, and gulped in as much of the warm moist air he could.

Vaughn was moving again. Almost as much as when he heard the drill. The fluid that threatened to drown him at least gave him some protection against the violent tremors that were rocking her body. He had to 
struggle to keep his position against the gap, but he still had the strength to manage it. Barely.

The tremors grew more intense.

He felt his hands slipping away from what little purchase he'd managed to find. The heavy liquid only increased the sluggishness of his response. He reached out, but his hands fell short and slid off the smooth slick plastic.

He fell backwards with the next violent quake.

His eyes flashed open instinctively trying to see the path back to the gap. They burned and watered before he could clamp them shut again; the pressure from the water surrounding him made it impossible to close them again.

A similar misplaced instinct made him bring his hands to his face, but he managed to stop himself before he rubbed more of the sticky-slick liquid into his eyes. He put his arms out again in an attempt to control the slow tumble he was making in the confines of the sphere. He almost managed to stop himself from flipping, but the force he was fighting were far far greater than his shrunken strength.

The tidal forces kept him spinning end over end in the center of the sphere. The space was so small he was able to reach out and touch the plastic walls of the sphere or make brief contact with the bit of Vaughn he could touch, but both he and they were too slick for him to grab hold of.

He had no idea where the gap was anymore. He had no way to swim to it if he did. And the only air left in his tiny body was hammering his lungs bursting to explode out of him.

He saw the light before he could see her fingers. 

After more than a day trapped in the utter blackness of Vaughn's body the light should have blinded John, but it didn't. The shaft of light came in through a distant opening that reminded him of sea cave at low tide. It passed through a passage the length of a football field only to be filtered through the milky white discharge that he had been soaked in for a day and a half.

He was still spinning end over end when Vaughn penetrated herself with her fingers. He only caught glimpses of the giant digits pushing their way through walls of muscle towards him as he spun. 

A part of his brain still hadn't connected with his new reality and was trying desperately to translate what he was seeing in terms of his former scale. To that part of John, he was drowning in a cave as some giant monster reached for him. But the monster was so much bigger than the cave, how was it able to get him without collapsing everything it touched.

At least it got the monster part right.

Two fingers and a thumb took hold of the sphere and began to pull. Even the thumb was almost twice as long as John. There was a loud “pop” as the sphere became unmoored from Vaughn's cervix exposing the opening at the top to air. The sphere and all its contents, including John, were then pulled quickly through the pliable walls of her vagina and into the light.

John broke the surface almost the moment the sphere entered the light. He gulped in lungfuls of fresh air as his exhausted legs struggled to keep him treading water.

“What the fuck were you doing in there?” Vaughn's voice boomed from above. Under normal circumstances she'd barely tried to conceal her contempt for John. Now she was making no effort to hide her disgust.

John wanted to shoot back a snarky comeback, but he was too tired to come up with one and too busy breathing to speak even if he had. He pulled himself to the edge of the sphere and grabbed onto the lip of the entrance. 

Vaughn carried him at arm's length holding onto his container with the minimal contact possible between thumb and forefinger obviously not liking even that small contact. She took him through rooms John didn't think he'd ever been in. Not that he was even sure if he could recognize his own apartment at his new scale. Vaughn herself seemed absolutely huge to him now. Even held out as far from her body he couldn't see her face when he looked at her feet.

“Why are you doing this?” He called up to her.

She didn't even look at him as she kept moving quickly through the strange giant environment. She certainly didn't respond. John didn't think he was anywhere in the lab. At least not anyplace he'd ever visited.

He stared down the ten story drop to the floor. Even at that distance Vaughn's bare feet looked bigger than buses as they power walked their way towards her destination. 

She was naked from the waist down. He saw streaks of moisture on her enormous thighs that had spilled when she'd removed the cup. The fluid that had built up behind him over hours was slowly leaking from a primly trimmed vagina whose opening was taller than he was now. She squeezed her thighs together as she walked to keep from leaking too badly while she wiped at her thighs with the pair of black cotton underwear she'd worn all day. It was a good thing she'd stripped out of them before removing John.

Above the waist she was wearing a white button down blouse. She'd been wearing a pink one when she'd shrank him. Did she keep a change of clothes at the office or had she gone home, changed and come back the next day? Were there more wardrobe changes in-between. John was starting to wonder just how long he'd spent trapped inside her.

The pots and pans hanging on the wall told John that she'd carried him into a kitchen; probably the one in her home though he couldn't be sure and Vaughn ignored the many questions and comments he was calling up to her as she carried him from room to room.

She opened her thighs long enough to put the crumpled and stained underwear between her legs. She closed them again trapping the panties between them, freeing up her other hand to rummage through the gigantic drawers.

She finally found whatever it was she'd been looking for. John got a glimpse of metal, but she moved her hand so quickly he couldn't get a good look at what it was before she brought it and her hand to the other side of her body.

She left the underwear pressed between her thighs and power waddled her way back to where they'd started. John saw a toilet bigger than the Sydney Opera House and knew which room he was in.

She reached down and lifted the toilet lid. John caught another flash of the shiny object in her other hand when she did this, but he still couldn't make out what it was. He just prayed that it wasn't a knife.

She held the sphere over the open toilet and slowly turned it sideways. John pushed himself to the other side and watched as the milk white liquid drained out and splashed into the lake below. 

What the hell is she doing?He asked himself.

The sphere was almost half empty. The air felt cold on his now exposed skin as Vaughn drained the liquid out. He clung to the lip of the opening as best he could, but it was too slick for him to hold onto for long even if his tired hands still had the strength. 

She'd emptied almost all of the fluid and he started to hope she was just emptying it when she started flicking the plastic with a free finger. He managed to hold on through the first flick, but lost his grip on the second.

He screamed as he fell.

He saw the flash of metal a second before he collided with it. If he weighed more he was certain he would have been cut severely by the rigid metal net that he had landed in. As it was he had the wind knocked out of him and he blacked out for what he hoped was only a few seconds.

When his eyes cleared he could see the toilet lake below him through the metal mesh that was supporting him. Vaughn's white discharge streaked and polluted the otherwise clear water in the pristine bowl. It took him a moment to realize what he'd been caught in.

A tea strainer.

The sound of the toilet flushing sounded like a he'd been hit by thunder. He looked down in awe as the water formed a vortex that would put Charybdis to shame.

“I don't know how much of that came out of you, and frankly I don't want to know.” Vaughn's voice boomed from above as they both watched the whirlpool vanish and the water level rise back to normal.

At first he thought she was talking about urine. He was embarrassed about having peed in her, but it was inevitable that he would have eventually given how long he'd been trapped. Then he figured out what she really meant.

“I didn't masturbate if that's what you're trying to say.” 

He sounded as offended as he felt. He'd just spent days being tortured inside her with no idea when he would be released or even if he'd ever see the light again and she thought he was getting off.

I'd rather cut my dick off than jerk off to you.He thought. 

“Lie to yourself as much as you like, Mr. Pig. I know what men are like and you aren't even one of the better examples.”

John started to tell her he had a girlfriend, but stopped himself before he could form the words. She didn't need to know about Claire.

“And like all men it's up to me to clean up your mess.” Vaughn said. “Starting with you.”

He wanted to protest, but the strainer he was laying on suddenly descended into the open toilet. He hit the cold water hard before he had a chance to grab onto the metal web under him. He felt himself get pulled off the grate by the force of the oncoming water. He floated in the toilet for a split second before the strainer made its way back up pulling him out of the water.

“Lie to me again and there'll be piss in there next time.” Vaughn said. “And I won't tell you whose.”

John shivered violently after the frigid plunge. The water couldn't be much cooler than room temperature, but 38 hours inside Vaughn made it seem icy.

She lifted him up to the sink before he had a chance to reply. A torrent of blistering hot water came crashing down on him from above pressing him down hard onto the metal net. He could knew it would leaves marks on his already tender skin.

The torrent stopped and he released the breath he was holding. Vaughn flicked her wrist sending John flipping through the air like a pancake before he had the chance to take in another breath. He'd barely landed on his back when she turned the tap back on. This time he saw the water punch its way through the air as it fell towards him.

Vaughn hummed idly as she washed her little test subject. Once she was satisfied she deposited him on the sink and flipped the strainer over, trapping him beneath the heavy metal netting.

John got to his knees and crawled to the edge of the strainer. He didn't bother trying to move it. All he had to do was lace his fingers through the net to know it was too massive for him to shift. Even if he was at full strength.

He watched as Vaughn cleaned the piece of plastic he'd been trapped inside. It wasn't the sphere he'd thought it was. It was more of a long cup with a rounded bottom that he'd mistaken for a sphere. There was a tip at the bottom of that rounded bottom that must have been placed there to give the wearer something to grip when removing it. It made the cup look almost like an elongated breast.

Vaughn cleaned the cup and rinsed it dry. She soaked the hand cloth she'd used to dry the cup and pulled the crumpled underpants from between her legs. She tossed them behind where John knelt.

She lifted one giant leg and placed a foot the size of a train car on the cold ceramic sink. The leg towered above him like a sequoia stripped of its branches. His eyes travelled down her body from the majestic height of her knee all the way down to the still wet opening between her legs he'd been plucked from minutes ago.
She ran the damp cloth over her thighs and genitals. She worked the cloth past her labia until she was confident she had cleaned up the worst of the back flow John had created. He knelt there mesmerized at the display.

She took a dry cloth and ran it over her thighs and outer lips until she was confident she was dry. She then lowered her leg and took a careful look at her face in the mirror.

“What are you going to do to me?” John called up to her.

She made no signs that she'd heard him. She only opened the cabinet and started taking out bottles.

“What are you going to do to me?” John called again, this time much louder.

She continued to ignore him.

He felt a wave of panic when she reached beneath the sink and pulled out a bag of cotton balls. Was she going to drug him again? Where would he wake up this time?

He relaxed when she dabbed a clear liquid onto the cotton and began to remove her makeup.

She took her time about it. John was sure she heard his questions, but was only willing to respond when it suited her. Right now it looked like she was going through her evening routine and she made it perfectly clear that taking her makeup off was more important to her than he was.

He thought she'd deal with him once she was finished cleaning up, but she started unbuttoning her shirt as soon as she was satisfied with her face. Each pearlescent button was larger than his head. He wanted to look away as more and more of her became exposed, but he couldn't.

She tossed the shirt into a corner. Maybe there was a hamper there, maybe not. John couldn't see from his spot on the sink trapped under the tea strainer.

Vaughn towered over him in nothing but a beige bra. She was lean and tall for a woman though he used to look down at her before yesterday. Her bust was compact, probably no bigger than a b cup, but one of those breasts was more than enough to dwarf him. 

On a primal level John knew he should find her attractive. If he'd seen her picture or walked by her on the street he'd have noticed her. He'd done it all the time, before Vaughn took him to the zoo. It didn't change his love for Claire if he noticed other women. They weren't Claire so they'd always be inferior in his eyes.

He was fascinated by her body because of its size, but he knew he could never find her attractive after what she'd done to him. It was clear to him that she was trying to break him. Why else would she have put him in such a humiliating position? Why else would she leave him inside her cut off from food, water, and even sleep for so damn long? She was evil and while John could find himself fascinated by the Devil he would never lust after her.

She ran a brush through her long dark hair oblivious to the tiny man staring up at her. It didn't seem like she was trying to display her charms to John. The counter prevented him from seeing her below the waist now that she'd put her leg down and the bra was lacy, but relatively modest.

She traded the hairbrush for a toothbrush.

She's eaten already. John thought. She took the time to have dinner while I was sucking air through a hole smaller than my pinky.

She reached around and undid her bra snap with the toothbrush still in her mouth. John saw a brief flash of her giant breasts before she neatly folded the cups of the bra onto themselves and placed them over the tea strainer plunging him into another darkness.

He heard her spit out the toothpaste. He heard the lesser thunder of the tap as she cleaned the sink. A minute later he heard the toilet thunder flush again then he heard her walk out the door.

Is she just going to leave me here? What am I supposed to eat?

He let go of the mesh and lay down on the cold ceramic sink. He was so damn tired even it was starting to feel comfortable. 

She's left me with her clothes. Why would she do that? Is she leaving me here til morning? 

Is she planning on wearing me again?

He strained to hear her, but the most he could pick up was a distant rumble as she moved around the apartment. He could only guess what she was doing, but it probably wasn't any good.

He was close to falling asleep again when Vaughn removed the bra and strainer with one easy motion.

He blinked up at her. She'd changed into an oversized t-shirt that might have belonged to a former boyfriend until it had been repurposed as a nightgown. Her hair was pulled back loosely behind her head. She didn't say anything, just stared at him like a virus under the microscope.

“This needs to stop.” John tried to stand, but was having trouble keeping his legs under him. “I need food, and water, and sleep. And then you need to make me normal again. I won't go to the police if that's what you're worried about. It's not like they're going to believe me anyway.”

She stared down at him from her great height. He could see the muscles tense under her skin on a face that was wider than most movie screens. It was easy to tell she wasn't happy, but not much else. 

She started to open her mouth, thought better of it, and just scooped him up in a giant hand. He made to run, but he couldn't even stand. In less than a second she wrapped her fingers around his naked body and held him in a loose grip. She lifted him up to her chest and held him there as she walked out of the bathroom.

He was deposited without comment on an old coffee table that dominated the center of what John guessed was the living room. The wood had been finished once, but was now faded from sun and exposure to the elements. It looked more like the sort of thing a college student would have in her dorm room than what a successful professional would have in her home. John looked in all directions, but couldn't see anything else on the table with him.

I'm laying on an empty piece of trash. He thought. The perfect place to execute me.

John crawled backwards towards the other side of the table from Vaughn while keeping his eyes on her at all times. It was probably futile, but he felt safer with some distance between them. The rough wood dug into him as he backed away. He felt splinters the size of pencils ripping out of the surface as he moved, but he was small enough to keep from impaling himself on them.

Vaughn watched impassively as the tiny naked man tried to get away from her. The table didn't even come up to her knees.

“There is someone out there that loves you.” Vaughn finally said.

John stopped moving. 

“That's very sad, don't you think?” Vaughn went on. “I don't mean sad because they are never going to see you again. I mean sad because there's someone out there desperate enough to love something as pathetic as you are.”

She reached over and took something off a shelf and cupped it in her hand before John could see what it was. She knelt beside the table and held that closed hand over his tiny body. Her hand was huge to him; it eclipsed the light coming in from above.

“I'd get into the fetal position if I were you.” Vaughn said as she slowly lowered her hand down towards him.

He wanted to run, but that wasn't an option so he pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs and watched as her hand came closer.

She didn't open her hand until she was almost touching him. He saw a glint of something in her palm just as it descended over him and blocked out the rest of the light. When she lifted the hand he found himself trapped under a shot glass. Letters as big as his chest spelled out the name of a bar he'd passed every day on the way to the lab.

“The last thing I drank from that glass was a shot of bourbon. I don't think I washed it afterwards.” Vaughn said. “Do you like the smell of bourbon, Mr. Pig? I hope not. I hope you hate it as much as I hate you.”

Vaughn rested her hand above the glass shifting it so it didn't block the light so John was able to see the giant finger come down on the glass above him. He heard it slam against the glass. Felt the ground shake beneath him as it struck, lifted itself back up, and came down again.

“Do you want to tell me the name of this person who loves you?” Vaughn's finger tapped down hard against the glass again. “Their name starts with a C.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” John said, eyeing the finger above him as it arced its way back up.


Vaughn slammed her finger down even harder onto the glass. John pulled his knees tight against his chin and closed his eyes.

“Their phone number is …” Vaughn read off Claire's number.


“I tried looking them up, but the number's unlisted. I even tried one of those online services, but it seems whoever is on the other end of this mysterious number did something to block the service. That sounds like an awfully smart thing to do and we've already established how sad and stupid they must be for loving a little piece of filth like you anyway.” Vaughn brought her finger down again. Not as hard as before, but still enough to shake John's little world. “Why do you suppose they did that?”

“I don't know.” 

John just wanted the nightmare to end. He wanted a nice thick hamburger with a side of onion rings and a fountain coke. He wanted a bed. And he wanted Claire to be in it when he woke up.

Vaughn didn't say anything for a very long time. With his eyes squeezed shut John couldn't tell if she had left or was still staring at him with that dispassionate deadpan she always seemed to wear.

Then she tapped the glass again.

John did his best to cocoon himself with his arms.

A few seconds later she hit the glass again. That was all she did.

What was that thing Dad used to say when I was little and freaking out from the storm? Count between the lightning and the thunder. If the count gets shorter the storm's getting closer. If it gets longer it's going away.

There was another hit to the glass.

He started counting. 

It didn't make any sense. Vaughn wasn't a storm; her fingernails weren't lightning and the glass wasn't thunder. She was infinitely more powerful than he was, but she wasn't a force of nature. She was just another person.

That thought made it worse. At least the storm didn't care if you lived or died.

It took seven seconds for the next finger strike. Ten for the one after that. Only three for the next.

Does she know I'm counting? Is she doing this on purpose to fuck with my head? I should just stop counting. 

I can't predict what she's going to do. I just need to sleep.

But he found himself counting as soon as she struck again.

“That bourbon smell has to be getting stronger.” Vaughn said after the ninth tap. “There's only so much air in that little glass. Even your tiny lungs must have gone through most of it by now.”

The air did seem hot and oppressive to John.

“I'm not telling you her name.” John said. He could hear his words echo back at him against the glass.

“So it's a her.” Vaughn tapped again. “That narrows it down considerably.”

Hell!He should have been more careful. But he was just so damn tired.

“I think it would be fun to watch you pass out. Watch your stupid little face as you fought to stay conscious not knowing if I was going to lift the glass once you blacked out. But it's very late and I need to get my beauty sleep so I'll have to delay that gratification.”
John opened his eyes and looked up at her. She'd taken her hand away. Her threatening finger wasn't poised to strike anymore.

“You look tired, Mr. Pig. Were you awake all the time you spent inside me? Or did you take cat naps after you touched yourself? … No. Don't tell me. I don't want to know what goes through that sick little mind of yours. Let's just both go to bed.”

“Bed?” The word sounded heavenly to John.

“Not my bed, of course. Only I get to sleep there. You'll have to make do with whatever I give you. Maybe I'll get you a nice hamster cage with a wheel so you could get some exercise. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Mr. Pig.”

“I just want … I need to sleep. And something to eat and drink.”

Vaughn's hand swooped down and wrapped itself around the glass. A simple flick of her wrist and John found himself thrown to the bottom of the now upturned glass. If he had anything in his stomach it would have been vomited up as the giant woman pulled herself to her feet and carried him off into yet another room.

The kitchen.

Vaughn popped open the microwave and let the door hang open.

“You'll sleep in here until I can be bothered getting something more suitable.” Vaughn said, staring down at him. “I won't have to worry about you getting under foot once you're locked in. Tempered glass doesn't make for the best of mattresses, but it's better than you deserve.”

John didn't have the strength to argue. He could have fallen asleep on the sidewalk and been happy.

“You also requested something to eat and drink. Let's take care of the latter first.”

John looked towards the sink, expectantly. Vaughn moved the glass closer to her chest, but remained standing where she was in front of the microwave.
John looked up at her wondering what she was doing when he heard her make a thunderous coughing sound. The sound repeated itself twice more before John saw what she was doing. Saw the spit dangling from her mouth as she maneuvered the glass to catch it.

He managed to cover his face with his hands before the gigantic glob crashed down on him. He'd been kneeling on the bottom of the glass, but the sheer weight of Vaughn's saliva pushed him as flat as he could be in the tight space.

“That doesn't seem like enough, does it?”

Vaughn lifted the glass up to her mouth. For a split second John was convinced she was going to drink him down like bourbon, but she kept the glass level and her mouth on top of it. 

When she opened her lips again there was even more spit. She didn't stop until the glass was full.

She placed the shot glass in the center of the microwave and watched John thrash about trying not to drown in her fluids. The last fumes of adrenaline gave him the strength to pull himself out of the glass and fall, dripping to the floor of the microwave. 

“And finally, something to eat.”

When he looked up again he saw Vaughn standing there with a piece of brown bread in her hand.

At least she'd giving me some real food. Something I can actually put in my body. There's no way I'm 
drinking spit. I don't care how fucking thirsty I am.

Vaughn took a huge bite out of the bread and made a show of chewing it.

Sadistic bitch!

Vaughn chewed much longer than she needed to. It reminded John of a cow chewing her cud, only John liked cows.

Just give me the damn bread already and leave me alone.

If his reflexes hadn't been dulled by deprivation he might have been able to duck out of the way of the cannonball that exploded out of Dr. Vaughn's mouth. As it was it hit him full in the chest and dragged him halfway across the microwave before losing momentum.

John pulled himself away from the round lump of spit soaked bread. He could still smell Vaughn's breath on the damn thing.

“There's no way in hell I'm eat …”

“Bon appetite.” 

Vaughn slammed the the microwave door shut leaving John alone with darkness, spit, and a ball of chewed bread. 

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