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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Adult · #2251542
Your roommate catches you smelling his briefs, shrinks & punishes you in creative ways.
‘Bad Roommate, Good Slave’ is a sizeplay story focusing on giant men, domination, feet, hands, sex and humiliation.

Check out this series’ companion project, a 45-minute audio roleplay in five parts, featuring the giant dialogue from this story and much more performed by me. The five individual MP3s are also available in my Gumroad store.

Thanks for reading (and listening).



Bad Roommate, Good Slave: The Introduction

You wake up deeply disoriented. For a moment you don’t remember where or even who you are. You could be a man, a woman, or otherwise. You could be young or old. From this country or another. Whatever knocked you out did a good job. As your surroundings materialise and your identity comes back to you, you realise something is wrong.

Your last memory is the total silence that followed after your roommate left for the gym this morning. You stood in the hallway after the front door slammed, listening to Ben’s athletic shoes scrape the porch steps. You stood there listening until you were sure he wouldn’t circle back for a forgotten wallet or earbuds, then you tiptoed through his open bedroom door.

It had been a while since you last did this, sneaked into your roommate’s room while he was out. This morning you were tempted by the sight of a pair of navy briefs lying in the middle of the floor. They were wrinkled and lightly stained with off-white blotches in the front. You stepped carefully into Ben’s messy room, over a tangle of bedsheets and an inside-out hoodie, a stack of art books. The blinds were drawn and the room was airless, still smelling of morning breath and musk.

You picked up the discarded underwear and held it close to your nose for a minute as you pulled in a slow breath. The private, masculine smells baked into the fabric deepened as you inhaled. At last you pressed the cool, somewhat stiff article against your face and closed your eyes while you swam in its heady aroma.

You have done this many times. You have even ventured into Luke’s room once before, but only once. Luke leaves for work earlier in the morning so there are technically more opportunities to sneak into his private space. But his bedroom is neat and well ventilated, a temple; you would be lucky to find a lightly worn sock under his bed. Ben’s room is more of a lair. Dimly lit and sweet-smelling. You can feel his DNA in the back of your throat the moment you step in.

Luke is also a lot nicer to you than Ben is, which somehow makes you feel less comfortable invading his privacy. In the six months you’ve lived together Ben has always been the one to remind you, in blunt terms, when your rent is late. Luke leads with awkward apologies if he has to ask you to clean up a mess in the bathroom or to keep the noise down at night. Ben has a piggish way of tossing the command at you that gets on your nerves and, by some strange logic, makes the sight of his gym socks in the laundry hamper irresistible.

This morning you stood in the middle of his dark bedroom and huffed the smell of his worn underwear, and that is the last memory you have until now.

You wake up confused. You know you’re still in Ben’s bedroom but something about that fact isn’t quite right. It’s the white blanket covering your whole body which, you realise as you get to your feet, is actually sleeve of the t-shirt you slept in last night. It’s the stack of art books on the floor, now as tall as you are standing next to them. It’s the scrunched-up pair of navy undies, lying on the floor beside you like a deflated tent.

You can’t be more than four inches tall, naked and lost in a jungle of stray belongings on your roommate’s bedroom floor. You’re still trying to make sense of this when a thunderbolt carries down the hallway and into the room, making you jump out of your skin. This is the sound of the front door closing. It is followed by the thud of a giant foot meeting the hallway floor, then the sound of rubber tread squeaking against tile. The sound gets louder every time it repeats, as a giant makes his way through the house, toward you.

Panic rises in your throat and pushes you into action at the last possible second, right before the ajar bedroom door begins to swing open. You dart under the inside-out hoodie for cover. Crouching under pilly grey fabric, your hiding place is cold. The smell is a mix of dust and old sweat. You don’t really have a plan beyond hiding until your giant roommate is out of sight, so you can find a way to cover your nudity and be discovered anywhere except for Ben’s bedroom, where you have no plausible excuse to be.

Then you hear his voice, and your skin breaks out in goosebumps.

“Where are you?” he says. You feel the vibrations of a nearby footstep surge through the floor. “I know you’re in here somewhere.” Another tremor shakes you to the core as your giant roommate stomps past you. You peak out from under the hoodie and see his grass-stained Under Armour shoe. It’s so close that you can smell the fresh mud and feel the heat of the foot radiating into your atmosphere.

As you crouch there, peaking out, the giant shoe turns slowly and points in your direction. The ankle rising out of the shoe is tanned and flecked with blond hair. You hear the giant addressing you directly, asking if you would like him to hunt for you. Clearly he knows you’re in here, though you don’t understand how he could possibly know this.

You watch the massive shoes pace around the room in no hurry. One of them steps onto your white t-shirt and kicks it aside. The shoes warp a little around the giant’s feet as he kneels, his ass resting on his flexed calves. His hands descend to shake and rip apart some cardboard packaging with ‘Beats Solo 3’ written on the front. When he discovers that you’re not inside the headphones box he flings the pieces across the room.

The giant calves flex as the ass rises out of sight again, and the gym shoes continue their stomp around the floor. The stack of books is nudged with a toe and slides into disarray. The giant sighs, sounding impatient. You can see his left foot slowly rocking back on its heel and pressing forward again as he stands and thinks.

You can’t handle the suspense any longer. You hate feeling like you’re being hunted, and you’re on edge about being accidentally stepped on. You have to bring this to a head. So you lift the zippered corner of the hoodie which is covering you, and begin to shuffle out from under it while managing the delicate task of hiding your nudity with your hands.

But you don’t get the chance to fully reveal yourself. As you shuffle out from under the hoodie, you hear Ben’s voice behind you. It is the loudest and clearest it has ever been, and sounds more arrogant than ever.

“Aha… GOTCHA,”

You’re ambushed from behind. Clammy flesh closes around your back and suddenly five fingers are crowding around you, each the size of a grown man from your perspective. You’re knocked off your feet and swept up by the bullying gang of fingers.

Your initial reaction to being seized is simple outrage, the same as if you’d been cut off in traffic. All of your fear dissipates and you have a knee-jerk response to the fingers constricting your body. You kick and shout for them to get off of you. You curse and punch at them for a long moment, trying to push one huge thumb off of your chest, until you realise you’re fighting an impossible battle. You are totally powerless against a single thumb, let alone the massive fist it’s connected to.

You might be anyone. A man, a woman, or otherwise. Young or old. From this country or another. It doesn’t matter, because your identity has just changed in a heartbeat, from free human being to powerless figurine. You finally stop fighting and look up… way up into the sky above you… at the smirking face of your giant roommate.


Part 1: Bad Roommate, Good Foot Slave

“Did you really think you’d be able to hide?” your roommate asks, sitting on the corner of his bed. “You’re lucky my foot didn’t come crashing down on top of you. You would have been flattened.”

You’re lying on your back in Ben’s palm, staring up in awe and terror. You’ve never seen someone so impressive and so intimidating. His thumb sits on your chest, pinning you in place. His green eyes watch you from the heavens, distant but intent. When he talks about the chance of you being crushed, his thumb presses down extra hard and you see some amusement in his expression. He’s savouring every second of this interaction as you squirm naked in his grip.

He goes on to explain how you came to be so small. He talks about a shrinking serum his friend sent him, and how he waited so long to decide who to shrink, finally choosing you when he discovered you were sniffing his dirty laundry. He sneers a little as he describes what a lousy roommate you were and how easy it was to trick you by dousing his navy briefs with the serum. “You walked right into my trap, and guess what? Now you’re going to stay exactly where you are, permanently… You’re not my roommate any more. You’re going to be my four inch slave for the rest of your life.”

This declaration sends you into a second wave of panic, and you try again to kick and punch against the giant fingers surrounding you. “Let me go! This is insane! You can’t do this!” you shout, praying you’re right.

Your tantrum causes a big smile to break out across his face. “You know you’re wasting your energy. Nobody’s coming to save you. You’re mine to do whatever I want with.” The giant says he wants to take his new slave for a test drive. He wants to see you worship his sweaty post-gym feet. So you’re placed on the carpeted bedroom floor between two giant black athletic shoes, which are prised off to reveal soaked white ankle socks. As soon as the shoes go tumbling to the floor a wave of foot stink knocks you over.

“I know you like the smell of my feet, so I want you to go for it,” the giant says. The tension that existed between you two for so long has disappeared, replaced by outright derision from the man looming above you on the edge of the bed. “Worship my sweaty, socked feet. Get right up close. Press your face under my toes and sniff. Come on, I know you’ve pressed your nose into these socks before, when they weren’t filled with my godly feet.”

He slowly wiggles his toes and the shadows of his size 12s move over you. You can’t help but stare in fear and amazement at the massive feet. Their musky pungency clouds your thoughts. “What’s the matter? Is the smell too much?” he says with a proud smirk. “You can’t handle what a real man smells like up close?” He pulls his socks off one after the other, revealing his lint-flecked toes which outsize your head.

In a moment of impulsivity you turn and run toward the hallway, but you’re instantly stopped by two walls of flesh. The two clammy soles close in on you and press you into an over-familiar hug, then drag you back across the carpet. Somewhere over your head the giant laughs in delight at how easy you are to capture.

“Come on, wrap your arms around my big toe.” The two soles which apprehended you go on to press and mash you between their walls. You’re overwhelmed by their smell and power, and you resist by curling up into a ball, refusing to worship them. But they win out in the end. You’re pushed back onto the carpet and weighed upon by one bare sole. You try to fight it off but the wrinkled flesh rubs over your body like you’re a human doormat. Giant toes part over your face, pressing your nose into a sweaty crack.

“Wow, it feels really good having you squirm under my foot,” your former roommate says. “Squirm harder, foot slave. I think this new position is your true calling.”

Now and then the toes sitting on your face move, and you see Ben’s proud smile high over your head. It’s as if he’s waited forever to have someone in your position and he’s positively gloating over his acquisition of you as a toy for his feet. After playing with you for a while he offers to stop, on the condition that you kiss underneath his big toe.

“I’ll stop squashing you under my amazing smelling foot if you kiss it. Right under there where that piece of lint is stuck to all the sweat. Go on, show my big toe the respect it deserves as I press it down on your puny face.”

You’re desperate to be free of his foot stink, something you enjoyed when you could accept it in small sniffs but you now find overwhelming, so you obey. But even after you swallow your pride and kiss his toe, you’re not allowed to stand.

“Now I want you to repeat after me – say ‘I’m your obedient little foot slave, Master’. I know I said I’d lift my foot off of you if you just kissed, it but I changed my mind. What are you going to do about it? Lift my giant feet off of you, with those puny little arms?” The giant rubs his big toe over your face and laughs when you thrash for freedom. You’re humiliated more with every passing second, until you give in yet again.

“I’m your… your obedient little foot slave, Master.” You feel ridiculous, forcing the words out of your mouth, but they work. The giant foot lifts off of you and you’re allowed to stand up once again. You sway as you get to your feet and look around at the endless bedroom of your giant captor.

“So how does my foot sweat taste?” he asks. “As good as it smells baked into my gym socks?” You’re forced to admit that his sweat does taste good, and to call him your master again. The words are just as bitter on your tongue as his big toe was. You can’t believe you’re being so horribly demeaned by this guy who you’ve never particularly liked, and it’s all your fault because you let your kinky impulses get the better of you.

The giant explains to you that you won’t be wearing clothes any longer. Everything you once owned is now owned by the man who owns you. You no longer have personal property. You no longer have a name, just a description: Ben’s little toy.

“How does that feel? Are you proud to be owned by a giant man whose feet you love the smell of?” he gloats over you. “From now on your job isn’t to like my decisions or not. Your job is to accept whatever rules I lay down as your master. And to be a good, compliant little pet. All you need to think about for the rest of your life is one word: OBEY.”

Your master explains that he’s heading back out to do a few big people things before he comes home to shower, and you’re going with him. “I’m going to drop you into my gym shoe, stick my bare foot in on top of you, and let you really come to terms with the fact that a giant superior man owns your life as you wriggle under my toes.”

You immediately refuse. Then you beg for your roommate not to put you in his shoe. When all else fails you scream and shout, and try to push away the giant fingers closing in around you.

“You should really be getting used to that small instead of turning away from it,” he says as he drops you onto the right shoe’s insole and you’re struck by a thick soup of sweaty aroma. “This is what your entire future smells like. Now lay down inside your master’s shoe. I know it’s damp, you’ll get used to that. Don’t you scratch or bite me. I can barely feel it when you do, but that’s not the point. It’s about the respect that I demand as your owner. Good toy.”

You’re starting to understand how futile fighting back is. The huge fingers let you go and you flop back onto the moist insole, remembering the one time Ben was at work and you stuck your nose into this very shoe, enjoying the rude tang.

Five toes crowd the shoe’s opening and cast you in darkness.

“I want you to do me a favour though,” Ben says before he slides his bare foot in. “I want you to squirm as hard as you can for the next few hours. Go ahead, get it all out of your system. It feels so fucking good against the bottom of my foot… And when I finally let you out later, you’re going to show me how much you’ve learned by worshipping my feet again, and doing it properly.”


Part 2: Under My Thumb

Your captor keeps you on his body for the next week. Sometimes you’re tucked away in his shoe but most often you’re in his pants pocket, especially when he goes to work.

He seems to enjoy reaching in and squeezing you at random times throughout the day. You get used to a routine of mind-numbing inaction, sitting in the stuffy sack of his trouser pocket and listening to the muffled sounds of a busy office. And then there is the suddenness of his powerful grip closing around you. It’s exhilarating, these bursts of human contact, his thumb sliding over your face and chest.

Sometimes you’re lifted out of the pocket and allowed to stare up at your former roommate as he sits in some leafy courtyard, frowning down at his phone. You’re either pressed against the phone’s leather case in his fist, or held in his free hand and squeezed intermittently like a stress ball. Either way he ignores you for these little intervals. It’s clear that he considers you a piece of property and not a companion. On the few instances that you try demanding to be let go, the lack of response is humiliating. You learn to simply gaze up at him instead.

At the end of the first week, as he sits in his bed finishing up some work on his laptop, he takes you out of his shorts pocket and grips you while he thinks. The giant thumbtip is pressed into your face. “Kiss,” you hear him command, and after a moment of hesitation you give in and do it. Resistance hasn’t gotten you anywhere with your former roommate. Things go more smoothly when you’re compliant.

You see his lips spread in a smile overhead as you kiss the giant thumb. “Tell me how it feels being inside my fist,” he says. “Is it getting easier to be a man’s palm-sized toy?” He sounds genuinely interested. In all the time you’ve lived together, he has never been so talkative with you. He seems to like you more, now that he’s demoted you to toy status.

“Do you like the way I just close my fingers around you until you’re fully concealed inside my fist? Does it get claustrophobic, having the heat of my skin all around you and feeling the muscles of my palm surrounding you?”

These questions make you squirm. They seem intended to humiliate you, so there is no right answer. You continue kissing the salty thumb tip to avoid responding. “You seem to be getting used to that little ritual. Demonstrating your respect for your master. You barely even resist me any more,” he says casually. You want to shout out that you would resist if there was any point, if it ever stopped him from condescending and dehumanising you.

“I wonder how it feels,” his voice goes on. His breath is warm and minty around you. He holds you close to his face, so he can watch you worship his finger. “Looking up into the eyes of the man who took everything away from you. Knowing that you’re going to be serving me for the rest of your life… You might be the happiest you’ve ever been, now that you’re free from your old life. Free from big people things. Free to give me all of your attention and energy.”

Not likely. You’ve spent most of the week imagining ways to escape, but you’re never alone long enough to try it. And when you’re with him, the sounds and sensations of his giant world hijack your thoughts. Right now, his palm crowding around you and brushing against your naked skin is deeply distracting. You don’t want to admit that the everywhere-ness of his skin is arousing to you because you’re conflicted by your resentment for him, the man who stole your life. But it’s true. Being so totally under his control, so perfectly contained within his big manly fist, keeps you in a state of slight intoxication that you wish you could break out of.

“Do you like my big, handsome hands?” your captor says with a grin. He seems to be reading your thoughts. “Do you feel safe being held in them? Or do you feel intimidated by how incredibly powerful and controlling they are? Do you feel protected, or bullied?”

The truth is, you feel both. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of telling him so. Not that he would care either way. He seems quite capable of stroking his own ego.

“However this new life feels for you, it feels really fucking amazing to me,” he says. “It’s such a power trip, feeling your tiny little body twitch in my grip. It makes my dick hard.” He bares his teeth as he squeezes you tighter in his fist, and you squeak a little. You’re afraid of being crushed by his all-powerful grip. “Kiss my fingers, all over. These big, thick fingers deserve your respect. From now on whenever I take you out of my pocket or my shoe, I expect you to kiss my fingers as I lift you up. I won’t even tell you to do it, I’ll just punish you if you forget.”

A shiver runs down your spine. It’s a shiver of both fear and excitement. You commit yourself even harder to the task of kissing his giant, shea soap-smelling fingers all over. You’ll do anything to avoid looking up into his grinning face and having him read your mind again. You just want to curl up and hide, even if that’s inside of his fist, but you know you’re being watched intently as you kiss the cracks between his fingers and the rough patches over his palm.

“I can see how excited you are,” the arrogant giant says. “I see you wrapping your tiny little legs around my middle finger and kissing it. You know deep down this is the life you were meant for and you’re adapting to it. As a matter of fact, I think you deserve a reward. Lay back in my palm… and open your legs.”

The giant palm flattens out and you’re thrown onto your back. At first you’re mortified by what’s about to happen and you struggle to pin your legs together, but the all-mighty thumb bullies them apart easily, its tip still damp from your kisses. “Come on, there’s no use in being shy,” he says. “I own every inch of you – all four of them, in fact. You can’t hide any of it from me.”

So you surrender. You lie back and close your eyes, and spread your legs even though every fibre of your being tells you to fight back. The all-mighty thumb strokes your chest and belly, then delicately flicks between your legs. Your master talks through the deeply humbling experience, commending your obedience, insisting that you love submitting to him this way.

When you cum, he grants you a moment to catch your breath before he lifts his sticky fingertip to your face and orders you to lick it clean. You obey. You taste yourself on his skin and imagine you’ll never be able to look him in the eye again.

“Good toy,” he says warmly. “Don’t forget to kiss your master’s finger. Thank it… Look how happy you are. Maybe I should do this more often. Just pull you out of my pocket at random times throughout the day, and give you a taste of this to help shape you into a more devoted pet.”

He leans forward on the bed and returns his attention to his laptop, rubbing your belly idly with his thumb. You lie there, naked and defenseless in your master’s hand, gazing up at him. Before putting you away in your giant shoebox with a worn gym sock for a blanket, he turns to you and smiles.

“It’s getting easier, isn’t it?” he says.

You hesitate to respond, ashamed as ever. Then you manage to nod.

“I thought so,” he chuckles. “I’m so proud of how fast you’re learning. And don’t worry. It’s just going to get easier, and easier, and easier.”


Part 3: Beanstalk

Your arms ache from being tied up all day.

Landing in the giant’s palm, feeling the clasps being picked off of your wrists, is such sweet relief that you kiss the giant fingers with genuine warmth when they’re offered to you.

It has been almost two weeks since your roommate caught you messing around in his bedroom and turned you into his four-inch toy. Today your routine of sweating in Ben’s dress shoe or rolling around in his pocket while he’s at work was switched up, and you were instead worn as a necklace under his shirt. You spent the last ten hours in a world of pale blue shadow and light, swinging against the giant’s chest while you listened to the sounds of the world you’re no longer a part of. You heard traffic and music, long stretches of keyboard typing and strangers talking about affairs you didn’t understand. The one comforting constant was the deep grumble of your master’s voice over your head. That and the smell of his woody cologne mixed with masculine sweat.

Tonight he is sitting in bed in front of his laptop again when he detaches you from your chain.

“You behaved today,” he says in his casually condescending way. “You’ve gotten so much quieter, I figured you can be trusted to with a bit more freedom. Did you like swinging on a chain against my chest all day?”

“Yes master,” you say. This reply tasted bitter in your mouth the first couple of dozens of times, but you’ve gotten used to saying it. This man is in fact your master, after all. There’s no point in denying it.

“What did you think of our little visit to the gym this morning? Did you like it when I rubbed you into my armpit and got all that nice man stink on you?” he laughs. You shudder, remembering how pungent his pits were after the workout. “Don’t make that face,” he says. “You love my giant, musky pits, especially after the gym. You probably would have liked to stay pressed under my arm all morning.”

“Yes, master!” you call up. You’re desperate to stay on his good side now that he’s breaking up the monotony of your days by storing you differently.

“I must be a good trainer,” he muses. “Either that or you just can’t resist my big, powerful fingers. I bet you lie in your little shoebox at night dreaming about them. Remembering how good my thumb feels between your legs. The way my giant lips look when I hold you up like this… Do you want to kiss them? Do you want to kiss these lips that give you the commands you live by?”

You’re ordered to kiss the giant lips, and you obey. The giant asks you if his breath smells good and you call out that it does. You’re surrounded by the storm of his humid breath and your heart is beginning to race.

“You are so, so puny,” he says in a growl. “The power trip it gives me makes me fucking wild.” The next thing you know, you’re being held in front of his shirtless chest and ordered to suck on the very tip of his pink nipple. It is a salmon colour and feels rubbery against your teeth as you struggle to fit it in your mouth. The giant chest in front of you is beginning to rise and fall faster. The palm surrounding you is warming.

Your master pauses to move his laptop to the floor, then he lays back on the bed in his boxers and places you on his chest. He has a proud grin as he asks, “Does my chest seem like it’s the size of a courtyard to you? Does my stomach look like a field? What about beyond my stomach, pitching up my briefs? It’s making a nice big wet spot in the front of my undies, all because of you.”

You’re brought toward the underwear tent in a giant fist and ordered to pull back the waistband, which you try valiantly to do but your arms are far too weak. Curly brown pubes tickle your chest and face as you struggle to lift the long white band. In the end your master is generous enough to help you, using his free thumb. The boxers are pulled down to reveal a penis twice your height. It’s slightly curved and evenly thick, a flushed shade of pink. The briny smell is bracing.

“Don’t worry,” Ben says when he sees you squirm. “You’re safe in my hand. Obey me and I won’t be too rough with you.”

He asks about the pre-cum drizzling down his shaft, and you admit that you like it. You’re lifted to the tip of the cock and ordered to pull down the generous hood with your tiny arms, then lick the nectar pooling around the rim of the foreskin. The giant shudders and moans as you do this. His taste is strong. Soon your face and chest are sticky all over.

“I must look like a god to you, spread out on my bed like this,” he says in the midst of his power trip. “No wonder you’re so obedient. No wonder you’ve been worshipping me since you moved in, sniffing my socks and underwear. I deserve a tiny, submissive little slave wrapped around my giant cock, living for my pleasure. This is the life you were meant for.”

He presses your whole body against his hot penis and strokes you slowly up and down its length. He growls. You feel like you’re being sacrificed to some massive, fabled beast. When he cums, the semen splashes all over your face and rolls hot down your back.

Just as the giant fist’s grip seems to be getting impossible hard, threatening to crush you against the tree-like cock, it relaxes and you tumble down into the garden of hair at the base. You swipe at the great blobs of semen clouding your vision. Behind you, the giant stretches out on the bed with one arm resting on his face as he recalibrates, his mountainous chest slowly returning to a normal rise and fall.

“Look at this mess,” he laughs when he looks down again. He pinches a blob of cum between two fingertips and parts them again so it stretches like a knotty white rope. “Here. Eat this,” he offers you his fingers. “Don’t just lick it. Swallow it all like a good slave. If you hesitate any more I’m going to pin you in my fist and force feed it to you.”

Message received. You gulp down your master’s cum and lick up every last sticky patch that he points out to you: on his knuckles, between his fingers, on his abdomen.

When it’s time for you both to sleep, you get yet another treat. Rather than being dropped into your regular shoebox and forced to curl up with a gym sock for a blanket, you’re told that you’re going to be sleeping with your giant master tonight.

You’re not overly eager to spend an entire night in Ben’s sticky boxer briefs, pinned down by his cock and hairy balls. But when he holds his waistband up and tells you to climb in, the smelly lair does at least look warm. Also you seem to have forgotten how to protest or even ask questions.

So you kiss and lick his giant fingers as they usher you inside, and thank him sincerely for the honour. The waistband snaps shut. You’re pressed deep into damp, musky flesh where you remain until morning.


Part 4: Men Are Talking

Soon weeks separate you from your old life, which continues to fade in your mind. Soon it will be months since your master shrunk you and turned you into his personal property. Since he trained you to be perfectly obedient and adoring.

Last night Luke, your other former roommate, played with you for the first time. Ben showed you to him over a week ago and he was leery about touching you at first. He was always the good-cop roommate and you sensed that he felt bad for you. But last night that changed, with the aid of a few beers. The men sat out on the patio and laughed hard as they took turns poking and prodding you, watching your puny arms and legs flail in response to their ice-cold touch, their fingers chilled by the beer bottles. The giants had a great night, and you reached a new level of humility.

This morning you kneel on the kitchen table, as Ben likes you to do when he’s working from home. He sits before you with his laptop and a cup of coffee, mostly ignoring you. Sometimes a full hour passes in total silence, just the sound of keys tapping, as you bow on your hands and knees.

When the giant’s right hand does wander over to you and his blunt fingertips appear before your face, you go a little wild with enthusiasm. You jump up to kiss and lick them. Your world contracts into a single focal point: the all-mighty hand floating before you. You taste his coffee and the salt of his skin as you lick. You glance up to see him grinning and nodding, puffed up with pride over how well he has trained you.

Later in the morning he picks up his phone from where it rests next to you and presses the sensor to unlock it. Just as he presses his thumb to your face to access your worship.

“Hey dude it’s me, do you have a minute to talk?” he says. He runs a hand through his hair, slouching back in his seat. It sounds like Luke is on the other side of the call. In the conversation that follows, your master discusses the future of the lease and the possibility of bringing in a new roommate.

“We still have enough money from selling our last roommate’s stuff to cover their part of the rent for at least few more weeks,” he says, referring to your nearly empty bedroom. You watched everything of value being carried out by a string of strangers who paid your giant roommates in cash. “After that I’m happy to split the cost of the rent between the two of us. Or if we did bring in someone new we’d have to be careful about screening them to make sure they won’t say anything about our little arrangement. At least until the police investigation’s over. Not that anyone’s looking at us as suspects.”

Now and then you overhear small pieces of information like this. Hints that your disappearance is being looked into, but not very thoroughly and with no chance of success. You think you may have heard a detective speaking to Ben two weeks ago, when you were pressed flat under his foot in a Converse high-top, but it was impossible to make out what the unfamiliar gruff voice was saying.

“We could have interviews and if we thought someone had the right vibe, like he might enjoy feeling like a giant, we could take the pet out and let him hold it for a minute,” Ben suggests over the phone. “Tell him he could do whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t break it.” You envision a long line of strange men visiting the house, gawking at your little naked body. You imagine leaving the haven of Ben or Luke’s massive hands and being dropped into the palms of any number of giants, each with unpredictable demeanours and hygiene.

In an impulsive moment you lunge forward and kiss the giant hand resting on the table in front of you. “Please, master!” you call up as you kiss and lick the huge knuckles. “Please don’t show me to anyone else! I just want to belong to you! I’ll be a good toy for you and Luke, I promise, but please don’t share me!”

One of the resting fingers lifts and points directly at you.

“QUIET,” the giant commands. “No, not you, Luke. I’ve got someone crying and hugging my finger over here. Pathetic.” He moves his index finger closer to you and makes an instructive kissing sound. “You, kiss my finger and don’t speak.”

After the giant finishes his call he chastises you. “Bad slave. When there are men talking you close your mouth, unless it’s to kiss whatever hand or foot resting on top of you. I thought I’d trained all your protesting and resistance out of you. Maybe I’ve given you too much freedom lately. I’ll have to correct that. I hope you like the heat and the way it smells under my balls.”

You hate that he’s angry with you. It reminds you of those first few days, when you were a bad pet and talked back to your master, before you gave in and learned to love being his property. You try to show him how sorry you are by kissing his fingers with even more fervour.

Before he locks you away, he carries you to the bathroom and holds you against his dick while he takes a piss. You’re pressed against the fleshy log of his soft penis while it unleashes its golden torrent. Then you’re ordered to lick the wet slit, which you do eagerly. You’re relieved to hear the giant’s amusement when your little tongue tickles him.

“Look at that little tongue work,” he says, sounding impressed. “You got every last drip.”

“Yes, master! Thank you for letting me!” you call up. You bow patiently next the soap dish while he washes his hands, then you’re lifted up and dropped into the front of his navy briefs. You bounce against the taut fabric and fall against the big, fleshy pile of his bent cock. The last thing you see before the elastic snaps into place is a familiar-looking smear of pre-cum on the inside pouch of the giant’s underwear. You’re going to spend the rest of the day inside the same briefs that you were caught sniffing weeks ago, on that pivotal day when your life changed for the better.


Part 5: Wrapped Around My Toe

“You’ve gotten smaller.”

Your master sits on the edge of his bed, smiling down at you between his feet. His giant face is cast in shadows, in the dimly lit lair of hs bedroom. A single strip of light coming through the cracked blinds illuminates his forehead, which is sweaty from his run.

Flanking you are his bare feet. His discarded gym socks. All around you is his dank, addictive smell.

“You’re still four inches tall, I mean. You’re technically the same size you were when I shrunk you a month ago. But you look smaller. It’s in your attitude. Your posture.”

You’re bowing on your knees, craning you head back sharply to gaze up at him. You’re now fully trained. You fully commit to showing your owner respect in any way you can, including your physicality. You also show respect by obeying his commands before he finishes issuing them.

“Kiss your master’s toe,” he says, and you jump to hunch over the smelly giant. You press your face into the golden-haired knuckle and kiss. You don’t lick because master Ben has not commanded you to, and he has implemented a new rule where you wait for permission to do such things.

“It’s funny. The rule used to be that you kiss my fingers without without being ordered to. But you’ve come so far since then. Now you’re incapable of being near my giant hand or foot without going wild, climbing and worshipping it, so I’ve had to dial it back. I’ve given new meaning to the phrase ‘wrapped around my finger’, or ‘wrapped around my toe’ in this case,” he laughs.

“I bet I look bigger and bigger to you every day. Like a giant king. I bet if I lifted my bare foot and just dropped it on you, buried you under the weight of my sole, you wouldn’t even flinch. You’d consider it a privilege to be squashed under my perfect giant foot.”

To illustrate his point he lifts his bare foot over your head, showing you the collection of dust and debris along the sole. Then he drops it flat on top of you.

Except that the foot never hits you. It stops right above your head, then slowly returns to the floor. The giant laughs at the way you flinched.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to stomp on you. Of course I’d never do that. I love having you as my pet… I know I can be rough on you little one, but the truth is, you make your master very happy,” he says. As he speaks to you he leans down and strokes the top of your head with the very tip of his index finger. It is a delicate, precise gesture and it fills you with warmth.

“Thank you, master!” you call up.

“Don’t get used to me being so warm and friendly,” he says. “I’m always going to be strict with you because I like having you under my thumb. I like seeing you cower in my shadow, and feeling like a big man.”

“Yes, master.”

He smiles. “I’ve always wanted a little pet like this. A totally obedient, totally defeated servant. I love that you never squirm or scratch any more when I keep you in my smelly shoe. Like today on my run. The smell must have been intense; I’ve had my UnderArmour shoes for a long time. The heat must have been punishing under my foot. But you spent the whole morning just pressing your face between my toes, kissing and nuzzling like I told you to. I could feel your breath in the sweaty cracks between my toes, sniffing deeply… Do that again.”

You bow down and press your face in the still-clammy cracks between his toes, and take a deep sniff. The smell is ripe, far too strong, and you love it.

“I had this idea for when Summer comes around,” the giant says as he periodically grips your head between his toes and releases. “I like to wear sandals around the house to let my toes breathe when it’s hot. I’m thinking I might shrink you down, just a little bit more, so I can bend you backward over my big toe and tie your wrists to your ankles. That way you’d be a human toe ring. You’d spend all day literally wrapped around my big toe, watching the world pass you by in a series of dizzying steps. You probably wouldn’t see that much. You’d slip around in a loop, so sometimes your face would be pressed into the rubber of my Nike slide. Sometimes it’d be pressed into my second toe, and you’d get to kiss it and enjoy the taste of my skin for hours. I’d love feeling you there. Looking down and seeing my very own human toe ring, totally devoted to me.”

You go on quietly worshipping while master Ben muses over what else he might use you for. He briefly mentions the investigation into your disappearance, which seems to be fizzling out. This makes you sad for a moment, but then you remind yourself that you’re relieved – you would never want anyone to take you away from your giant owner.

“Your old life is history now,” he says, echoing your thoughts. “Your old identity is. You’re never even going to be called your old name again, since Luke and I are the only ones who know it, and as the men who run your life we’ve decided that you don’t need it. ‘Ben’s little slave’ is the only title you’ll ever need,” he says with the smug grin you love so much.

“Yes, master! Thank you!” you squeak up.

He sits and watches you sniff his giant foot for a moment longer. Then he leans in and spits, right onto his foot’s instep. “You look a little dehydrated. Drink that off of my foot. Go on, before it runs down to the carpet.”

You climb over the clammy instep and press your face into the frothy puddle of spit, which you drink graciously. It slides down your throat, warm and thick, tasting vaguely of milk.

“Good toy. You love it,” the giant says. “I don’t have anything on for the rest of the day, and you don’t have anything on for the rest of your life,” he laughs, “so I might take a shower and kick back with a book. I’ll put my feet up on the coffee table so you can scratch my soles how I like.”

“Oh, thank you, master!” you squeak. “You are so generous!”

“Yeah, I am,” he sighs with the same smug grin. “Also, Luke’s friend is coming over for a few beers later. He’s looking to move around here, so I might take you out after everyone’s had a few drinks and we’re in the mood to see a party trick. You’ll get passed around, played with, poked and laughed at. Whether or not this guy ends up moving in I expect you to show him the same respect you show me and Luke. I don’t know much about him but I want you to make me look good in front of him, either way. Make me proud to be the man who trained you.”

“Oh, thank you, master!” you call up. You’re overjoyed to have the opportunity to make your master happy, even if it is through your own deep humiliation at the hands of a stranger. “Please show me off to master Luke’s friend, and anyone else you choose! Please!”

“That’s a nice change in tone,” the giant smiles. “I like that. Just for that, before I roll you up in my sock and tuck you away while I shower, I’m going to give you an extra drink.”

The giant clears his throat loudly. Then he leans down, looming like a god over you, and gives you the generous gift of another pool of spit, which he happily watches you slurp up.

“Good toy.”

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