| Genre: originals | |
| Chapter 1 | |
| More Disclaimer: This work is my own. The characters are my own. Do not repost this story beyond the limits of the Fair Use standards of Copyright Law (quotes, examples, ‘you gotta read this’ excerpts, the usual). The author is not making any kind of profit from this fanfic. | |
| I tend to work with size-themed fiction, which includes overwhelming control issues and outrageous differences in scale. Such disparate sizes between partners are not for everyone, so be warned. | |
| I guess, I don't know, maybe we all get one wish. It's all I can think of. Maybe we all get that one moment when our minds and the universe click, when the stars are aligned, or some such. Most of us probably waste it wishing to pass a test, or school gets snowed out. Maybe that the bullies don't find us, or maybe that the wimpy kid in Phys Ed has extra lunch money today. I got my wish... Well, it'd be a bit harder to chalk it up to coincidence. | |
| The TV show was about this cop and another cop, misfits with respect to authority, but kept on the force because they always get their man, blah, blah, blah. And the other cop was cute, sure. Not as sexy as they played her up to be, but not bad. Lots of scenes where she distracted witnesses or drug dealers or everyone driving by. But despite the efforts of the director, she just wasn't convincing as a traffic-stopping blonde. Then again, blondes aren't really to my taste. | |
| There was one scene where the witness was a tall black Amazon. Oh, my God, sexy. Her business suit was there to show she was a professional with respect to the plot, but she definitely had curves underneath the costume. She could stop my traffic, that was for sure. I was thinking about how the show went to a lot of work to say Woman Cop was hot, and then worked hard to make sure this woman didn't challenge the idea. Flaunting the intention of the show's writers, I wanted Nameless Bank Manager. I mentally rejected Woman Cop as a fantasy, and out loud murmured: 'I'm really prefer this woman in my lap.' And there she was. | |
| I didn't notice right away. The woman I was staring at disappeared from the screen. Everyone around her kept talking to the spot she'd been, and reacting to dialogue as if she was still there. I was wondering if she had been a digital creation when I heard a noise. A gasp. A teeny-tiny gasp. From my fly. Looking down, I saw Nameless Bank Manager. About a foot tall, sitting on my pants, looking around in surprise. I think... Well, I'm almost certain, she was the size she'd been on the screen when I spoke. | |
| "What the hell?" she asked. She moved, and I felt her ass roll across my dick. Little Jason responded to the attention and started to firm up. Then she saw the TV screen. She saw the scene and recognized it, or thought she did, and made a conceptual leap between filming expert dialogue on the morgue steps and being on a pair of giant jeans. "This is a sci-fi picture?" she muttered. She raised her voice. "Someone should tell people when they turn on the special effects!" She leaned forward to look between my legs, down at the ground. She slid down a bit to stand on the bit of chair there. Little Jason grew harder. | |
| "Hey," I said. I don't know what else I was going to say. She twisted her head around, looking up. When she saw my face, she started to turn completely around. There wasn't room, and her position was already poorly balanced. She started to fall from my lap towards the floor. I reached quickly to grab her with both hands. One ended up around her back, with finger and thumb resting on her boobs. The other wrapped her thighs. She struggled, kicking and flailing. But nothing moved. She was too weak, too tiny. I had her in my grip, and nothing was going to move. I had total control over her. | |
| "Stop," I said. "What do you want with me? Where am I?" "You're in my house," I said. "A couple weeks, probably since you filmed that scene." I slipped a thumb under her jacket. "You probably turned this in to Wardrobe and went home and got another job." She still squirmed in my hands. I could stop it, I knew I could. Just squeeze. Press the air out, and if she wanted to breathe, she'd be quiet. But I found that the struggles were fun. Mostly because they were absolutely useless. "Futile," I said softly. | |
| "What?" She paused for a second. I lifted my thumb, stretching her jacket. Buttons popped. It was about as difficult as pulling cobwebs. She started fighting again. "Put me down! PUT ME DOWN!" "I just GOT you," I said. "But next time I should wish you were at least the size of a Centerfold." I wondered where I got that size from. Twenty-four inches tall instead of eleven or twelve? Still couldn't have sex with her. And she'd put up a better fight. | |
| Then I noticed that the TV was showing a close-up. One of the cops was mouthing a message so the guy holding her hostage wouldn't know her partner was watching. If my little prize had been put in my lap at that scale, she'd be looking down on the remains of my roof, wondering what the squishy stuff under her ass was... I guessed I was okay with Barbie-sized instead of a giant. | |
| I let go of her torso and pulled her jacket off. It was like undressing a doll. Or an action figure. I had GI Joes, back when they had uniforms and scuba suits, but never played with dolls. The blouse buttons parted in the effort to get the jacket off. I just grabbed the collar behind her neck and pulled. She tried to resist, but only tore a few stitches. "Please!" she pleaded. But by then it was way too late. | |
| Her bra was not from the studio, I'd bet. It was not supporting a professional demeanor. Hooker red, lacy, and partially see-through, it would hardly fit the medical examiner image. I pushed my thumb up under the clasp between her breasts. It twisted, the hooks straightening out, and the bra fell away. "Nice," I said softly. She tried to cover them. I pushed her hands gently with a fingertip. Gently but firmly. I'd yank them away if I had to, but she must have realized that. She stopped fighting. | |
| They were full and round, very large nipples sticking straight out at the front. One of the areolas was shaped a little strange, almost heart-shaped. "Wait, I know that boob," I said. "Miss... Oh, yeah, Miss September!" What was her name? She stared at me, mouth open. "You didn't recognize me until...?" She tugged at the remains of her bra. "Dwan, what did you think? Guys were going to open your portfolio and memorize your face?" | |
| She covered her face with her hands as I stroked and pinched at the breasts, pushed my fingertip against her nipples, and ground them in tiny circles. I set her down on the drink stand. One of her shoes had fallen off; she twisted a bit. Then she kicked the remaining one free and stood, staring up at me. "Do that pose. The one where you're tugging the panties down to just show your pubes." "No!" she protested. | |
| "What do you mean, no? You can't say no! You belong to me!" "Who says?" "I say!" "Why do I give a shit what you say?" she asked. I made a fist and held it over her head. "Oh." She reached around back and undid her skirt zipper. The panties weren't quite right. They matched the bra, but they were too small. The thong didn't cover as much as the pair she'd worn in the picture. But she did have a good memory for poses. | |
| Two thumbs in the waistband, pulling down slowly and gently, leg cocked just so, dark hair barely identifiable against her almost-as-dark skin. It just needed... "And that come-hither expression," I said. My voice might have been a little husky. She looked anything but inviting. Not a Bunny but scared like a hare. I reached out. I was thinking I could hold her, cuddle her to my chest. Maybe it would calm her; she'd see I meant no harm. And nudity was what probably got her the TV show, so why should she mind? | |
| Anyway, I was thinking this as I reached over. My hand out, fingers spread, ready to pick her up again. Her lip quivered as it approached. Eyes wide, the whites looking extra startling against her dark face. Her hands stole to cover her breasts. They heaved a bit as her breathing sped, staring at my thumb. Just before I touched her, she turned and jumped off the table. Little feet pattered on the carpet as she ran... towards the TV. | |
| "Wrong direction," I said. I stood and pushed the door shut. "That's the only way out of my entertainment center," I said. I tipped the chair I'd been in over on its back. That lay it flat on the floor, no hiding place. The two chairs next to it went down, too. The drink table I put in the corner, behind the barricade of chairs. She was somewhere behind the TV or the other electronics. | |
| I dropped to my knees and started to crawl in the general direction. She wasn't behind the speaker on the right. Or the stand for the DVD. Or the TV's pillar. Or the left-hand speaker. I got closer and closer to the minifridge. Somehow, she'd gotten on top of the column of speakers. I'd just heard her whimper and was trying to figure out where it came from. Then she jumped down, right on my back, jumped down to the floor, and ran. | |
| I turned and followed. She reached the door, beat on it, tried to pry it open with fingers in the jamb. Then she beat on it some more, sliding down to sit on the floor as I got closer. She sobbed, hitting the door in a rhythm with her breathing. She watched me get closer and closer and finally reach out to take her. "That was naughty," I said. I lifted my chair back up and sat down. I spread her over my thigh and examined her ass. | |
| Nothing much was hidden by the thong. It shook, trembling at an increasing frequency the longer I looked at it. I was afraid to do too much damage to it. It was a really nice, full ass. So I shifted my grip, putting my palm under her belly and my thumb just at the top of the crack of her ass. It's hard to hurt yourself, so I aimed a slap that would get my finger and both cheeks at once. I automatically pulled it, but it still smarted there on my knuckle. She let out a holler and kicked, little legs pumping furiously but meaninglessly. | |
| "That's for saying 'no' to me," I said. I hit once more, pulling the slap even more. But my knuckle was sensitive now, and I think her cheeks were, too. "That's for not doing the face I wanted." I lifted my hand once more. "Pleeeeeease, no!" she wailed. "And for running away," I said slowly. Her hands waved, trying to reach around my fingers to grab her butt. "Well, it was fun." I put her down on the floor. | |
| She nearly fell, taking a half-step before regaining her balance. I shook a finger in her face... Well, over her head. "Just don't do it until I tell you to, next time." "Yes, sir," she said softly. I put the table back and stood her on it. "Now. Take off the panties." She was quick and obedient. I crooked a finger, and she stepped to the edge. Hands at her side, she stood for inspection. | |
| "You've trimmed since your shoot," I said. I ran a finger up and down the thin strip of hair remaining. "My agent said I should. If Playboy wanted another shoot." I nodded. "Lay down." She dropped like she'd been shot. She did wince as her abused butt hit the plastic, but she never paused. The table slid over the floor as I pulled it between my legs. She flinched as I pulled my zipper down. My cock was hard and throbbing as I wrestled it free of my underwear. | |
| I stroked myself with one hand, trailed fingers of the other over her body. Nothing was hidden from me, nothing withheld, no resistance at all. She belonged to me, now, body and soul. And that got me as excited as seeing her tiny pussy did. There might have been a whimper or two, but that was all. I finally lurched to my feet, pushing the end of my dick against her breasts. "Lick it," I said. | |
| She raised her head and did, following the tip as it moved with my continued stroking. A drop of clear fluid oozed into view, and she slurped it down. Her hands rose to grab the helmet, fingers tickling the ridge. She licked and slurped, moaned and squeezed, stroked and fingered. I could barely feel the touches, but there was enough sensation to anchor the sight I was watching. Precum covered her face, her throat, and shoulders, matted her hair, and slicked her cleavage. | |
| I stopped pumping and just squeezed, pushing it against her. She sucked hard enough to leave a hickey. Then she nearly drowned. I came, harder than I have since I was a teenager. God, it was like my soul left my body through my dick. I grunted and pushed down on her. She burbled something through a face inundated with sperm. It took a few seconds to squeeze the last bits out, drops falling to her boob, belly, and thigh. | |
| When I relaxed, I dropped down to my chair. I left my pants around my ankles and stared at her. She wiped her face off and lay there, gasping. My eye followed movement to see the credits rolling. "Your show's over," I said idly. Just then, I saw her full name in the credits. When I looked down, she was gone. | |
| Back at the screen, I saw that they showed out-takes. I couldn't really move yet, so I watched to see if Dwan was... Yep. Her scene was there. A single shot of the three characters talking. Cop. Other cop. And a woman in a business suit, a torn suit, standing there with about a gallon of come on her face, shoulders, and in her hair. I found the bra and panties later, but not the rest of her outfit. I guess that really did go back to Wardrobe. | |
| And I haven't been able to draw anyone else out of the TV since. So, like I said, I think we each get one real wish out of the universe. I got a Playmate. I hope you're just as happy that time you hoped the light wouldn't turn red, and it didn't... |