Oct 8


Dear Diary,

Many men in my past seem hollow and shallow when compared with Tony-with the exception of Ed because nobody compares to Ed.  I am talking about hollow men like Keith that speckle my past… men who would tenaciously hold on to anyone whom they thought could fill their void and make them feel whole-only to realize that I couldn't be their sustenance.  Nobody could really complete them... and in return, I quickly grew bored with them.  They had nothing to offer, not even themselves.  Tony, however, is the opposite of hollow-he is overflowing with character, wit and charm.  He's as sweet as a golden delicious apple, as quiet and deep as the Amazon River, and more thoughtful than a writer searching for the perfect descriptive simile.  A man of action more than words, but when he does speak, his voice has a rich, calming timbre that caresses every inch of me.  Oh-and the best part is that this wonderful man is now mine, my pet and my toy.

He awoke after his initial shrinking to my countenance thoughtfully watching over him.  He immediately noted two things… 1.  the overpowering scent of me mixed with his own smell of fear saturated him and 2. his helplessness.  Panic began to spread in him like a bag of popping microwave popcorn… my face loomed over him as big as a planet, his head spun around like he was a  possessed person as he surveyed his surroundings and desperately looked for an escape.  

The flashlight of my thoughts searched out the thread of connectivity between us, I wanted to illuminate his feelings and reactions to me.  Flashes, whispers of hints of his thoughts would brush against my mind only to slip quickly, quietly and elusively away from me.  His panic felt like a cold steel blade against my spine… but slowly and surely, his sensibility determinedly warmed both of us with the heat of his surprisingly intense fascination with me.  Somehow, the thought that I was so completely aroused by his size (or lack thereof) aroused him.  Pride.  That's what I was feeling in those quick flashes of his feelings.  He was proud to smell like my passion, proud that he'd been the one to turn me on so much I almost killed him.  

Stirrings of shame were the caramel swirls in the vanilla ice cream of his pride because he liked feeling helpless to me, he enjoyed me forcing him to surrender his power and to put it simply, he was nothing short of embarrassingly mesmerized at my immensity. I  found his humiliation  and humility sensually touching and I appreciated his struggle with his inner feelings because it was positive proof that I affected not only his body but also his mind.  

Ok, ok… I'm just ecstatic he HAS a mind for me to affect.  I'm hesitant to think what his fate would have been (or will be!) if I hadn't taken pleasure in him.  I felt traces of protectiveness, but in a purely selfish way.  I just wanted a toy, and right now, I wanted him as that toy because, like a Rubik's cube, he presented me with some mental stimulation… a puzzle to be solved.  I'll deal with what happens when I solve him later…

I spent the remainder of that day coddling Tony.  We were grade-school kids with a new toy, and a blossoming crush, as I experimented with making him different sizes. I asked his opinion with each change, insisting he tell me his preferences and why, despite his predilection to say, `whatever you like.'  

It's a game to me… I was playing with him, leading him down the prim rose path… slowly building his comfort and trust question by question, caress by caress… bathing him, holding him-like having a new puppy, I couldn't give him enough attention.  He thought he was building a strong and secure golden brick road of trust between us.  I was actually easily concealing the fact that his `road' was nothing but a suspension bridge with anchor points on my whim and desire.  The secrecy of my game, of my reasons for those few days of soft and sensual reacquaintance with our new relationship, was incredibly and erotically tormenting to me… like coming to the brink of an orgasm only to back off again and again and again…

Those days of gentle bonding ill prepared Tony for my birthday.  I baked myself a chocolate cake for turning a year older.  Tony stood resplendently on the waist-high deep icing, his feet sinking in the wet, sticky, chocolate quicksand, and if he had a small tuxedo on instead of being naked, he would have resembled a wedding cake topper.  I'd been playing with his size, and I had him around 1 1/2” high that day, I suppose, give or take a bit.  He had both of his small hands wrapped around the column of a candle, occasionally poking his grinning face around in a silly game of peek-a-boo with me.  I didn't blow the candle out right away, instead I wickedly watched as the flame ate at the hard wax, spitting out great globs of liquid lava that advanced towards Tony's hands like a blitzkrieg.  My lips parted, as if I was going to warn him, but the only sounds I made was a low, light whistle as I exhaled my thrill.  He peeked around the candle just then, the look on my face giving him pause… his tiny face looked up, realization coming a milli-second too late as the hot wax singed his microscopic thumbs.  His hands were glued to the candle like a tongue on a frozen flagpole until his mind finally registered “OUCH!” and he jerked backwards.  The thick icing held onto his feet like an obsessed lover, possessively refusing to acquiesce to his sudden change of direction… he plopped back on his ass, almost disappearing into the sweet goo.  The icing welcomed him like a comfortable chocolate hug, and he sat there madly shaking both hands.  His eyes were accusing tiny mudholes as he looked at me, and I savored the knowledge that I'd seriously dented his comfort zone with me.

I felt the thrill begin to accelerate my heart rate and when he flinched from the embrace of my approaching hand, a butterfly of desire fluttered in my lower belly.  I pinched one of his reddened hands between my thumb and index finger… it was so small that although I only wanted to grab his hand, most of his arm was trapped between the clamps of my fingers.  It was like separating velcro as I pulled him out of the tenacious icing.  

He didn't fight, he didn't kick… pain was a branding iron searing his shoulder as I lifted him.  Fear and surprise seized him, indecision and shock kept him motionless.  He had no idea why his world had suddenly taken a U-turn and his game plan for dealing with a situation such as this was entirely blank.  Although he was a man of action, he felt the only thing he could do at this point was wait and see what was going to happen.  He really didn't have any other choice since he was dangling from my massive grip, covered in dark chocolate icing, miles and miles above the cake.

Fear camped in his belly, with scouts of indecision and the desire to survive searching for answers about what I'd done and what I intended to do.  I held him far enough from me so that he could look up and see the sternness of my chin, and my unforgiving eyes that shone with pleasure… he drank of me and my power like an alcoholic, inebriated on the diversity of sensations he was experiencing.  There was no today, there was no tomorrow… there was only now for him.  This instant and no other.  Trust is defined as reliance and faith… and before this moment he'd grown to trust me, thanks to my careful planning.   However, now, his body was ready to explode with anticipation, excitement, horror… there was no room for innocent, naïve trust-he knew without any doubts that he was totally and completely at my mercy and whim.  Yes, he'd trusted me… but did he trust me with his physical safety, his emotional stability… with his life?  He felt the opposite of safe as he dangled from the vise of my fingers… his heart beat so fast he wasn't sure it was beating at all.

In return, my desire matched the intensity of his feelings, heartbeat for heartbeat… breath for breath.  My lust was an ocean of excitement between my thighs, waves crashing harder and higher as the tide came in.  Just like him, I had no today or tomorrow… only this moment as I held his undecided future solely in my creative thoughts.  I, too, felt inebriated on the variegated feelings I was experiencing.

I dropped him onto the palm of my other hand.  Dark flakes of icing fell around him like a chocolate mudstorm as he stood there.  We looked at each other, we looked into each other… our moment suspended in time… it may have been seconds or weeks that we simply felt each other.  And then he let go.  He let it all go… with immense relief he abandoned all dignity, responsibility, power, pride, trepidation and security.  His legs dissolved like Alka-Seltzer… he sank to his knees, lowered his humble face and lovingly kissed my palm.  Letting go freed him from his cage of mistrust and worry… and although he didn't exactly feel safe, he did feel peaceful and very energized and aroused by me-FOR me.  All of him was for me, he surrendered everything to me, content that whatever I was going to do was for my pleasure.  He took joy in being the source of my joy.  He knew his situation very well could turn tragic, but his tragedy and joy were wed in whatever fate I had planned for him… in one second, he realized and accepted this… and still kissed the face of the sun.  

I don't know if I can fully describe how his surrender made me feel.  Never before had someone I shrunk done this… and the weight of his emotions set me free as well.  His worship of me made me deliriously ecstatic-yet starved for even more.  Even though he really didn't have any other plausible choice than to do this, by voluntarily surrendering he ignited feelings in me that were exploding with more intensity than any other explosive known to man.  This wasn't love or companionship or any other mundane feeling that `normal' people have for each other… this was all of those feelings to the nth power.  This was adoration, this was complete and utter… and it was indescribably erotic, arousing and satisfying to know that not only was he my pet, but he got the same extraordinary feelings as me because he WAS my pet.  Our feelings were like a small car racing around a track, infinitely, and each time the car passed one of us, we pushed it harder, faster… feeding each other, feeding off of each other.  A circle stronger than welded steel.

Always before, with Ed, Keith or anybody, I'd tried to intimidate or instill fear.  And although it was incredibly enjoyable to watch someone cower in fear of me, these fresh feelings blew my mind.  Tony was still afraid, terrified, but above that and stronger than his fear, was the desire to please me.  He felt microscopic, overwhelmed by my size, worthless-he was clueless as to how he could possibly please me because how can a flea be pleasing?  But he was dedicating himself to the cause.

I felt huge.  Immense.  Sexy.  Powerful.  Unstoppable.  Gorgeous.  Worshipped.  I was his sun, his air, his very world, his everything.  I was dizzyingly titillated by it all.

Well, I wanted to taste him-check that, I ached to taste him, had to taste him.  I wanted to consume him, feel him slide down my throat, his head pounding each time my heart thundered around him, his essence being drawn, absorbed into me.  My mouth watered, my tongue darted to moisten my already glistening lips.  The galaxy sparkled in my hungry eyes.  The intuitive bond I had with him must have had reciprocal effects because he raised his lowered eyes and looked knowingly and frightfully at me.  He knew what I wanted.  He felt my intense, insatiable hunger.  It wasn't exactly what he wanted, actually it wasn't what he wanted at all.  Although the possibility of experiencing me in that manner made his muscles jump with excitement, he did not want to be ended.  Time was suspended at our minor test of wills, minor because both of us knew the outcome would be my, and only my, decision.

His saucer-size eyes grew to plate proportions as my fingers approached him.  The looked like flexible skyscrapers, the swirls of my fingerprint were huge, southwestern-inspired murals carved into the side.  I swallowed around the lump of desire in my throat, I felt as though I was panting like a bulldog on a July afternoon in Georgia.  I sensed, rather than saw, that his cock was as hard as a tiny hammer… his own fascination with me matching his fear, or better yet, intertwined with his fear into an amalgamation of vehement passion.  

My fingers closed around him and lifted him towards my mouth.  As he closed in on my shining, parted lips, his eyes locked on the black hole of certainty between their lush ripeness.  He felt faint, he couldn't take these feelings… they were too strong, threatening his sanity.  He wanted nothing more than to be enveloped in the promise of eternity inside me… he wanted nothing more than to fight for his survival…

God, I wanted to taste him… and his emotional struggle only made me want him inside my skin even more…

I felt him flutter against my lower lip, and I grabbed his legs between my lips, pressing them together.  A hint of chocolate trickled only the tip of my tongue.  My lips walked up him like a caterpillar until they were around his waist like a pillow-encased steel belt.  His feet felt like a tiny hailstorm against my tongue as he vainly tried to push himself out of my mouth, his small hands were insistent against my lips as he tried to propel himself completely into my mouth.  

Sweet chocolate melted from him, running across my tongue in thin slivers of happiness.  Greedily, my tongue explored his lower body, sucking at him like he was a straw.  Quite suddenly, he stopped pushing and pulling as the sensation of my rough tongue fully touched his very male maleness.  He lied half in and half out of my mouth, consternation lead to mind-boggling desire… this was like a full body blow job.  His splinter of a dick pressed against the inner side of my lower lip and his lust was a bell being rung in the bell-tower of his head.

Amusement rippled through me when he froze and the pimple of his hard-on bumped against my lips.  I rubbed against him rhythmically, miking his entire body with my tongue and lips… tickled, thrilled that even his libido was under my control.

Little by little I sucked him more and more into my mouth.  My power felt like a herd of wild horses pounding through me, my desire to consume him stampeded unchecked. My tongue wrapped around him from his torso down like a writhing, hot, wet blanket while my mouth bussed his upper body.  Wanton greed for even more power, unfulfilled thirst to dominate him totally and an indescribable hunger made my knees dissolve like the chocolate icing that clung to Tony's body.  

I sank to the kitchen floor like I was paying homage to the stove.  I balanced on the brink of hyperventilation, the taboo experience seemed to confiscate all of the air in the room… I vacillated between lover and predator… I tasted him, his fear, his desire, his adoration, his abdication, his arousal… his everything.  

My knees spread, my hands raked down my taut thighs, while flashes of fireworks popped in front of my sealed eyelids.  His whole body was in my mouth now-I pressed him to the roof of my mouth, his body flattened out to cover it like part of a retainer.  My tongue was in constant, caressing motion… attacking him relentlessly, teasingly, tauntingly taking him beyond his imagined limits of arousal… and at the same time, I challenged my own limits, brought myself to the lip of the Grand Canyon.

My juices were slippery rivulets dampening my upper thighs.  I swallowed repeatedly, thick chocolate saliva slid down my tight, parched throat.  Carnally, I ached to send him to the pit of my stomach… brutally, I longed to make him completely mine.  Feverishly, I tried to stop myself.  Instant gratification warred with long-term benefits.  The little devil on my right shoulder shouted, “Swallow him!  Swallow him!”  The little angel on my left sighed, “wait… wait…”

Almost regrettably, I reached in and plucked him out of the warm cave of my mouth.  I laid him on my palm, his spent body pulsated with aftershocks and I realized that he had orgasmed.  My chest heaved as my body tried to recover and return to a state of near-normalcy.  I tapped into his feelings, searching, seeking to determine how much I'd affected him.  All I felt from him was a staticky buzz, like a television channel when the cable has gone out.  I'd short-wired him.  Even though I hadn't reached a climax, I was proud of myself for my self-control and content with my power over him.  I couldn't end him yet… there were too many things I wanted to try with him… and the more buildup, the more the payoff… at least, I hope.

The day after my birthday was more than a little awkward with Tony, like wearing my watch on the wrong wrist or crossing my arms the opposite of my natural way.  Although he was grateful for his very life, he had a stew of other emotions he was trying to sort out.  He was embarrassed because he'd been so turned on and actually came in my mouth… the ship of trust he'd built for me had been diminished to a life jacket as he fully realized he breathed ONLY because I allowed it.  The transition from him considering himself necessary to me to understanding that, realistically, he was nothing more than a parasite was perhaps the hardest for him to accept and overcome.  The role reversal was a bitter pill for him to swallow, for he wasn't by nature very submissive or subservient, and it was an H-bomb to his ego.  I realized all of this, and had I wanted, I suppose I could have been a synergist and smoothed his ruffled feathers, but I was rather pleased with myself for putting him in this position and was happy to bask in his discontent.  He was lucky he was alive… and it quickly became apparent to him that my pleasure was paramount.  Anything contrary to that was not conducive to his remaining alive.  He couldn't wallow in any self-pity, despite his longing to do so… he had to put me before his very real and devastating feelings without demanding a thing.  At any cost to him, I was to feel worshipped and pampered.  And, let me tell you, I am eating this shit up quicker than a dripping ice cream cone.  I love it.  It was worth it to not end him just yet…