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TINY Temptation [Story] ENG/SPA by Carameltoes
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09 LITTLE PILL (M/F dark-erotica) PUBLICHis fingertip, instinctively, made connection with the precious crown of her head. The sensation was reported to him as soft as maidenly silk. He could feel the tiny articulation of her neck as she braced herself. She flickered like a baby bird. It made his insides groan. His fingers skimmed down the length of her lusciously naked body and each delicate stroke extracted a brutal backwash of saliva in his mouth. He ran his tongue through the slow-seeping venom, loving the feel, loving the sensation, loving the knowledge that he was getting hot, warm, and sticky for her. His eyes rolled up. This, all of this…,Swallow Me, Like Your Little Pill---A female pill addict tries to vainly outwit, outlast, outsex a violent demonic "monster." Because he prefers his pills lady-shaped.This is a visceral dark-erotica novel that goes way beyond the vampire bite.Warning/Promise: Extreme depth of field; extreme macro/micro perspective; psychological torment; vore implication; digestion implication; fatal/non-fatal implicationThis is the public version (yes; it's the tame version) To see the X-Rated versionBuy lifetime access to the X-Rated Gallery (for all volumes, books, editions)Subscribe to this tier and get it by default Buy the PDF 09 - Glass Jars For Broken Boys & Bitter BitchesThe road to a woman’s love is through torment – DeSadeDANNYHe looked down at his cell phone; back up. Something caught his attention. Something flickered at the liminal edge of his vision. Something had, oh – Heather. She was waking. Heather looked like a tiny, dispossessed goddess beautifully scalloping the edges of a crystal tunnel. Under the romantic glow of this, he composed his response. You should see her, his brain churned up in excitement, echoing the words that also flowed from his typing fingers, She’s perfection. A real performance, a real drama was unfolding between his hands and he simply could not pass up the opportunity to make a manuscript of his thoughts.A response dinged back. And his thoughts churned.And they expanded, extending into the moment that was growing more taut, more beautiful, more romantic by the moment, as his little Thumbelina began to pivot around her prison. And this perfection continued as she flicked open her eyes and they lighted upon him. Summoned by her sultry stare, he moved silently into the moment like a shadow suspended on sand. To the glass jar, he went. His cell phone dinged again.The spell broke. He looked down. He pattered another response against the keys. He was now regretting this. He had only meant to kill time as he waited for his tiny princess to awaken, but, somehow, with each iteration things had… begun to dissolve. This dissolution rankled him. He clutched the jar. Hostility curled his fingers. His nails scraped against the glass with a nasty shriek as he turned the anger, like a blunt instrument, onto Heather. Fuck you.HEATHERAnd, something large, something monstrous, something with shape and density was rising up from the ground, flesh-toned, from beyond her crystalline wall. Heather exploded into panic, battering her body against her detention. The large emerging entity, the continent that swam into her visual field was him; he was a miasma of gigantism. Heather made a strangled sound, clawing. Pinging away from the barricade, she fell to her knees. The extrusion, the flesh-toned geometry was a head, and its face was level with her. Only a thin condensing breath fogging the jar separated them. The walls of her universe reflected a sudden bronze dimension of color. It took her a moment to understand, but it was his hand: his hand was cupping the jar. She stared at it in horror. He was so massive he could radically change her dimension. Each line in his palm was like tectonic shift. She shriveled down. Please. And it was a cry --DANNY--that would go unheeded as he reached two fingers deeply into the jar. Just a touch, he told himself. His fingertip, instinctively, made connection with the precious crown of her head. The sensation was reported to him as soft as maidenly silk. He could feel the tiny articulation of her neck as she braced herself. She flickered like a baby bird. It made his insides groan. His fingers skimmed down the length of her lusciously naked body and each delicate stroke extracted a brutal backwash of saliva in his mouth. He ran his tongue through the slow-seeping venom, loving the feel, loving the sensation, loving the knowledge that he was getting hot, warm, and sticky for her. His eyes rolled up. This, all of this…He bent his neck, parted his mouth, and with a calculable push of his tongue, ejaculated long, thick, heavy strands of saliva from him that snapped wetly from his teeth and lips. He canted his head, draining himself. He drooled haughtily into Heather’s small, cramped space. He climaxed saliva into her. More, and more. He rained sheets of it on her, in her, through her.HEATHERHer universe darkened. She looked up. It was a large, dusky-pink tectonic plate. It held tremendous character. It was engraved with fine texture, fine lines, with large, corded phallic ribbons underside. Each cobblestone was raised, reaching for her. She gaped in astonishment as she suddenly assigned meaning to what panned across her vision. His tongue. She could hear it moving, creating a wet shlick as it projected from his mouth, glossing over his bottom lip. Even the sound of this movement held a commanding sense of power. She, so small, felt flattened under the acoustic band. Instinctively she shrank back from the large, tapered tip that hung threateningly low, shrouding her head. The saliva surging from it was like unholy water, but worse; it was heavy, clinging, and it congealed to her skin, her hair, smearing itself until it became a heavy, waxy baptismal secretion. Each dense collision crumpled her. She sank toward her knees in sticky bondage as saliva pumped into the jar.DANNYSeeing her shine in his musk extracted excitement from him. His stomach emitted a tactless groan. Heather was lacquered, shining mutedly like a dying star and it was so fucking beautiful. Seeing her enveloped in his film of secretions… God, it did things to him. Another wave of contractions went through him. She did things to his body, too. With a snapped off sound he withdrew, and shunted his cell phone to the side in silent rebuke. Man, I’m empty. If he could extract his organs and englove her in them, he would.HEATHERHer face twitched away, in shock, as the salivary droplets left comet after-trails of hot moisture. It stung. A faint vaporous cloud of humors; of something bitter and acidic wafted through the thin air of the jar. Fine particulate from his stomach floated like sequins. Her head sank into her hands. He was inverting his insides, thrusting them upon her. He was eating her. Somehow, with inches of glass between them, he was eating her. Heather felt an instinctive pang, understanding this. She had robbed him of the ability to eat her by cunningly ingesting her pills, so he responded with equal cunning: eating her through deconstruction. Without even needing to touch her. She watched him: he moved in a snap-quick movement, picking up his cell phone. Heather blinked surprise from her eyelashes. Before, she had been in a poor visual sightline to witness this, so it was the first time she had seen him looking at his cell phone. He made a face, did a double take, then a third at the appliance.Heather’s skin crawled. This anger isn’t at me. This… this is whatever is going on in Danny land. He’s just.. .he’s taking it out on me… he – His lips were perfectly lined up with the mouth of the jar. She saw straight up his muscled tongue. The telescoping darkness peeled back as light spangled into his mouth, harshly illuminating the architecture of his throat. It peeled open in a kinetic jounce of his uvula, that hung like a red pendant before the liquid-black plunge of his esophagus. And all that viscera, that fine grasping detail, suddenly crowned open in an elastic insectile snap of tendon.Heather’s teeth smashed together in a paroxysm of fear. They had moved from eating to digesting. He jerked forward, stretching his mouth wide, which, necessarily, poured more light into his body, and in stunning detail she saw his esophagus flicker open, red and lurid like a rictus red smile – “PEACE.”Heather flung her arms out. Though they were weighed down by his drying saliva, in crucifixion, seeing his body peel open peeled her from her paralysis. Please, no, God no, I can’t… I just… She suddenly did not trust that the pills would stave him off. He closed his mouth with a snap that thrummed in her bones. “Peace?” he echoed back, hollowly. It took her a troubled second, a troubled infinity of seconds to realize that the thrum in her feet, the heat skimming over her head was the product of him speaking.So, she answered him: “PLEASE, PEACE. I’M IN PEACE – I COME IN PEACE. I… PLEASE.” He continued with a bilious rasp, “Peace? You come in peace?” Heather just stared. His voice was the same, yet different. It was deep and drowning: a tangible emanation that she could melt into and turn to vapor. It rolled over her in a tangible blast of heat as he shouted down into the walls of her detention. She could smell something acrid on his breath. His insides, roiling: empty, and wanting callously for her to fill them. “PLEASE - “I don’t. I don’t come in peace. But, you? YOU?” He snarled. “You: you come in pieces, Heather.” He clutched the jar, ripped it from the table, and shook it. Vertigo rocketed through her. Her visual field swung wildly around, the living room becoming a diffusive streak of colors, as she hurtled around the circumference, her eyes lurching worryingly into the corners of their sockets.Stillness snapped over her. She tumbled backward. “PLEASE DON’T – “SHUT UP,” he roared. “Shut up shut up shut up.” Heather froze. It was the same mantra he screamed when he raped her, three-hundred and sixty – He struck it back onto the table, and violently inverted it. Heather’s stomach flipped, her teeth bearing concussive force in her skull, retinas kindling a white-burst as she violently ejected, landing ugly on the table. This was a new rape. This was… Her ribs knit together in pain. She rolled onto her side. A shape cleaved forward; she felt the air part before she saw it: his hand smashing down. Oh no. Heather smashed her eyes shut with equal ferocity. The force rebounded, shuddering through the plates of her skull. But no pain visited her. Wildly, she looked around. His hand was domed over her like a tent; his fingers springy and bent to prevent bodily collision. She peered through the aperture of them, and an eclipsing shadow encroached, coming down from the heavens: his face. Heather spasmed backward. “…you’re scaring me… you’re really…please…” she blabbered. “Boy, Heather, are you lucky you’ve got those pills pumping through your system right now, otherwise you’d be pumping through mine.” “You don’t mean.. you.. “I DO.” He shrieked. Danny’s voice was breaking. And when Danny’s voice broke, things broke.Namely: me, Heather’s brain churned up in a hostile snap. She knew to appease to him; she knew to be quiet; she clenched her jaw shut. And the pill buoyed up. It galvanized her. It made her brave. It made her brave in stillness; in silence. Let him rant and rave. Let him work it out of his system. This is still Danny. Just Bigger Danny. And, true to his character, he continued: “I DO, HEATHER, I MEAN IT.” He thumped his chest. “I’M TIRED OF PRETENDING.” His eyes roved over her. She could hear them click wetly in their sockets. “YES I WANT TO EAT YOU. YES I WANT TO MELT YOU.” He slapped his cell phone; it pinwheeled, landing exactly where it first rested. He looked at it almost in comical rage. Sobering, and with less break, less abrasive scratch to his voice: “I… fuck.” His face wilted down.The inertia pulled her head up. He was looking at his cell phone again. His pupils flickered in habituation, reading. Heather slowly peeled herself away from the table. She lolled her head back. And she looked at him. He emerged before her, his head ducking to peer at her. And all of him, like the monolithic face of a statue, was staggeringly large. And like a devotee standing before the grandness of a cathedral, she could not see all of him; she could not hope to contain him in the steady universe of her singular gaze. She could only meditate on one of his features at a time. His eye, his nose, his mouth. His mouth. That’s a hot mouth, she remembered thinking once upon a time, when first they met. And it had been so innocent, but, even then, Heather had remembered feeling this strange, incipient pull toward his mouth. And for no small reason. His mouth was inherently attractive; sexual. The top lip crowned the bottom with a distinct cupid-bow shape. And his smile had a slow, stalking insistence to it. It was slightly off-center, which broke up what would otherwise be a very white and disarming smile. But, that off-kilter smile, paired as it were with the deep-set cut of his brow, gave him the appearance he looked perpetually, pathologically disinterested, yet slyly amused. And, if it was his pale eyes that commanded attention, it was his mouth that held it – it drew the eye to an even-featured face that was cupped by high, dramatic cheekbones. Normally, such features would have made a man look smooth, fresh, and earnest, ready to be the darling of the media circuit; instead, there was a touch more angularity to him - to his jaw, his chin - that made him look intriguingly feral. And once upon a time, Heather had enjoyed his feral sex appeal; but, now – now it was a token reminder that he could lap her into his mouth with his long red tongue. And she could - and could not - stop staring at his mouth. She could see the shape of it in arresting detail: the tiniest of stitching in the plush density of his lips; the wet glossy gleam of saliva at the corners, and the hollow of his jaw that contoured outward into an angular canyon. Heather swallowed dryly. I’m small. I’m really small. Smaller than I thought. This… this is the size for eating. She comes in peace, she says,” he remarked with a haughty huff. “Yeah, right. You fucking shot me, bit me, and slapped me – oh, and, let’s not forget, peed on me, too.”“Some people pay good money for that.” Danny snorted a wild, uncontrollable laugh. “STOP, Heather. Fuck. I’m trying to stay mad at you.” His cell phone dinged. He looked down at it in autonomic spasm; then back at her. Something wrinkled across his face. The pill pushed through her bloodstream like a bilious toxin. “You raped me; tried to eat me; drooled on me and belched in my fucking face. We’re even-steven…and not to mention what you did to Tammy.” He flicked an eyebrow at her in stoic response. His fingers slid forward and expertly skimmed under her, and the kinetics necessarily transferred her to his palm. He lifted her. Her stomached knocked up into her ribs. This can’t be real.In a clutch of sensory information, everything fell away. The table; the earth; gravity. Vertigo banked her sideways, and necessarily wrenched her eyes to the side, but his fingers gently curled, protecting her from the fall. He held her level with his face. Mesmerized, Heather stepped closer on the expanse of his palm. She forgot to avoid the cracks. She forgot to be afraid. The pill bobbed defiantly inside her. She looked at him in silent rebellion. “Peeing on me? Shooting me? I’ve killed others for less.” he murmured. Heather stiffened. She looked up at him in disbelief. And for a brief second she forgot to be afraid. She forgot to waste away. Her fear was so mounting that she forgot to feel it. But adjacent to her primitive tremble was a secondary thought, and it was quickly forming: she had come full circle. This – all of this – had an eerie book-end symmetry feel. It was as though the very endoscopy videos she had obsessed over, night after night, frame after fame, had prepared her for this. That everything prior to this encounter had been an unironic dress rehearsal for what now transpired; that it had all been building, inexorably, toward this. It was a sort of regressive logic, but it made sense, because, intellectually, she knew those endoscopy videos had been endowed with not just eroticism, but also by an unspoken, critical element that was infinitely more important: Scale. Those video captures, those stilted frames, those wide-angle shots into the crevices of the human body were only possible for its voyeuristic audience if everything was being projected, and seen, from the sightline of a tiny person. And in the clutch of that sensory cacophony, bombarded by video after video, Heather had - if only subconsciously - armored herself against such a monstrosity of scale by deeply entrenching herself in it. She had become practiced at seeing the human body at this dimension because she had observed it by proxy, day by day. Which is why she was mildly okay with this. For if he wasn’t human in function, he most certainly was in appearance. If he was scaled, or feathered, or devil-horned, it was only by great metaphor. And, true to being a man, he was in dire conflict with something on his phone and that angst was bleeding over into their interaction.This though, was surreal. True, no video could have properly interpreted the lush detail of what she was now seeing, but the spirit of it - the calculus of it - remained the same: she was a tiny woman, at a tiny scale, placed before her divided devil that could thread her into the holes of his body like the lens of an endoscope– the very lens that had not-so ironically peered down, in brilliant refraction, into the rabbit hole: introducing her to a world that should have never manifested. But here she was. Naked, raw, standing before him. In a tangible flicker of intimate grace, they met eyes. It was the fantastical stasis of a moment: predator and prey sighting one another. “I’m meeting you for the first time,” she said in a small voice. She suddenly banked forward, riding his palm: his face advancing. But, it was at eye-level he held her. And one of those large pale eyes rolled down, like a marble, to examine her with a wet click. She could see the haze of the hunter, but there was a more sentient flicker about the pupil. His thick eyelashes fluttered, casting small disturbances in the air. She watched, in the black corona of it, her reflection, and in this Escher painting, this impossible perspective, she saw herself as he would have: a lily-white Madonna with a halo of black hair, beautifully reborn from within the corona of his eyes. His eyes. And didn’t pine over them like a lovestruck maiden; this felt religious, eternal. She was mesmerized by how beautiful his eyes actually were, certain in that moment that she had never appreciated colors - of any shade - until now, in her diminished state. Had she always been this deaf, this blind to such an aching, beautiful universe? Was she always this unaware? Was she always this Godless? Was she looking upon the face of an Angel? A Devil? A God? Was he right? Was etymology the only natural barrier between demons and saints? Heather took a deep, shuddery breath. It felt inadequate, even sophomoric, but she couldn’t stop the sudden feels. “Please, don’t hurt me. Please… can we just fucking… I’ve never had anyone do that for me. Jump into a fucking gun. I’m sorry I shot you. It was a mistake.. it… I….but, that should be a conversation,” she breathed. “That’s at least a few words.” A sadness whisked inside her, but it was immediately buoyed by a sense of incredulity. How could a secret of this magnitude be kept from her, for so long? How had she not met him - sharing hearth and home, secrets and flesh - until now? She suddenly felt giddy, on the verge of hysteria. The pill was fully saturating her now. She actually grinned. It was the grin of a madwoman, and that eye looked at her, intrigued. This, all of this was hiding plainly and plainly hiding and she had not known. To think, all this time, her ex-lover could transform into a false God. How could she - him - it - be so closeted from this possibility ? Her eyes skimmed the protrusion that was his chin, and they drifted to the side suddenly preoccupied by a splash of color – And orange and yellow leaves swirled around her feet, as fragrant and vibrant as the flames crackling from over his shoulders – and the image did not create one of a devil basking in an inferno, but rather, it created the vision of a man standing stolidly before an open hearth, a man standing by the romantic glow of the fire; a man that had been searching for something that had been so absent from his fingers – that they had closed over hers in the cool autumn air, and — Who had said it? And, Heather knew. And she knew it so well that it was embarrassing she had not known it sooner. Struck, all fear fell away. As a high-functioning addict, she shouted: “Revenge porn?!” She threw her arms out, laughing into the high peaks of hysteria. “Is that what all of this is?! This is fucking revenge porn? You’re on a goddamn revenge kick because I never said it back? Is that what you needed to hear? Is that what you needed to feel? Is that why you lost your fucking marbles? Is this revenge kick all because I never said it back?” She looked at his large green eye; it was flat. Even the long dense lashes seemed to withdraw in a sweep of parting air. “Y-you thought I didn’t love you back then? Seriously, Danny? Like, seriously? I did, I absolutely did. You’re just.. hard to love. You’re really, really hard to love. You’re… I don’t think you realize how violent you are. And… you hurt me. A lot. But… I hurt you a lot, too. And oh my god I can’t believe we’re having this conversation when I’m, like, three inches tall and you’re standing in front of me like half a moving solar system. Shit.” She interpreted the contractile movement in his eye to be involuntary shock. “Can you control it?” An eyebrow sloped down over that stunning pale eye. She intuited it to mean he was prompting her for clarification. Heather could feel herself almost lost in the radiant paleness of his eye. “I-I think it’s cause I’m still kinda high right now that I’m holding my shit together, because you’re huge and.. and you were gonna literally puke on me. But, can you control it? The… the… behavior; like that lizard brain of yours… you have to on some level, cause I’ve seen you doin’ life pretty normally… I’ve seen you at social gatherings, your company…” Heather gave him a cross look (or at least attempted to project herself toward that green eye). “That’s what makes it ugly, Danny. You can control it. But you didn’t, not with me.” The entire side of his face nearest to her was inert. Even that large pale eye did not evince movement. And a more-quiet realization joined her thoughts then: If can bust through that strong prey-dive, I might actually survive this. And if she did? If she were to survive? What unholy trauma, what fall-out would she experience from this? But she had not the luxury to meditate on this because Heather had to survive. This she knew. And she knew it well because she was – as always - a survivor. Through sheer will alone Heather pushed back. A woman made weapon, she sought to slay Goliath with only her wit, and her moxie. Heather continued, “And you know what makes it even more ugly?” The eye had intent now, it was examining her. He’s listening, she said to herself. “That you decided for me.” And, his black pupil – so fixedly trained on her – violently expanded like a midnight sun.She had made her master stroke. She had driven him back with a verbal bludgeoning. She had found grace because she had lain at his feet the most terrifying thing of all: possibility.His head withdrew (but only by half). Heather interpreted this new fractional distance to mean he was now interested in looking at her more cohesively, and with the increased space between them her eyes could pan, with more ease, over his face. In a blunted, but euphoric ripple of narcotic-sedation she stared up at her captor in peaking awe: he was stunning. His face was deceptively, timelessly handsome. The overhead light bounced off the thin gold chain around his neck. It was inlaid with intricate symbols, casting the lower half of his face in a shallow, yellow luminance. And on that face, a story was playing out. He had the keen look of a bored immortal that had just been roused to sudden wakefulness. His little worshiper – a woman that had been claimed by him, shaped by him, destroyed by him the moment she was worthy of his attention – was standing at the mouth of his temple, tip-toeing closer to get a glimpse of his majesty. He saw her as a plaything to be contained. A curiosity to be tormented. He was a child-god that would pop her in his mouth for no other reason than he could – “Danny,” Heather gasped. “Are you a demon?” Something was scratching at the underside of her brain. Something vital and important; but it fled her because the pill blocked her higher faculties. But she had not the wisdom to meditate on this, because Heather’s be-deviled God was full of caprice, and she had said something that amused him because he was tilting his head in a curiously-feral gesture, and speaking. “Maybe.” He smiled thinly at her. And it wasn’t until this very (strained) moment did she realize that it had been some time since he last spoke. So, she was relieved when he spoke again: “This is different.” Heather eyed him warily. “Different how?” He made a languid movement; stopped. “I can almost forget.” “Forget what?” “I can almost, almost forget that you’re prey.” “No,” she lowed. “I’m not. I’m not prey.” He gave her a patently amused look. It spoke for him. “No,” Heather pronounced. “Prey is a mindset. I’m not, and never will be, prey.” She met him pupil-for-pupil. She held it; commanded it. Bend, you motherfucker, fucking bend His eyes held her, unmoving. Pale and alien. But there was a sudden flicker of interest across his face. “No…” Heather stiffened toward him. Bend. “I think… you might be onto somethin’ here.” They were in agreement, but, something about his manner made her inch back. “I think you’re right. I think… you’re more than that. You’re a whole new… concept. A concept I need to,” he interjected a pleased, aroused sound. “Play with more.” Something had turned, something had changed, and she couldn’t tell if it was to her favor. Now, he looked less like a protrusion of parts and – suddenly – more like “her” Danny: slowly emerging, slowly familiar. And she didn’t like it. And the tone he spoke with, she didn’t like that either. To play with her — she twisted her lip between her teeth. It was a curious choice of words. She was hedging the quantum of her life against his amusement. But what, exactly, did that entail? She reached out a hand toward him, seeking connection; stopped. It was like trying to touch a mountain on the horizon. Heather could sense the panorama developing around them. Him: hovering above her, faintly amused, ready to make mischief with her tiny body with his tongue that peeked from the corner of his mouth. Her: small and trembling, wrapped in his predatory inertia, athletically holding his fingers. And that’s what made it uncomfortable, she realized. It suddenly looked too much like him. The familiarity was overriding and overcoming her mental sequestration Heather’s teeth clattered together as she repeated the taunt in her mind. Play. Would she slip inside him and disappear? Or would he knot himself around her in a slaughter-hug? Suddenly, it didn’t feel like she’d plink harmlessly off his teeth to retreat into the pit of him. That felt too simple. Too expedient. Because she knew, only as a madwoman could, that this wasn’t transactional, because there was an erotic softness etched around the lines of his mouth. To it she looked, then the planes of his face. Under the hollows of his cheekbones was a visible impression of his jaw anatomy: she could see masseter muscles. The dense, powerful chewing muscles. On him, they were over-developed, and they flexed even in the stillness. Once, they had been twin advertisements of his masculinity; now, they were twin reminders of stigmatized evil purpose. They were bands of muscle that commanded a snarl of teeth. Mastication. It was, her brain chirruped, only a few letters off masturbation. And that’s what’s going to happen to me. Heather realized. That’s what this is. This is… this is a form of mental masturbation. Heather tumbled the thought in her brain. It was strangely on-brand for her divided devil. His proclivities, like the rest of him, went staggeringly deep. How involved was this, exactly? He’s dark. But she had always known that, hadn’t she? In her previous life, she had turned a blind eye to his darkness because it had inconvenienced her. But, something like this, it never remained hidden, did it? Or, at least, not for long. It had a funny way of presenting itself. In conversation, in lewd humor, in — Metaphor. What had first been a metaphor, now morphed into blood, bone, and predatory inertia. Because something as ugly as this could not contain itself. Eventually it would have to rouse; to surface; to stretch its tendons and hunt. Heather wished that it was something as simple as that: a dark beast coming to roost; stalking her; hunting her, ingesting her in rote, clinical obligation. Not this. Not this man-beast that fantasized about slowly, calculably torturing her, extracting sadistic pleasure from every dimple in her body. How bad was it? The compulsion? You know, Heather’s brain mocked. You know damn well. Danny took everything to its extreme. He had to take everything to its extreme; to its inner tendon; to shave it close to the bone. He liked pleasure; he liked pain; he liked release. And if his limbic system was a dizzying ouroboros of pleasure — it would be her head in his jaws.And he’d shave that close to the bone, too. “Play with me,” she repeated hollowly. Now what Heather-Feather. You bought some time but at what cost? No, fuck this. I need to live. I need to.. to see what’s on your damn phone. I need to see what rattled you so badly you forgot to fucking eat me. But how would she ever hold his phone at this size? She looked down at her tiny, tiny hands. “Hey,” she breathed, “I need to… you need to… you need to put me back to normal.” “You look normal to me. In fact, you’re the way you should be.” The anger that ticked inside her, surprised even her; there had been something so demeaning about that taunt Heather couldn’t help but feel absurdly offended by it. “The way I should be?” Heather returned, but this time with more color, more conviction. It rankled her, being told the type of woman she should be, three inches or no. She wasn’t daddy’s perfect little virgin, and she certainly wasn’t at her Catholic Best when she was with Danny, but God did she ever come alive when they crossed words, just as they did now. (And so did he). And here she held her breath, her head swimming with a strange suicidal urge to clapback —— and thankfully this had the effect of creating a large, dramatic pause rather than an apprehensive stall-out, because he was fixed on her, watching, when she blurted: “You know what. Fuck it. Fuck all of it. I’m tired. I’m sick and tired and exhausted and, just — fine. I get it. You want to eat me? Do it. I’d rather fucking die than be told what to do, or what I’m supposed to be.” “You would,” he remarked. “You absolutely fucking would. You’d rather die than be controlled.” She slung back with a dismissive: “I get it. I’m hot, I’d eat me, too.” Danny tipped a mildly surprised look at her. She raised an arch eyebrow up at him. “It’s a sex thing, Danny. It’s always a sex thing. I’m not stupid. I’m not gonna pretend to have figured it out, but, yeah, it’s like they say: what you repress, you end up expressing sideways. And I can’t think of anything more sideways than trying to eat your fucking girlfriend. OR PUKE ON HER IN A JAR.” “Now I’m definitely not going to eat you: I don’t do your bidding.” “Well, then you can relate,” she responded churlishly. “I’d rather die than be controlled.” “Oh, but how can I resist,” he responded in a low, intimate voice. And Heather had not the luxury to meditate over this further, when something advanced. The shadow of it stole the words from her. It was a shape that was familiar to her, that she understood, just as it moved closer, in an eye-blink of movement to be — --his finger — as it curled around her waist in a bronze crescent. Her entire existence, her entire being contracted down to this: this wrinkle in time in which nothing else existed except for his finger around her tiny, naked waist. It was a peculiar reflex, but she found her tiny, tiny hands touching his. Her small fingers, like delicate petals, overlaid his. There was something poetic about it. And she could appreciate how romantic it was, if it were not for the fact his barbaric finger could crush her. A single contraction of muscle could buckle her. But, instead of fretting over the possibility of his violence, she studied the shape of his finger from the bed of his nail, down to the rise of his knuckle with medicated intensity. All the engraved lines in his skin stood out like demarcation in the sand. “This is such a turn-on,” he remarked quietly. “You know what I can do. What I want to do. And ‘cause I know all of that is rattling around inside your head, too, it makes it even more hot.” His finger, around her perfectly small waist, curled down to create a perfect apostrophe on top of her vulva. The physicality of it was stunning. His finger was so large – and she so small – the raised matrix of his skin stimulated her. A small sound escaped her, but she observed an opening. Into it she thrust. “This is why,” Heather gasped, “This is why you can’t kill me. Because, if you do, if-if you do, you don’t just snuff me out, but you snuff out what’s in my head, too.” The slow, indulgent movement over her vulva stopped. The maiden overlaid her tiny, tiny fingers on the beast’s large claw in a gentle perversion of an olive branch. "I… I’m going to be forever changed by this, Danny. I can’t… I can’t go back to normal. I saw what you can do, I saw what’s out there. They say, if you’re gonna sup with the devil, you need a long spoon, but they don’t tell you what to do when the devil comes to sup on you. There’s no off-ramp for that; there’s no exit strategy. How the fuck do I return to normal after this, Danny? And how do you get rid of someone that’s… that’s… seen the darkest side of you and — “Don’t,” he cut across. And the acoustics of his voice developed into something Heather would characterize as an undervoice - a faint, secondary voice that overlapped his primary one with a metallic rasp. It lapped against her like the scrape of gravel. It was inhuman. But it was him. Heather gripped his finger in an autonomic spasm. “Don’t,” he continued in that binaural voice, “pretend that you’re okay with any of this.” A snarl carved into the lips, revealing the contours of his flushed gumline, and below that, the solid overhang of teeth. Each tooth was horrifically visible, a matte gloss reflecting off the enamel, down to the edged tips. Heather’s head ticked down. The sight of all that anatomy moving was briefly - but powerfully - nauseating. An undulation through the jaw muscles, an expansion of the keyhole in his lips to flash a sickle of teeth: these were the gears of war that he brought to this battle. But she brought something more powerful: honesty. And she would bear it like a blade. “I’M NOT,” she shot back heatedly. “I’m not okay with any of this. I’m definitely fucking not. I’m so not okay with this, that I’m the not-okayest okayest of this I could possibly be. I’m not even going to pretend. I don’t know if I ever will be okay with this… but somehow I’m not surprised? Somehow this feels like you. Even now, this is… this is you. This is totally something you’d do. I’m just surprised you haven’t popped a cup over me sooner.” Danny looked down at her. Off his look: “I talk a lot.” He barked a laugh. “I’ll admit, I’ve thought about it.” He remarked coyly. His voice was normal again. “But, seriously.” Heather continued with sudden graveness. “Three hundred and sixty — fuck, however long it is — it took me three hundred and sixty-something days to - to finally talk about-about your needs in a real way. But… but here I am.” And she folded down on herself, frowning. “I get you,” she spat. “I do. I ran from you all this time, all to be back at the start. I went over last year in my head a thousand times. I remember everything. Everything. And I still - I - it wasn’t what you did that made me so… so fucking upset. I’m upset because you did everything you did and then you pretended nothing happened between us; like it was no big deal. But I know that isn’t true. And you know that isn’t true. What happened between us was a Big Fucking Deal. All capital letters. And it was a Big Fucking Deal 'cause you’ve been tripping over your dick to get me a whole year later. And, here I am, in front of you, three fucking inches tall and there’s a part of you that’s still terrified of me.” He turned his head away in an abbreviated movement. "So, eat me,” she challenged. “But, make it good, hot-shot, since you know you can only do it — DANNYOnce.He could only have her once. The word pounded in his neck. His brain. It had power, a shape all its own. He looked at her, suddenly aware of her size. And, oh, how aware of it he was. So tiny. So very, very tiny. His vagus nerve twitched. But… what if he edged himself? Just a taste, he told himself. And he curled his fingers around her, tenderly pulling her closer, lapping his tongue against her taut, supple body. It was performative, because she still carried the taste of the narcotic, but it still felt alarmingly good to feel her pretty body depress into his tongue. “Let me let you in on a little secret,” he murmured. “A man should be terrified of his woman.”He held her eye-level. It was like something out of the childhood canon he was raised on. Lust devoured Pride. “But, you’re not wrong,” he murmured. “It would be a shame to get rid of the only lady-prey that’s been keeping my secrets.'” HEATHERHeather was a woman. Flesh and blood, heart, and soul. Yet, Danny held her easily, as though her entire self could be folded up into a receptacle. As though she could be deposited into the box of his obscene needs. Was she willing to welcome them? All of them? Every single last one? He had given her a glimpse of what lay beyond. His compulsion be damned, his existence meant that he belonged to an intricate system, a constellation of possibilities that should have only been stamped on the inside pages of a dark fairytale. And she wanted to be a part of that tale, not lost in its footnote. And if Beast had tried to devour Beauty? She considered his question. Could she allow him to bring countless women into his body? Likely even his bed just to make the act that much more sensational? What of her? Could she forgive him for his sins? Worse: could she carry them? Did it matter? Did it really? Should she shed any sympathy for those that weren’t clever enough to outwit or outsex her demon? Tammy? He brain whispered plaintively. Was she already returning back to him: his world? “I know, I know,” she said sadly, “You want to play with me. But… that’s the thing of it, isn’t it? That’s what you always do. You take. And you take, and you take, and you take. Why not, for once… let someone give? Why not, for once, let me give to you? Sure: you can have me. You can take from me, you can take me, just like you normally would. But that’s the same energy, that’s the same vibe. Why not let me try to give? I can try to give you space… I can try to give you understanding. I can try, maybe, one day to try and willingly…” She couldn’t even say it; it pained her. The thought of giving herself willingly to his jaws was overwhelming. DANNYAnd he had taken to this new turn of events with a new sensation. He liked holding her in his hand; it felt overwhelmingly precious to him. He canted his head to the side and listened. He felt like he had scented something indeterminable in the wind. But he heard her; he listened. He always listened whenever Heather spoke, because, whenever Heather spoke it was always interesting. She’d give herself to him willingly? Jesus, that’d drain the Holy Ghost out of him. Startled, he deflected with a harsh: “I don’t need your consent.” “No,” he heard her say in a small, simple voice Her diminished body produced a diminished chirp as she spoke. (Holy shit that’s cute). “But that’s the one thing you can’t take. Nobody can. You can’t take consent.” She wasn’t wrong. He licked his lips; stretched his jaw in a quick frenetic pulse of excitement. It would be - as she said - a different energy. It would be a vibe that was impossible to generate unless it was authentic. It was like she had taken a stick to his mind and bashed it open. All the saliva had wicked from his mouth. Suddenly, he was dry. “Why,” was all he croaked. HEATHER“Because, I want to live, and you want to-to… cram me into-into your obscene box. You want to, um, eat me, so-so why don’t we make a role play of it. So, why not… you know, try and-and, I guess, endoscopy me?” And the moment - the precise moment he understood - he ran his hand over his face; his mouth. He whipped his head away; back. (The movement buffeted air against her) “Fuck, Heather. Fuck.” “That means you… you don’t go.. all the way.” She licked her dry lips. “We.. we have to work something out... like… we.. you know, don’t… hurt me.” She trailed off. “I’m tired of contracts,” he groused. “But, fuck it. What’s one more.” He held his free hand out in mock placation. “Continueth, Heather.” Heather did not understand his odd statement so she chalked it up to some sort of media reference she didn’t quite understand. “I guess? I mean… I guess we kinda have to come to some understanding? Like, don’t take things too far. Or go fucking apeshit on me. … but, whatever. I don’t want normal, Danny. I never did. There’s gotta be more to life than nine-to-five, and-and watching the dishes pile in the sink… I… don’t want any of that. I,” her throat tightened. “You know me. You know how I love those Beauty and the Beast stories where the girl gets her beast. Well, maybe, deep down Beauty did want to be eaten. Maybe, maybe not. And, maybe, deep down Beast wanted to eat Beauty. Who knows. All I know is- is that if I have to go back to the flower shop, and p-pay taxes, and scroll social media, and pretend that none of this happened, none of this was real, if I have to walk around like a fucking zombie talking about the fucking Kardashians, pretending that none of this happened — I’d go fucking crazy. I’d go absolutely bonkers. I’d kill you, or myself. I’d rather fucking die and have that knowledge die with me than try and go back to normal…” She took a deep breath. “Bad news, Kitten. I’ve watched the Kardashians.” “Danny, no – “Although, in my defense, it was an eight-hour flight –“ “Still – “Eight hours flying does things to a man.” “EIGHT HOURS OF KARDASHIANS?!” “NOT ALL AT ONCE.” “That’s no defense! God, you always had the worst taste in shows.” He laughed. And, this time, he didn’t turn his head to mask it. “But,” she continued in a sad, strained voice, the hysterics of the situation carrying her through: “I’m tired. I’m really, really tired. I’m tired of pretending I’m strong right now. I’m not. I’m weak. And I’m scared. And I have to pee…” “Again?!” “Yes?!” “What’s it with you chicks always peeing?!” “I don’t know?! But, shut up: listen. I just want us to reset. I don’t know what that looks like. Or how it’s done.” She began to cry silently, “But we have to figure it out. Otherwise, we’re gonna end up toe-tagging one another. I mean, you jumped into a gun for me. I’m… I think… I need to give you another chance. But, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for both of us. I’m sorry for every damn thing. I’m sorry you’re locked into this damn addiction like I’m locked into mine, and I just…” “I never said it was an addiction.” She shrugged. “You didn’t need to. From one addict to another: I know.” Heather re-doubled the hold on his finger. “Eat me, or don’t. I don’t care anymore. I just need to… I just.” she looked at him with sad, wounded eyes. “Maybe I can –we— can handle this better now, knowing we’re both locked into some strange oral fixation. That we’re both operating under addiction.” He gently returned her to the table. The vertigo slammed her eyes shut. But, there was a movement, a sensation of lift. Which compelled her eyes to open so that she could see — and what she saw startled her enough that she tumbled off the table – – normal – but before she could land, his arms went around her waist. There was shock: and she was not sure from which body it was generated. She looked at his arm looped around her – just as it was, a year ago when they dozed on the couch together – to protect her from her plummet, and she did not have time to contemplate if it was affection that had motivated him – or instinct – because she was reaching for the cell phone on the table, and she knew to gingerly grab, pluck with forefinger and thumb, and cunningly slip it into her hand before he could notice. She shielded the theft in the pantomime of their embrace. Gotcha.Story Direction: This chapter will take on new meaning in Glass Ballerina, in Volume II. (We will get there, in time, to show the circular story). Next: Story lines start to merge.
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Rolinga Gigante | Out of control by Sole-2000
Domination and Submission

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Admin's Note (24-Sep 2020)

Welcome to About-the-SIZE-of-it!

If you're running into any issues or have any complaints, don't hesitate to message me!

Best, :iconchrlorez-art:(the admin)
Stay safe, keep healthy and help each other out.

Group Info

Welcome! This group features content involving macrophilia (Definition: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Macrophi…) All macro and micro content is welcome here. Be it giants, giantess, furries, futanari, etc. Also, all genres of macro will be accepted here as well. From giant to tiny, crushing to vore. And everything else in between. ;) Any gender, any theme, any category. If you offer it, bring it here!
Our only rule for submission is that it MUST have macro or micro content. It will not be accepted if it's not there. Otherwise, we wouldn't be asking for it. ;)
We also ask that you follow DeviantArt's content guidelines like usual.

There will be absolutely no discrimination either. I would like all fans of macro to feel welcomed here. :) If you commit discrimination of any kind, you will be BANNED. No exceptions.





So be polite, feel free to contribute your own work, or just simply enjoy everyone else's. Have fun! ^_^
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Founded 11 Years ago
Jan 5, 2013

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Macrophilia

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tl;dr: I'm the admin of the ATSOI group. I want to ban AI art from the gallery, because so much of it is coming in, but please read the whole thing, if possible. If not, at least scroll down to the number list for the policy changes I want to do. Let me know what you think. Thanks.
---
Hello all,
It's the admin, @chrlorez-art. chrlorez-art It's been a very long time since I've reached out to the group in general. I'm not sure how many of you will even see this post, tbh, but if you do, please read and let me know what you think.
A lot has changed in the last few years with DeviantArt, and a lot of those changes has affected how groups work in general. I'm honestly not sure how many of you will be able to even see this post; I've noticed general participation in the website is down in general, and organizing groups has been pretty awful ever since Eclipse rolled out years ago.
I haven't really changed the rules much to accomodate these changes. Admittedly, I was fairly inattentive to the group for the past few years, and was mostly hands off.
For pretty much the entire time I was admin for the group, since 2018 iirc, I've had a fairly open policy about gallery submissions. The only criteria we had for submissions was that the submission needed to be relevant to the group's focus on size content. I never rejected a submission based on quality, because I don't think its fair for one person to determine an arbitrary baseline of quality for hobbyist and amateur artists to meet. However, in the last year and a half, a fun little tool called Stable Diffusion rolled out, and we've been inundated with AI art submissions ever since. Half of the website is AI generated now, and frankly, I'm not happy about that, and I'm certain a lot of others aren't either. That being said, I've been lenient on accepting AI size art when it is on topic, because I thought that it could be an effective creative outlet for other people on here, even if I don't agree with it. I've soured on this idea over the last year, and I've been rethinking our submission policies. Quality control is important in running a group in most circumstances. Too much poor quality art will make people think your group is unappealing. But ultimately, I don't want to reject people who are developing their skills because one guy thinks they aren't quite there yet.
AI art, on the other hand, doesn't improve an artist's skills; the end product improves by installing more extensions, more checkpoints and more Loras. Optimistically, artists that import their generations into Photoshop and clean them up develop skills, but most people don't do that. And frankly, I'm just tired of all the submissions coming in that barely qualify as size art when the technology can barely show perspective.
I don't want to come across as discriminating against the members who do use Stable Diffusion and other AI generators, and I think they deserve a place to show off their ideas, but when you can generate 15 images a day, and you submit the max limit every single day, the gallery gets overwhelmed. I think ideally, an separate AI size content group would be a good solution, but I don't have any interest in it myself; I'll leave that to someone else.
I wanted to run this by the members first, but I've been thinking of updating the submission policies. Here's my proposed changes to the group: A. Submissions for members will be no longer be automatically accepted.
B. AI art submissions will be vetted, and will not be accepted, unless they meet one of the following conditions:
  1. The submission is a story and the AI images are there for visual reference.
  2. The submission is supplemental material to a story, and the AI images are there for visual reference.
  3. The submission has been determined to include enough direct artistic expression to justify being accepted.
  4. The submission looks good enough to convince me that actual artistic expression is possible with AI.
C. There will be a review of all accepted AI-generated submissions in the gallery, and any that do not meet the conditions outlined in (B) will be removed from the gallery.
Before I implement these changes, please let me know what you think by commenting on this journal. I would like to get some feedback to see if there's another solution to consider.
Thank you for reading all the way through.
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:iconamygiantess:
AmyGiantess Featured By Owner Nov 12, 2022  Professional Digital Artist
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:icontheangelofdeath1986:
theangelofdeath1986 Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2022
Thanks for the add. How do you submit pics?
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:iconchrlorez-art:
chrlorez-art Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2022  Hobbyist Digital Artist
You should be able to, either by going to the picture's page and adding it to the group with the Group button there, or by going to the group page and adding it.
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:iconchrlorez-art:
chrlorez-art Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2022  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Noted, thanks. Not sure if I want to click the link though, since you just said it has those things.
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:icondemonicrexx:
DemonicRexx Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2022
It's gone now, but the gallery has been wiped clean and the only things left are Hitler pics in the faves section. He has a new account however. GodFairyMikey. Warn other groups and users in here immediately and if he tries to join, DO NOT LET HIM IN.
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:iconchrlorez-art:
chrlorez-art Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2022  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Okay, thanks
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:iconchrlorez-art:
chrlorez-art Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2021  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Please don’t post submissions to the comments.
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