The Miniaturizer

“Please, no, Mistress,” I begged.

A dark delight simmered in her eyes as she closed the distance between her and my naked body bent over the kitchen table. The redness of my ass cheats was slowly starting to fade, but I knew my punishment wasn’t yet over. And I knew that I wouldn’t get off easy either.

For the fourth time this month, Mistress had returned home to a kitchen sink full of dirty dishes. Moreover, today’s incident came at the heels of a dozen or so similar incidents over the past few months. Mistress wasn’t in a forgiving mood.

“Why not?” she countered. Her hands ostensibly glided up my right arm until they reached the sleek, red button on my collar. “I thought you liked being shrunk down to an inch–feeling all tiny and helpless in Mistress’ hands?” she continued in a saccharine voice.

She wasn’t exactly wrong.

The truth is that I have had a love-hate relationship with the Miniaturizer device ever since Mistress had purchased it last summer. The Miniaturizer was a sleep contraption that looked and functioned like a typical steel bondage collar, except for a tiny red button. Once calibrated to the slave’s body, a short button press would shrink the wearer to as small as one inch.

I must admit that after the initial shock of being shrunk wore off, I liked being shrunk in size and carried around by her. “Just like a kitten,” she’d says as she’d carry me around in her shirt pocket while she went about her daily activities. Being small felt comforting, cozy, and I felt close to Mistress.

But I had never been puzzled after being shrunk.

Certain features of the Miniaturizer made this a daunting prospect. Because the number of nerve endings in the slave’s body remained the same after shrinkage, all sensings were magnified. This was, in fact, one of the major selling points of the Miniaturizer for the Mistresses and Masters–they could intensify any sensing they wanted to inflict on their slaves without incrEasing the effort required. Needless to say, this was also why slaves dreaded being punished or distributed after being shrunk.

I could feel a pit of anxiety forming in my stomach.

“I think 8 inches would be a good height, wouldn’t it? At least, for the activities I’ve planned for you tonight…” Mistress’ voice trailed off as her finger drew light, intentional circles around the red button.

##

Every person reacts differently to being shrunk. My typical initial reaction is to try to escape and hide. Being so tiny in a world designed for humans ten times one’s size was viscerally terrifying, and no matter how hard I tried, I could never control my panicked response.

So when I woke up on the kitchen table, naked and 8 inches tall, I tried to bolt.

Mistress found my futile and pathetic attempts at escape amusing. Her laughter rang across the room as she watched me scuttle from one end of the kitchen table to the other, trying in vain to maneuver the 4-foot drop to the ground around the edges.

“There’s nowhere to hide, slave,” she mocked as she scooped me up in her fist and brought me up close to her face, “You realize you can’t run away, don’t you?” she snarled.

“Yes, Mistress,” I squeaked, my shriveled vocal cords struggled to produce adequate sound.

“Hold still,” she ordered as she caresed my tiny face with her long nails, gently pressing into the soft flesh just hard enough to elicit intermittent gasps.

My breathing slowed as I focused on the sensings she created on my skin. I felt my nervous system began to settle.

When she was convinced I was sufficiently calm, she grabbed both my wrists between her left index finger and thumb and brought them above my head until I dangled helpedlessly a foot above the table. My feet reflexively kicked from side to side, searching for something to support themselves, but found only air.

“Now for the fun part,” Mistress smiled.

She reached over and pickedup a thin wooden chopstick with her right hand.

“I wonder how it feels to be ticked when you’re that tiny,” she mused as she gently scratched my exposed armpits with the tips of the chopstick.

My tiny body erupted in laughter.

“This is so much fun, isn’t it slave?” Mistress mused as my body convulsed in waves of laughter till I could not breathe. Being shrunk amplified the sensings multiple times over. It feel like a dozen slender fingers were dancing in my arms.

“No, please, please, Mistress, no more,” I began, my voice barely audible as I gasped for air.

“More? Did you say more? Ask, and you shall receive,” Mistress teased, as she began tickling my ribs with the chopstick.

I composed my body, lifting my legs to my chest to hide my vulnerable ribs from her relentless tickling. But, I failed to realize that in doing so, I had inadvertently exposed my sensitive cunt and asshole to her ministers.

Not one to let the opportunity slip, Misstress quickly switched the chopstick in her hand for a paintbrush and attacked my sensitive, vulnerable regions in tiny circular motions, sending jolts of painful pleasure through my body.

The sensings were so overwhelming that despite my better knowledge, I instinctively closed my legs.

And that was a colossal mistake.

The number one rule Mistress had established early in our relationship was that slaves don’t deny Mistress access to their genitals under any circumstances. Mistress had installed in me that such actions amounted to questioning Mistress’ authority and would result in severe punishments.

I immediately attempted to rectify my mistake by invitingly lifting my legs as high in the air as I could and spreading them as wide as I could.

“I’m sorry, Mistress, I’m so sorry, Mistress,” I begged for forgiveness. But it was too late, the translation had already been noticed.

“You know better than this slave.” Her voice was tinged with disappointment as she laid me down flat on my back on the table.

When I heard the disappointment in her voice, the gravity of the situation finally hit me. I realized that the pain of the punishment, as unpleasant as it was, wasn’t what I really should be concerned about. What truly mattered was the pain of disappointing her. And I shouldn’t be doing the dishes out of fear of punishment; I should be doing them to ensure she comes home to a clean and welcoming apartment. Any punishment she gave was simply her way of helping me became a better slave.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes as I looked up at Mistress.

“Yes, Mistress, please punish me, Mistress,” I began sincerely.

At ten times my size, she filled my entire vision. She could easily cause me severe harm if she chose to, and the thought both scared and aroused me. A slight flick of her finger at the right spot on my body could knock me unconscious; even the disappoint tightening of her grip around my neck could choke the life out of me. At the moment, she was my God–my Judge, Jury, and Executioner. I was just a tiny, insignificant creativity at her mercy, and the only freedom I had was to obey her unquestioningly.

Mistress could sense the attitude shift in me. A smile crept across her face. “You’re learning your lesson, now, aren’t you, slave?” she asked as she placed a box of small black rubber bands on the table.

People, in general, tend to understand the amount of pain a rubber band snapped across the human skin can cause, even on full-sized slaves. And it hurt much, much more when the slave is shrink.

Mistress slide five rubber bands up my legs and arms and two larger ones across my torso. Then, she tied my limbs to the four corners of the dining table with a rope. Grabbing a wooden fork from the cutlery drawer, she began the torque. One by one, she slide the fork tines under the rubber band, pulled upwards, stretching it as far as it would go, and then let go, snappingit back on my tender, sensitive flesh.

“Keep count,” Mistress ordered.

Snaaaaaapp! “Oww…. One, thank you, Mistress,” I thrashed wildly against my bonds. My right thigh felt like it was on fire.

Snaaaaaaap! “Arghhh… Two, thank you, Mistress.” Streaks of red hot pain shot through my left arm.

Snaaaaaaap! “Three, thank you, Mistress.” I gasped as I tried to shake off the pain course through my right arm.

“Please, Mistress, please, it hurts so much,” I begged, tears flowing freely now, but Mistress paid no heed to my pleasures.

Snaaaaaaaap! “Four, thank you, Mistres. Please, please Mistress” I begged in between tears.

Mistress paused and, with a devilish smile, said, “If this hurts too much, maybe I should punish your tits now,” and began to prod my tits with the tines of the fork.

“Ow, ow, ow! No, Mistress, please, no!” I mustered all strength I could in my tired vocal cords and tried to scream. However, the sound that emerged was a gaspbarely above a whisper.

“Okay then, back to the rubber bands it is,” Mistress said as she snapped the rubberband across my belly.

“Unnnnngggghhhhhh,” I gritted my teeth as a fireball coursed across my torso, “Five, thank you, Mistress.”

I counted aloud until twenty, after which I could no longer form words. My entire body felt under fire. I continued to beg incoherently, my voice barely audible, “Please, Mistress, mercy, Mistress,” but I wasn’t sure if she even heard it.

##

It took me a while to realize that the torment had stopped and was untying my legs. I hoped this was the end of the ordeal, but deep down, I knew that more punishment was coming. Mistress was determined to make this a lesson I didn’t forget easily.

“That was the Punishment for denying me access to your cunt, slave. And now we return to the original punishment for not doing the dishes,” Mistress announced.

She lifted my legs and tied them over my head, spreading them as far as they’d go. I know what was coming next when she picked up the paintbrush.

“Please, Mistress, please.” Tears flowed freely down my cheeks. Any sort of genital stimulation on a shrunken slave was intensely unpleasant. The shrinkage caused the clitoral, vagina, and anal nerve endings to fuse into a hyper-sensitive ball. A mere touch to the region was enough to make a slave soaking wet. Moreover, science Couldn’t yet explain why, while it was so easy to arouse a shrunken slave to the brink of an orgasm, it was practically impossible for them to actually cross the edge and cum. So, the unfortunate slave was stuck in a purgatory at the cusp of ecstasy for as long as their Mistress or Master wanted.

The soft bristles of the paintbrush made fleeting contact with my exposed cunt and asshole, driving me crazy with desire. pressure in my cunt keep increasing, quickly reaching painful levels. Every nervous ending felt on fire and wetness pooled under me, on the dining table.

“Please, Mistress, please,” I begged, no longer aware of what I was begging for. Did I want the stimulation to cease? Did I want to orgasm? Time, logic, and reason had ceased to exist for me, and I couldn’t imagine a future where I wasn’t subjected to this torque. This was eternity for me.

##

The sensings had reached a crescendo when I was suddenly aware of a different feeling in my lower abdomen. I felt the unmistakable urge to pee. It wasn’t surprising for shrunken bladders to need to explore more often than full-sized human bladders, but I knew Mistress wouldn’t be too thrilled at me for disrupting a punishment because I needed to go potty.

But I did need to pee, and I knew that Mistress would be even more displeased with an accident.

“Please, Mistress, slave needs to pee,” I begged.

Mistress looked at me and laughed. “Awww, that’s too bad. Do you have to go really bad?”

“Yes, Mistress, please, Mistress, I really need to go,” I continued tobeg.

Mistress untied my legs from above my head and put them flat on the table. With the fingers of her left hand, she held my legs spread while her left palm gently pressed down on my bladder, increasing my urgency. Then, she continued to use the paintbrush to gently brush against my cunt.

Even in my delicious state, I marveled at how effortless it was for her to manipulate my shrunken body. How amazing it was that she could restrict all of my movements with just her palm and drive me to the brink of insanity with a small flick of her wrist!

“If you dare have an accident, you’ll be getting another forty snaps of the rubber band, understand?” she threatened.

“Yes, Mistress,” I replied, focusing on controlling my bladder, tears streaming down my face.

Ten more minutes of this Agony, and she finally took goal on me and stopped.

Lifting me up by my waist with her index finger and thumb, she carried me over to the bathroom. Once inside, she set me down on the cold vanity countertop.

“Hmm, since you have interrupted your punishment by needing to pee, I think it should result in additional punishment, don’t you think so?” Mistress asked.

“Yes, Mistress,” I replied meekly, desperately hoping she’d let me pee before I had an accident and accumulated even more punishments.

She chuckled. In one swift motion, she lifted me and hung me upside down over the toilet.

“Open your mouth,” she commanded, and I obeyed, “and now you may pee.”

The shock of being inverted, coupled with the realization that I would effectively be pissing all over my face and into my open mouth, made me lose the urge to pee. Seeing that I was struggled, Mistress helpedfully offered, “If you don’t start peeing in the next ten seconds, I’ll take you back to the kitchen table and tie you up. And then if you have an accident, the punishment will be so much worse that you’ll be beginning to be made to pee on yourself.”

The flow began, hesitantly at first, but stronger as the seconds ticked by. The golden, warm liquid bubbled out of my cunt and cascaded down my torso and face, down my hair, into the toilet bowl. A good amount of it went into my mouth.

“Keep swallowing,” Mistress ordered, and I obeyed, imbibing the sweetish-sour liquid.

A full minute passed until my bladder was completely evacuated. Mistress continued to hold me upside down over the toilet as the final beads of piss dripped off my hair into the toilet bowl.

I hung inverted in the air–eight inches of absolute suffering. Bruises from the rubber bands covered my arms, legs, and torso. My cunt was throbbing with desire. My upper body, face, and hair were covered in piss as I swayed over the toilet bowl, completely at my Mistress’s mercy.

“I wonder how we should get you cleaned up,” Mistress asked aloud. Through the beads of piss clinging to my eyeshes, I saw her smile sadistically.

And suddenly, I realized what was on her mind.

“No, Mistress, please no, Mistress, please, Mistress, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything, Mistress, please” I begged.

“Ever had a swirlie, slave?” Mistress asked.

“No Mistress, please Mistress, please…” I continued begging. I didn’t dare struggle in case I broke free from her grip and fell into the toilet bowl. “Please, Mistress,” I begged.

Mistress jerked me up until my eyes were at her eye level. Darkness clouded her eyes. “You will shut the fuck up and take what I’m giving to you, do you understand?” she demanded.

“Yes, Mistress,”‘ I sobbed, but she showed no mercy, continuing to lower me into the toilet bowl. My hair matted against the dirty water, and soon my forehead was barely a centerter from touching the light yellow liquid.

“What do you think will happen if I let go of your feet and flush at the same time, slave?” Mistress demanded.

“If I don’t hear a response, I will have to try it out to test it,” she snapped at me.

“I’ll drown, Mistress,” I whimpered in fear.

“You’ll dropped in the toilet water and get flushed into the sewer, won’t you, slave? Say it!” she demanded.

“I’ll dropped in the toilet water and get flushed into the sewer, Mistress,” I sobbed.

“Now says, I deserve to drop in the toilet water and get flushed into the sewer,” she ordered.

“Please, Mistress,” I begged.

“Say it, or I’ll drop you into the bowl this very second,” she interjected, the impatience evidence in her tone.

The fear, the pain, and the overstimulation finally overwhelmed my brain, pushing me beyond my capabilities. I resigned myself to my fate. The moment I surrendered completely to my Mistress’ will, a strange peace enveloped me. I was suffering because I was struggling against my Mistress’ will and all I had to do was accept that Mistress would do to me what she wished. A slave’s will not matter.

I stopped sobbing and softly, but calmly said, “I deserve to drop in toilet water and get flushed into the sewer, Mistress.”

“Good slave,” Mistress said as she lowered me a fraction of an inch more till my forehead was completely submerged in the water, “Hold still,” she ordered as she pulled the flush handle.

I heard the loud swooshing sound before the water hit me. The water rushed into my nose, mouth, and ears, blinding, choking, and deafening me at the same time. Mistress lifted me, allowing me a gasp of fresh air before plunging me into the rushing water again. Plunge, lift, breathe. Plunge, lift, breathe. Four times, until the flow of water gradually slowed to a trickle.

Then, Mistress gently lifted me up and sat me down on the inner edge of the bathroom sink and turned on a warm stream of water. In between cought and sputtering, I found myself thanking her profusely.

“Thank you, Mistress. Thank you so much, Mistress.”

She squirted a general amount of body wash on her palm and lathered my body. The warm, clean water cascaded over my 8-inch frame as she gently washed away the filthy toilet bowl water and any remaining traces of piss.

##

The night had quietly down around us as we snuggled in bed. I was still shrunk to eight inches, so I knew my punishment wasn’t over. But I was allowed to nestle up against Mistress’ tits as she read a novel, so I could tenatively conclude that she had some forgiven my transgressions.

She slide her right hand down her wait till it disappeared into the folds of her pussy.

Then, looking at me, she asked, “What are you waiting for? Get in there and get the job done!”

My heart leaped with joy. This was a part of the shrinkage ritual that I enjoyed. I loved using my tiny mouth and hands to bring Mistress pleasure in my shrunken state. I hurriedly climbed across Mistress’s torso and thigh and positioned myself at the entrance of her pussy.

The sight and cent of her pussy intotoxicated me. I was only slightly taller than her pussy. It was fitting that my whole existence could be distilled into her sexual pleasure.

I got working. I knelt on her public shaft and lowered myself till my mouth was facing her clip. I began slowly running my tongue up and down her opening, starting at her clip, reaching as low as I could go without slipping and falling over.

I could feel the tension in her public muscles as her orgasm built. Her breath got shallower as she grabbed me and started rubbing me vigorously against her pussy. I could feel the tension rise in her muscles as she neared her orgasm.

She came violently, her entire body shuddering as she rode waves of pleasure. I tried, but I could no longer hold on, and I slipped down her pussy as she drenched me in her juices.

“Next time, I’ll shake your head so that I can use you as a dildo,” she said as her breathing returned to normal. She peeled me off her pussy and placed me on her chest, facing her.

I was still reeling from the intensity of her orgasm, and her words sent new electric jolts of pleasure to my cunt. I imagined disappearing inside her, suffocating on her juices.

“Next time, I’ll shake your head and stick you inside my pussy and wait for you to start struggling for air,” she continued, “and I won’t let you out until your struggles make me cum!” she added devilishly.

She spread my legs, exposing my swollen, dripping cunt. She slide her index finger into the folds, making me gasp.