Small Print

[marloweny]

An old story of mine. Contains some light, temporary vore at the end.

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Leslie yawned and gazed out the car window. This was her last gig of the week, and she was looking forward to the time off. It was always a little bit of a gamble going to gigs like these. Heck, who was she kidding. It was always a BIG gamble. But the money was good, and she had plans for if and when things went wrong. Though something told her this was going to be a particularly rough night.

The car was taking her into a swanky part of town. Big houses. Huge lawns. People of means. It meant good tips, but folks with guest rooms and private tennis courts also tended to have a sense of entitlement and superiority that could make things unpleasant real fast.

“This is the place. You can drop me off here,” she said, double checking her phone.

She stepped out of the car into the cool night air. She was underdressed for the weather, but then, being underdressed was the idea. She had a short skirt, high heels, and a belly-bearing crop top. Glossy red lipstick, immaculate eye liner. She’d even given herself a fake beauty mark on her cheek. (A lot of people were into that, she’d discovered.) She grabbed her duffle bag with her extra gear and clacked her way up to the door. The house wasn’t the biggest in the neighborhood, but it was nothing to sneeze at.

“At least they’re not being rowdy,” she said as she rang the doorbell.

Leslie was usually hired to perform at bachelor parties and the like. Thumping music, cheap booze, hooting dudes. This place didn’t have that vibe. No music. She rang the doorbell again. Finally the door opened.

“Fun at Any Size Entertainment,” Leslie said in a professional tone. “I’m your entertainment for the evening.”

“Right on time,” said the woman who answered the door.

Leslie was smallish for a woman, but her client was downright mousie. She had to look up to greet her entertainment for the evening, and had glasses that seemed about a size and a half too big for her head. She had a nice figure, substantial curves for someone her size. What some people would call a “short stack.” You could tell by her outfit that she was trying to be sexy with a wardrobe that wasn’t really designed with that in mind. A tight turtleneck sweater. A mid-length skirt revealing sheer leggings. She had an unnervingly intense gaze and creepy smile as she stepped aside.

“Come in, come in,” she said.

Leslie lugged her duffle inside. She was led to a large living room. It certainly didn’t look like a party was going on. It had a huge, low coffee table. The only celebratory aspect of the room was a large bottle of red wine on the table, along with bits and pieces that would have seemed random to anyone but someone in Leslie’s line of work. There was a mason jar, a magnifying glass, and a professional-grade camera, to name just a few of the items.

“Okay, so I think I know the answer, but what’s it going to be, the Big Routine or the Little Routine.”

“Little, please,” the client said.

“You want me to set up here?” she said, indicating the table.

“Mm-hmm!” the client said, hands clasped in front of her and bobbing excitedly.

Leslie unzipped her bag and started to pull items out.

“Bear with me,” she said. “I’ve got a whole spiel and agreement to get through, then we can get down to business.”

She cleared her throat. “Fun at Any Size is the only at-home entertainment that guarantees you can have your fun, your way. Our expert trained dancers are able to alter their size at will, from towering giantess to doll-sized micro. In order to ensure the safety of our dancers, we ask that you agree to the following rules and regulations. Always act with safety in mind. Our dancers are very durable, but that doesn’t mean you should play rough without clearing it first. Damage to dancers or their equipment will incur substantial fines and fees. You have selected the party package, which entitles you to basic interactions until 2am. Feel free to record the dancers, make requests, provide props, and “decorate” the dancers to your heart’s content. Deluxe activities, including touching the dancers directly with the hands or feet, require an upgrade to the package. Any activity that would interfere with the dancer’s ability to conclude the entertainment at her discretion will be considered a violation of the contract and will incur the maximum penalty.”

She removed a tablet from her duffle and opened up said contract.

“Please read the full terms of service and sign,” she said.

The client swiped to the bottom of the contract without so much as a glance at the small print and smeared out a signature. No one ever read the contract. Leslie set up the bizarre assortment of goods. First was a card set on the table, something akin to a tiny privacy screen or a dungeon master’s card. Next was a box full of doll clothes, then a weird little ladder that suction cupped onto the table and led down to the floor. As a final, bizarre flourish, she pulled a tiny tube top and mini-skirt from the box of clothes and tucked them into her high heel.

“Let’s get this party started!” she proclaimed.

She snapped her fingers and trembled a bit as a tingle swept over her. The client snatched up the camera and started recording. People always seemed to love this part. She hammed it up, going through a spectrum of emotions starting with surprise, then concern, then flustered excitement as her body began to shrink. The skirt loosened and slipped to the floor. She giggled and covered herself as her panties flopped down as well. The neck of the top started to slide down her shoulders as she became too small to keep it up. Again she put on a bashful act and tried to cover her breasts as her bra dropped and she reduced more and more. A practiced shift in her weight let one shoe fall from her foot. Down and down she dwindled, eventually reaching just a few inches tall, nestled into her other shoe.

She grabbed the outfit she’d stowed there and slipped it on, then climbed out of the lingering warmth of her shoe and paced for the ladder.

“Here, let me help you,” the client said, trembling with excitement.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Leslie said, waggling a finger. “No touching unless you’re ready to upgrade.”

The client pouted a bit. “Fine…”

Leslie hopped onto the table and, immediately, she could tell this was going to be a long night. The grabbed the first of her many props, a large scientific beaker.

“Okay, okay. So there’s going to be a lot of pictures. I’ve got all these roleplays I want to do.”

Leslie shrugged. “You’ve got me until 2am. Just tell me how you want to play it.”

The client squealed and turned the beaker upside down, trapping Leslie before hurrying back to pick up her camera.

“Okay, okay, now beat on the glass and act confused.”

Leslie suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. This was going to be a long night.

~~~

By the time the end of the night rolled around, Leslie was almost having fun. If nothing else, this client was creative. After the whole “mad scientist trapping a test subject” bit, complete with the mousy young woman looming over her to laugh maniacally for a few shots. Then came a borderline rule-breaking little roleplay in which she was carefully taped, spread eagle, to an index card. It would have been a no-go but for the fact that the tape wasn’t actually strong enough to hold her in place. After a bit of negotiation, she climbed into an empty jelly jar and let the woman screw it tight for a few pictures and some more video. That one included stripping and pressing her boobs against the glass. Then it was into the food play. She climbed into a zip-lock bag for a few pictures inside a lunch box. She got to reenact the ever popular “woman in a martini glass” image, then got to play the role of the banana in a banana split. That one didn’t last long since it was so cold, but was followed by playing marshmallow in a warm cup of cocoa which took the edge off that nicely.

When she’d cleaned off, it was time for a fashion show. The client wanted sexy poses in absolutely everything Leslie brought, plus a ton of outfits clearly stolen off video game, cartoon, and anime collectibles. When this was all over, she was going to have to get copies of some of those shots. They were definitely going to go in her gallery.

She squeezed herself out of a remarkably accurate Bayonetta bodysuit and stood nude on the table once more.

“Okay, okay… now, I know I’m not supposed to touch you, but you can touch me right?” the client said, her glasses starting to fog up at the mere thought of what she was planning.

“Yes. Keep your hands to yourself, ask, and I’ll do it if I’m able.”

“If I… let you slide down my leggings, would you… climb all the way up through my turtleneck?”

Leslie blinked. “... You’re a real innovator, you know that? Fine. So long as I don’t wind up under foot.”

The client nodded and pulled up her skirt to fish out the edge of her leggings. She got on her knees and held the waistband out. Leslie caught a whiff of the heady mix of aromas wafting out. This was going to be memorable.

“Remember this when it comes time to leave a tip,” she said.

Like a member of the coast guard hopping out of a helicopter, she jumped from the table and into the waiting leggings. She bounced against the stretchy fabric, rebounded against the plush flesh of her thigh, then slid down the smooth skin. The client stood, straightening her leg for another quick slide until Leslie was tucked snuggly into the ankle of the leggings.

It was… surprisingly pleasant. Leslie was always something of a fan of the natural scent of a woman’s body, and the client’s skin was very smooth and soft. The hint of perspiration made it a bit more slippery than she would have liked, given the fact she’d have to climb her way out, but hey, the customer was always right.

With her little bare body mashed against the softly jiggling thigh calf, Leslie could feel every giggle and coo of delight of her happy customer. She saw the flash of the camera, recording the little, shapely bulge as it worked its way past the knee. Once she reached the softer, plusher flesh of the thigh her progress got a little slower. Her hands and legs dimpled into it, sinking slightly like she was scaling a mound of warm bread dough.

The first “base camp” of sorts was when she slipped into the crotch of the leggings, pinned lightly against the very moist panties separating her from her client. Humorously, there was nothing in the rules that said she couldn’t give her client a full-body slit-massage. That and giving men a “pole dance” (so to speak) was covered under the party package. Rather than volunteer for it, went for a subtler, more teasing little poke, prod, and squirm at the hot knot of flesh behind the layer of satin. The client gasped and mashed her thighs tight, pinning her firmly against the hot vagina.

“Well played…” she groaned.

With a bit of wriggling, she managed to slide free and start her journey up along the pudgy tummy of her client. It rose and fell with breathless excitement as she slithered across its tender skin. She hadn’t quite appreciated just how tight that turtleneck was until she had to navigate beneath it. When she slipped into the woman’s navel, she was briefly trapped there by the layer of fabric and the more slippery than average skin.

When she made it free, it was clear sailing until she got to the moist, tight crevice of her cleavage. Squirming between her swaying, bobbing breasts was simultaneously the most fun and most difficult part. The feeling of hot, moist flesh on both sides was downright titillating, and feeling her laughter vibrate through the boobs was like a fun reward for every little tickly motion she made. But it was so smooth, soft, and slick that she seriously had to work to avoid losing progress.

Through sheer perseverance, she was able to squirt out the top of the cleavage and scurry the last few inches to squeeze out the neck of the sweater. She slid down the cleavage like a ski slope and dropped back to the table. Judging from her client’s red face and breathless pant, at least one of those seismic jiggles she’d felt while working through the cleavage had been an orgasm.

She looked at the clock. It was a few minutes until two.

“Well, that’s about it,” Leslie said. “The tablet’s over there, if you want to add a tip.”

“Wait, wait!” the client said. “Can I please get a picture of you in my palm?”

“It seems like a waste to do the upgrade with less than five minutes on the clock.”

“No, but… Hear me out. I can’t touch you, but you could just… climb into my palm. I won’t close my fingers or anything. Pretend it’s a prop!”

Leslie tapped her foot on the table. “About that tip…”

“You’ll get a HUGE tip!”

Tips went directly into her payment, so she got a much bigger slice of that than what she’d get for the deluxe upgrade, even if it was just a fraction of the cost of the upgrade.

“Two conditions. First, you send me copies of all the video and pictures you took. Those’ll be useful for my portfolio.”

The client eagerly tapped out the address on her business card and sent a link.

“Second, you don’t post the pictures of me in your hand. I don’t want people thinking I do this as a rule.”

“Fine, fine.” She placed her hand on the table and curled her fingers ever so slightly.

Leslie stepped into the palm. Her client practically squealed with delight at the sight of her standing in her hand. The camera flashed in her free hand, going through the whole photo shoot routine.

“Good, good. Now lay back. Yeah. Now pout a little. Mmm. Look scared. Mmmm. Curl up a little. Ahh… A little more?”

Leslie obliged, curling up into a little ball in her quivering palm. The camera snapped one last time. THen, for a second or two, there was nothing but the sound of the client’s shaky breathing. What happened next happened in the blink of an eye. For a brief moment, the hand was rising so fast she was pinned against it. Then, it slapped hard against something and Leslie was in hot, dark place.

Just like that, the client had clapped her hand across her mouth, popping Leslie inside.

“What are you--” *SLUCK* “--this is a violation of--” *SLLP* “--you signed a contract--”

The slippery tongue lapped and slurped at her naked body, tossing her about and muffling her attempts to object. The woman murmured with delight, moaning and suckling at the forbidden treat. Then, with a curl of the tongue and a squeeze of the throat, Leslie was swallowed. She drifted down the snug tube of her esophagus and plopped down into her client’s stomach.

When she scrambled upright and leaned against the tight sack of the stomach, Leslie grumbled to herself.

“I should have seen this coming, with all the food stuff and captive stuff.” She wiped some moisture from her eyes. “It’s always the short ones. They want to feel like they’re big and strong and commanding and then down the hatch…”

She tapped her wrist a few times until she felt the weird little twitch of her “just in case” alarm being sounded.

~~~

The client’s eyes fluttered open. She wasn’t sure what had happened. One moment she was enjoying the wriggling in her belly, the next she blacked out. She tried to stand, but hit her head on something and fell back down with a clink. When she blinked the tears out of her eyes, she looked up. Her eyes widened.

She was looking up through a plastic lid at the face of her entertainment. She’d been stuffed into a little canister that the once tiny, now full-sized woman was holding before her face.

“You didn’t read the small print. No one does,” Leslie said, holding the tablet up to the canister.

At her size, the former client was easily able to read the text.

In the event that a customer attempts to interfere with the completion of a performance or otherwise impede the safe return of a dancer, a 400% penalty is applied to the account and the customer is contracted for 6 months of performances before eligible for size restoration.

Leslie gave the canister a shake. “See you at orientation and training. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

She stuffed the canister into her cleavage and went on her way.

[Sumguy14]

good pacing and a fun little read.

[jasminshrinks]

Wow, what a wild ride! Leslie's story kept me on the edge of my seat. I love how she navigated the bizarre requests with such professionalism and flair. That twist at the end was gold—just when I thought she was in real trouble, she turned the tables in the most epic way. How did you come up with the idea of a shrinking performer?

[marloweny]

How did you come up with the idea of a shrinking performer?

Believe it or not, I had a dream that had a shrinking performer in it and decided to build it out into a story.