Tiny Torments

[Sumguy14]

Parasocial Relationships, Slapstick Comedy, and the Afterparty are my favorite options.

[Fanta]

Road trip, Double date, and after party get my vote.

I know it’s not really the style of these stories given the main title but I’d love to see more giant/tiny couples in this world you’ve created through these stories. I know that probably won’t fit the tone you’ve set in these stories here so no stress but if you ever feel like writing a story following some giant/tiny couple in this world and there struggles with changing tiny laws and possible tiny-napping you’d have at least one reader!

Really enjoying all the stories and keep up the amazing work! cannot wait for the next instalment.

[Justhereforamoment1]

Road trip, Double date, and after party get my vote.

I know it’s not really the style of these stories given the main title but I’d love to see more giant/tiny couples in this world you’ve created through these stories. I know that probably won’t fit the tone you’ve set in these stories here so no stress but if you ever feel like writing a story following some giant/tiny couple in this world and there struggles with changing tiny laws and possible tiny-napping you’d have at least one reader!

Really enjoying all the stories and keep up the amazing work! cannot wait for the next instalment.

So I have actually considered that. I just know itd be much more narrative driven (with plenty of smut of course) which means a lot more remembering. I'd probably post it in the normal SW board. Is anyone else interested in reading something like that?

Also I have like 4 stories tied with 2 votes each. I need a tie breaker lol

[Justhereforamoment1]

Well folks here's the new story. I'll look through the top contenders for next story and decide which to do next. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

---

Daniel slouched on his bed, the glow of his Xbox casting sharp shadows across the room. The curtains were drawn tight, the only light a flickering, neon bleed from the screen. At eighteen, with high school finally in the rearview, he had the house—and the summer—to himself.

Graduation had been three days ago. The cheap gown was already stuffed in the back of his closet, the last of the yearbook signatures still barely dry. No more classes. No more bells. Just long, hot days filled with games, snacks, and whatever the hell else he felt like doing.

A sharp knock at the door broke his focus.

Before he could grunt a response, it swung open. His mom stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the hallway light.

“I’ve got good news,” she said without preamble.

Daniel tugged one ear of his headphones off. The game’s menu music hummed faintly, ignored.

“Yeah?”

“Kayla’s back from college.” She leaned against the frame, a smile tugging at her lips. “She’s house-sitting next door while her parents are away. You should go say hi—she’s probably missed you.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

Daniel’s eyes lingered on the screen, the idle loop blinking back at him. But his thoughts had already drifted.

Kayla.

Two years.

They’d grown up side by side—neighbors in the strangest sense. When Daniel’s family moved in ten years ago, he was eight—wide-eyed and unsure how to process the idea of tiny people. Their house sat between two normal ones, no taller than a dollhouse, complete with a miniature yard, a porch you could crush underfoot, and a mailbox the size of a matchbox.

His parents drilled it in early: never look down on the tinies—literally or otherwise.

“They’re people, same as us,” his mom would say, her tone brooking no argument.

Part of that lesson had been meeting Kayla, the neighbors’ ten-year-old daughter. At first, it was awkward as hell. She was a girl. And tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand. He was a clumsy kid who didn’t know how to talk to either.

She’d eyed him with sharp hazel suspicion, like she was half-expecting to get squashed by accident.

But kids adapt.

Awkwardness gave way to playdates, then friendship.

He still remembered the summer they built a Lego castle together—him laying the bricks, her tiny hands guiding the spires into place. She’d climbed through it like a real princess, laughing up at him from the ramparts, her voice small but fierce.

Or the time they raced RC cars in the driveway, Kayla strapped into hers like a daredevil. She’d rigged up a controller to steer it, and he chased after her with his own, both of them laughing until their stomachs hurt and the sun dipped below the trees.

As they got older, their friendship only deepened. They were inseparable—best friends in the purest sense. When other kids made snide comments or tried to bully Kayla for her size, Daniel stepped in without hesitation. More than once he’d caught some smartass aiming a foot too close to her and made sure it didn’t happen twice.

And when Daniel struggled through math or froze before a presentation, Kayla was always there—perched on his desk, arms crossed, coaching him through it with that smug little smirk that somehow made him want to listen.

They went on family trips together—camping in the mountains, afternoons at the lake. She’d ride on his shoulder through hiking trails, then dive off into the water with barely a splash, showing off her swimmer’s form while he flailed after her.

Somewhere along the line, things shifted.

He never said anything. Never acted on it. But by the time he was sixteen, the crush was undeniable. Not just because she was beautiful—though she was—but because she got him. She could read his moods better than anyone. Tease him without it ever turning cruel. Trust him in a way no one else did.

And then… she left.

Off to college. Bigger things. Her tiny form waving from the seat of the shuttle bus, backpack slung over her shoulder like it weighed more than she did.

That was the last time he saw her in person.

A lot had changed since then.

He’d grown half a foot. His voice had dropped. Shoulders broadened. His face leaned out, the boyish roundness replaced by sharper lines and stubble he didn’t always bother to shave.

And her?

He could only guess.

Daniel slid on flip-flops, shoved his phone into his pocket, and stepped into the thick summer heat. The sun hung low, casting long golden shadows across the lawn—the kind of lazy warmth that clung to your skin like a second shirt.

He crossed the yard, heart thudding faster than it should’ve with each step, drawing closer to the tiny house next door.

It looked just like it always had. Dollhouse proportions, a perfect paint job, flower pots no taller than soda cans lining the miniature porch. He passed it every morning on the way to school, but now it felt different.

Now she was back inside.

He crouched down, one knee pressing into the grass, and leaned forward. His hand hovered for a moment, then gently rapped the front stoop with a fingertip—three light knocks that made the porch tremble with each impact.

For a few seconds, nothing.

Then a tiny figure appeared behind the glass-paneled door.

It swung open, and Kayla stepped into the light.

“Danny!” she squealed. Her voice was high, familiar, pure joy—slicing through the years like a blade. She bolted down the porch steps barefoot, her wavy brunette hair bouncing with glints of chestnut in the fading sun.

She reached his hand in seconds, throwing her arms around two of his fingers like they were her anchor.

Daniel froze.

Her body was soft and warm, barely as tall as his palm. He felt every quick breath, the rise and fall of her chest against his knuckles.

This wasn’t like when they were kids. Not anymore.

His hand had grown. He had grown.

Kayla tilted her head back, grinning up at him, hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

“God, you got huge,” she laughed. “I used to barely fit in your hand. Now I could pitch a tent on it.”

He exhaled, half-laugh, half-nerves, and curled his fingers just enough to cradle her as he lifted her from the ground.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he said—but it was a lie, and they both knew it.

College had sharpened her. She was still lean and athletic, but her body had filled out in all the ways that made it hard not to stare—fuller hips, a softer curve to her waist, breasts that pressed against the low-cut blouse she wore, the fabric hugging her like it wanted to be looked at.

It stopped short just above her navel, leaving a smooth stretch of sun-kissed skin gleaming in the light. Her jean shorts rode high, framing her thighs and cupping the gentle curve of her ass. Her hair, now shorter, framed her face in loose waves that brushed her shoulders.

“Liar,” she teased, poking his thumb. “I cut my hair, dummy.”

Daniel smirked, lifting her to eye level. “Right, because that’s what I’d notice, Shortstack.”

She stuck out her tongue, and for a second, it was like no time had passed—Kayla riding in his hoodie pocket, barking orders while he built her Lego castles.

But the moment flickered.

Her weight on his fingers, the soft press of her ass against his skin, the subtle bounce of her chest when she shifted—it was all different now.

He’d always thought she was beautiful, but now it was like someone had turned up the contrast. Her toned stomach, the way her thighs flexed when she adjusted her balance—his eyes noticed everything.

His fingers felt too warm. His pulse thumped against his wrist.

She wasn’t flirting—she was just being Kayla. Bright. Fearless.

But his body didn’t care.

Still, the more they talked, the more the awkward heat began to ease. Her voice was the same—teasing, full of energy, a stream of old jokes and familiar affection. She gave him hell for the scruff on his chin.

“You call that a beard?” she grinned, then started grilling him for gossip about their old classmates, tossing names and memories like they were still fifteen.

By the time he set her down and leaned back in the grass, resting against the side of her porch, it almost felt normal again.

Almost.

After a few more minutes of easy conversation, Kayla suddenly poked him in the ear with a playful grin.

"Congrats, Danny," she said, her voice light with the same teasing edge that had always made him smile. "Top of the class, huh? Guess I gotta start taking notes from the genius."

Daniel laughed, rubbing the side of his ear as if her poke had stung.

"Thanks, Kay. You’re not so bad yourself. How’s college life treating you?”

“Oh, you know, tons of late nights, a lot of caffeine, and I’m basically living in the library at this point.” She raised an eyebrow at him, her tone teasing. “I might be the only one who didn’t get into trouble, though.”

“Well, that’s you for sure. Always the responsible one.” Danny nudged her lightly with his finger, earning a playful glare from her.

There was a lull, then Kayla flicked her hand. "So, what do you wanna do? We should grab dinner or something—celebrate your newfound freedom.”

Daniel thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, sounds good. I know a place.”

They both stood, and he carefully cupped his hand around her small body, lifting her up to settle on his shoulder. It was the easiest way to carry her, like they’d done for years, but this time it felt different.His pulse was a little quicker as he felt the subtle weight of her body, the heat of her skin so close to his.

The walk to the restaurant was a slow one. Kayla chatted about her college experiences, and Daniel listened, his mind drifting a little. As they passed a small park, they both stopped to admire a tree.

“Check that out,” she said, pointing. “Wouldn’t it be cool to climb it?”

Daniel half-smiled, his eyes following the line of her finger toward the sturdy branches. “Yeah, if you were the size of a squirrel.”

She snorted. “Please. I could probably out-climb you even at my size.”

“I doubt that,” he teased, smirking.

Kayla bent over, hands on her knees to get a better look at the base of the tree, her shorts riding higher on her thighs with the movement. He looked over to say something and was greeted by her large, plump ass swaying just inches from his face.

It was an accidental, innocent gesture, but the sight of her full cheeks so close—too close—was enough to steal the air from his lungs. His throat tightened, heat surging low in his stomach as he shifted beneath her, a cough escaping his lips.

His face burned, and he turned away quickly, trying to collect himself. His pulse pounded in his ears, his heart racing for all the wrong reasons. He hadn’t meant to stare.

Kayla, oblivious, straightened up and shot him a grin. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He couldn’t. Instead, he cleared his throat, his fingers flexing where they held her in place on his shoulder.

“No,” he said, forcing the words out. “Just... thinking.”

She laughed and brushed it off. “Whatever, dork. Let’s go get food.”

Daniel nodded quickly, clearing his throat again and stepping forward to open the restaurant door.

Dinner was nice. Casual. She asked about his summer plans, he told her about his excitement to be free, no school, no responsibilities. She laughed at a few of his jokes, her hazel eyes sparkling under the dim restaurant lights.

But there was still that tension, hanging just beneath the surface. Every word, every look, seemed to amplify the growing feeling that wasn’t so easy to ignore anymore.

By the time they finished eating, the night was settling in. Kayla insisted on paying for her share—something she always did—but Daniel had already pulled out his wallet. She raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing as he paid.

The walk back to her house was quick, the dim streetlights casting long shadows along the sidewalk.

“So,” Kayla said as they neared her porch, “thanks for dinner. It was fun, Danny. Like old times.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “It really was.”

They reached the porch, and he carefully lifted her, cradling her in his hand as he brought her to eye level.

Kayla gave him a bright smile and a wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? You should stop by and hang out, we can pick up where we left off.”

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed. He nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “I’ll come by.”

Once the door clicked shut behind her, Daniel turned and walked back across the yard, his thoughts still tangled. The sun was finally setting, and the warm night air didn’t seem quite as comforting anymore.

Inside, he made his way straight to his room. He locked the door behind him, his chest tight with the things he didn’t want to admit. His head was spinning with thoughts of Kayla, the closeness between them, how she felt in his hand, how she looked when she bent over in front of him.

And as his mind wandered, the heat between his legs was unmistakable.

He sank down at his computer desk, his thoughts now spinning. The feeling that had been lurking beneath the surface all evening—a desire that had nothing to do with their old friendship—was becoming harder to ignore.

Booting up his PC, there was one more thing Daniel couldn't push from his mind.

Over the past couple of years, many states had repealed tiny rights, declaring that tinies needed to be registered under giant owners.

At first, he’d been terrified for Kayla, worried she might end up in one of those states. But when he realized she wasn’t—when she told him she was going to college in a state where tiny rights still held—he’d felt a sense of relief.

With the loss of tiny rights, however, came a surge in underground content—videos that were illegal in states where tiny rights still applied, but were easy enough to access with a VPN. A month after Kayla left, Daniel had been feeling more isolated than ever.

That loneliness led him to late-night browsing.

The post title caught his eye: "New Tiny Pet Filled with Cream." At first, he hesitated. A sickening feeling gnawed at him, but curiosity got the better of him, and he clicked.

What he saw made his stomach churn. A tiny girl, completely naked, her body being rubbed against a giant's cock.

He recoiled at first, disgusted by the image, but something in him couldn’t look away.

His eyes followed the tiny girl’s terrified expression as she was forced against the giant’s cock. The way she convulsed when he came, her head pressed against the slit, her body shuddering as it was filled with cum—Daniel couldn’t tear his gaze from the screen.

When it was over, he quickly shut the tabs, wiped the history, and sat frozen in his chair.

His chest heaved, his breath short, the room feeling too small. His mouth was dry, and his heart raced. His mind couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. He’d been taught that tinies were people too—that they deserved respect. He wasn’t supposed to be aroused by this.

But that image of the tiny girl’s terrified face, her body helpless against something far bigger than she was, kept invading his mind. And he hated it. But he couldn’t forget it.

Over the next two years, he found more videos. Some were taken down, but there were always new ones.

New faces.

New bodies.

New tinies.

And each time, his internal disgust battled against a darker, growing curiosity. He’d always told himself he was better than that—better than the people who saw tinies as objects. He couldn’t help himself. He’d sit in his room, eyes glued to the screen, and lose himself in the videos. His pulse quickened every time he watched, the fantasies growing darker.

It wasn’t until tonight, with the screen glowing in front of him, that his thoughts began to twist in a new direction.

He pulled up his favorite video, one he’d watched more than a few times. As the tiny brunette girl’s desperate cries filled the speakers, Daniel couldn't help but imagine Kayla in place of her.

He pictured her, the girl who had always been his best friend, now in that position—her small, soft body trembling as he stroked her up and down his cock. Her eyes, filled with terror, her voice caught in a scream he couldn’t even hear, but could somehow feel.

His breath grew heavier as he imagined it. The disgust, the shame, the guilt—it all melted away as he sank deeper into the fantasy. When he came, it was a hot, intense release, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to disappear.

He sat back in his chair, still reeling, his pulse still racing.

What the hell was he doing? The question echoed in his mind, but the answer never came.

The morning came slow.

Daniel lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. Light crept in through the slats of his blinds—thin stripes of gold stretching across his chest. The haze of sleep hadn’t fully left him. Everything felt muted, edges dulled by that soft, lingering fog. His heart wasn’t racing. His hands weren’t shaking.

He let out a long breath.

It didn’t feel normal, exactly. But the guilt from last night had quieted into something smaller. Manageable. Whatever that had been—whatever he had been—it was just a fantasy. A dark flicker in the heat of summer. Nothing more.

Eventually, he pulled himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The air was already warm, heavy with stillness. The kind of heat that settled deep into the walls and made everything feel slower.

He moved through the morning in a daze—toast, a shower, a halfhearted scroll through his phone. His parents had left early for work. The house was quiet. Too quiet. That silence pressed in from all sides, wrapping around him like insulation, thick and suffocating.

By mid-afternoon, the restlessness returned.

His gaze drifted toward the window. Before he could think better of it, he slipped on a pair of sneakers, raked a hand through his hair, and stepped outside.

The heat hit him like a blanket. The cicadas were in full chorus, the air shimmering above the pavement. He crossed the lawn with slow steps, hands in his pockets, not entirely sure what he’d say—only that he needed to see her again.

Kayla’s house sat in its usual place, tucked like a secret between two full-sized homes. Its white siding gleamed in the sun, miniature flower pots flanking the porch like tiny guardians. He was just about to crouch down and knock when something caught his eye.

His gaze lifted—past the rooftop of her dollhouse-sized home, toward the narrow backyard beyond.

And froze.

Kayla lay sprawled on a towel no bigger than a tissue, arms tucked lazily behind her head. Her long, wavy hair spilled over the edge in dark ribbons, chestnut strands glinting in the sunlight. Her skin had deepened to a golden bronze, slick with a sheen of sweat that made her look like some kind of lazy, sun-drunk goddess.

She wore a powder-blue bikini.

Or... half of it.

Her bottoms clung to her hips, snug and familiar—the same ones she used to wear on lake trips. But her chest was bare.

Topless.

Daniel forgot to breathe.

Her breasts rose and fell with each unhurried breath—soft, round, perfectly shaped. Her nipples were dusky and firm, reacting to the warm breeze that drifted through the yard. One shifted slightly as she reached up to adjust her glasses.

She had no idea anyone was watching.

Didn’t expect to be watched.

The backyard was private enough—no nearby windows, no real lines of sight. Her house was too small to offer much cover, but she'd grown up here. She felt safe. The only neighbors nearby were an old couple on vacation and Daniel’s family.

And Daniel… she trusted him not to look.

But he was looking.

She stretched slowly, back arching, breasts lifting with the motion. One arm slipped behind her head, the other dropped to rest across her stomach—fingers splayed over the soft plane of muscle leading down toward the curve of her bikini.

Daniel’s eyes lingered. On the gentle slope of her breasts. The smooth skin of her stomach. The subtle dip where her thigh bent at the knee. The light caught on the sweat along her skin, highlighting the curve of her waist, the delicate line of her collarbone.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t.

His mouth was dry, heart hammering—not like last night’s frantic pulse, but something slower. Thicker. His body felt heavy with it. Less panic, more pull.

He should look away. He knew that. He told himself again and again. But his gaze stayed rooted to her, drinking her in like he’d stumbled across something forbidden and beautiful and impossibly close.

And then, slowly, Daniel crouched.

The grass scratched at his knees as he leaned forward, just enough to see her fully. His eyes locked on her bare chest, her soft skin gleaming with summer heat.

She shifted again, adjusting the towel beneath her, breasts swaying gently with the motion. The girl who trusted him not to look.

But he was looking.

And the worst part—the part that scared him, thrilled him—was that he didn’t want to stop.

Daniel didn’t realize how long he’d been crouching. The sun had moved across the sky, casting new shadows across the grass. Time felt strange—suspended in heat and silence.

Kayla hadn’t moved.

Her chest rose and fell in a slow, lazy rhythm, the soft swell of her breasts catching the light with each breath. That was when it hit him—she wasn’t sunbathing anymore.

She was asleep.

Out cold. Glasses still perched crooked on her nose, mouth parted slightly in a slack, quiet doze. Completely unguarded.

He should’ve left. Meant to. It was the perfect moment to slip away, unseen, unnoticed.

But instead, Daniel shifted in the grass, inching forward on his knees until he hovered at the edge of the tiny towel. His breath caught as he leaned in, close enough now that the heat from her body drifted up to meet his skin.

She looked impossibly delicate.

Her legs were stretched out, one bent slightly at the knee. Her bikini bottoms hugged her hips in a perfect dip, the fabric clinging to the curve of her waist. A thin bead of sweat had gathered between her breasts, glinting as it slid slowly down her sternum.

He swallowed hard.

He knew what her body felt like in his hand—but not like this. Not bare. Not exposed.

After everything he’d seen online—after every sick, arousing video—he had to know. Just how soft she was. What her body felt like without the buffer of clothes.

His hand hovered over her, fingers trembling. The warmth of her skin reached him even now. He stared down at her for another long moment, heart pounding against his ribs.

Just a touch.

Not a grab. Not a grope. Just… a brush. A moment.

His index finger lowered slowly, the barest tremble in his knuckles, until the tip ghosted over the curve of her thigh.

Kayla shifted—just a sleepy twitch—and Daniel froze. But she didn’t wake.

He slid his finger upward. Over the smooth skin of her leg. Past the curve of her hip. He stopped just below her belly button, fingertip resting flat across the band of her bikini bottoms. Her skin was hot. Silk-soft. Still, she didn’t stir.

He could hear his own breathing now—shallow, ragged, like the heat was thickening in his lungs. His middle finger drifted across her side, tracing the faint outline of her ribs.

Her arm twitched.

Daniel flinched, pulling back slightly—but not all the way. She murmured something—soft, unintelligible—and shifted again. Her arm slid down from behind her head, coming to rest across her stomach.

His eyes followed the motion… then drifted back upward. To her chest.

The bead of sweat had finished its path, now pooling just beneath the swell of her breast. Before he could stop himself, his hand moved. His fingertip pressed lightly into her breast. Warm. Yielding. Soft in a way that made his breath catch.

Her nipple responded, hardening beneath the contact.

Daniel exhaled through clenched teeth, hand trembling now. His fingers twitched, aching to squeeze—to feel more.

He didn’t mean to grab her.

But when she rolled slightly—just a small, sleepy turn—her bare breast nudged into the pad of his finger. His grip reflexively closed.

And suddenly, she was in his hand.

A breath hitched in her throat. “…hello?”

Her voice was groggy. Confused. Barely awake.

Daniel didn’t speak. Couldn’t. She was so small in his hand—her naked torso pressed to his palm, her skin soft and hot, her breath brushing against his knuckles in shallow pulses. Her legs shifted in the towel, thighs flexing weakly.

Kayla blinked up at him, dazed. Her hands rose, bracing against his thumb.

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He cradled her more securely, his other hand curling underneath to steady her as he sat back on his heels, lifting her to eye level. Kayla looked up at him, confusion giving way to something tighter.

Her eyes scanned his face. Nervousness stirred in the tiny flicker of her breath, in the flick of her gaze. Her nipples were still taut—whether from the breeze or from his touch, he couldn’t tell. He felt her heartbeat, fluttering beneath her ribs.

She was fully awake now.

And Daniel didn’t know what to say.

Kayla blinked against the light, squinting as her eyes adjusted. Everything felt… off. Too warm. Too soft. The sun was still out—but she wasn’t lying on her towel anymore.

Something firm cradled her back.

There was a pulse beneath her—steady, deep, familiar. She knew that rhythm.

Daniel.

Her eyes widened. She was in his hand.

“Wha… Danny?” Her voice cracked, still thick with sleep. “Why are you holding me?”

Then she looked down.

Her breasts were bare—still slick with sweat, nipples standing out against the open air.

She shrieked, arms flying up to cover herself. “Daniel, what the fuck!” she screamed.

Kayla’s scream hit him like a punch to the chest. Her arms flew up, snapping across her bare chest, legs kicking as she thrashed in his hand.

Daniel panicked.

“I—I… shit, I—” The words jammed in his throat. His thoughts blurred. The backyard suddenly felt too open. Too exposed. If someone saw—if someone heard—

She squirmed hard, twisting in his grip.

Acting on instinct, he shoved her down—into the front pocket of his shorts.

Kayla cried out in alarm, her sweat-slick body pressing against the fabric, limbs flailing as she struggled upright. Her voice vibrated against his thigh, muffled, furious, shouting through the cotton as he bolted across the yard and into the house.

Each step jarred her.

He could feel her squirming, fists pounding the inside of the pocket. But he didn’t stop. Didn’t say a word. Just took the stairs two at a time and slammed his bedroom door behind him.

Silence.

Chest heaving, he reached into the pocket and pulled her out.

She was burning with rage, still holding one arm tightly over her chest. But the movement had jostled her—her breasts were exposed again, small and perfect and glistening with sweat.

“If this is a joke,” she snapped, voice sharp with fury, “it’s not a very fucking funny one.”

Daniel swallowed hard, lips parted, words stuck behind his teeth.

“You don’t just grab me like that,” she spat. “You don’t stuff me in your pocket and run off like a goddamn psycho. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Daniel didn’t answer. He just stared—lips parted, chest rising and falling, his breathing slow but heavy. There was a tension in him now, thick and palpable, coiled low in his gut. His eyes flicked down to her bare chest, then to the door, the window, the hallway beyond.

The house was silent. Empty.

No one was coming.

When his gaze returned to Kayla, she was still trying to speak—but the words died the moment she caught his expression. Something had shifted. His eyes had darkened. There was a hunger in them that hadn’t been there before.

“…Danny?” she said, more cautiously this time.

He stepped forward.

Kayla backed up, bare feet slipping against the smooth wood of his desk. “Wait. Just—listen,” she stammered, hands half-lifted. “It’s fine, okay? It was weird, but it’s fine. We can forget it. Just take me back, alright? Let’s just go back—”

She moved too fast. Her heel caught the edge of his keyboard, and she yelped as she tumbled backward. She landed hard, square on the spacebar. The monitor flared to life.

She blinked—and froze.

The screen was filled with a paused video, blown up to full size. A tiny girl, naked and terrified, pinned against the length of a giant cock. Her mouth was open mid-scream, her limbs stiff with panic. The resemblance was unmistakable.

Same hair. Same glasses, crooked and slipping down her nose.

Kayla blinked, her whole body going cold. The silence dragged.

The girl on the screen looked like her.

The room held still. Kayla stared, color draining from her face. Her heart thudded in her chest, loud and hard. She slowly turned her eyes back toward Daniel.

“…Daniel?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stood there, looking down at her.

But what made her breath catch—what made her blood turn to ice—was the unmistakable bulge rising in his shorts.

Kayla’s whisper hung in the charged silence, barely audible above the soft hum of Daniel’s monitor.

Behind her, the screen glowed with frozen horror.

Her hazel eyes flicked between the video and Daniel. She was sitting on the spacebar, arms at her sides, supporting herself. Her chest was bare. Her breaths were shallow, each one coming in quick, uneven gasps. It wasn’t from the chill of the room—it was something deeper. Something raw. The betrayal cut through her, clean and brutal.

“Daniel,” she said again, her voice cracking. “What… what is this?”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes stayed locked on her—wide, dark, unreadable. His mouth hung open, lips parted as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. And he didn’t need to. The bulge in his shorts said everything.

Kayla shakily stood and took a step back. Her bare foot slipped slightly on the wood, and she caught herself, pushing her glasses up with a trembling hand. She looked small. Exposed. But she didn’t run.

“I didn’t mean to—” Daniel started, his voice low and rough, gravel scraping his throat. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, shoulders hunched. His hands flexed, fingers curling and uncurling like he didn’t trust them.

“It’s not what you think, Kay. I swear,” he said.

“Not what I think?” Her voice sharpened, like broken glass. “You grabbed me. You watched me—touched me—while I was asleep. And now this?” She stabbed a finger toward the screen, her arm shaking. “That girl looks like me, Daniel.”

Her eyes dropped to his lap. She flinched at what she saw, and then looked back up at him, her face twisted in disbelief.

“You were hard while watching this?” Her voice cracked. “While holding me?”

Daniel’s jaw tensed. He jerked forward, his shadow stretching across the desk, swallowing her in its dark shape.

Kayla flinched but didn’t retreat. Her body trembled, her arms crossed tightly over her chest once more, covering her breasts. Her breath came in ragged bursts, but her eyes never left his.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” he said quietly. “I just… I saw you, out there. You were lying there, and I—” He swallowed, his eyes dragging slowly across her body. “You were so… open. I didn’t think. I couldn’t stop looking.”

Kayla stared at him, stunned. But then her expression shifted—pain breaking through the fear.

“So you touched me?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. It hit Daniel like a fist to the gut.

“You were my friend, Danny. I trusted you,” she said.

The word hung between them like a blade.

Daniel winced, his face twisting in shame—but it didn’t last. Something darker surfaced in his eyes—guilt giving way to something heavier. Something hungrier.

“I still am,” he said, though it sounded hollow. “I didn’t plan this. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. After you left, I found stuff. Online. At first it felt wrong, but it stuck in my head.”

Kayla’s face paled.

“Stuff?” Her voice lifted, shrill with disbelief. “You mean this shit?” She jabbed a finger at the screen. “You get off to this? Watching tiny girls used like that? And now you’re looking at me like I’m—like I’m one of them?”

“No!” he snapped. His voice cracked, too loud, too raw. He dropped into the chair at his desk, one hand dragging through his hair, eyes squeezed shut.

“You’re not like them. You’re Kayla,” he said.

But even as he spoke, his eyes betrayed him—sliding over her body, her trembling legs, her exposed chest.

She saw it.

Her heart slammed in her chest. Her pulse thudded, a drumbeat of rage and fear. She took another step back, her leg knocking into the mouse.

“Then prove it,” she said, her voice steady now, low and firm. “Take me home. Put me down. Now.”

Daniel’s hand twitched on the desk. His breathing was uneven—his chest rising and falling with something more than guilt. The room was still, silent, save for the soft whir of the fan and Kayla’s quick, shallow breaths.

For a moment, she saw it—something shift in him. The boy she’d grown up with. The one who once built Lego castles at her command, who used to catch her when she jumped from the windowsill—he was still in there. Still reachable.

And then his hand moved.

Kayla yelped as his fingers closed around her, gentle but unyielding, lifting her from the desk. Her arms flailed, trying to cover herself, but he pinned them to her sides, her soft breasts pressing against his palm. She kicked, her bare feet brushing his knuckles, her bikini bottoms slipping slightly with the motion.

“Daniel, stop!” she shouted, her voice sharp but small, swallowed by the vastness of his room.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. This was insane. What he was doing was wrong, disgusting even, but it was so hard to stop. The way her body felt against his hand—the softness of her skin, the delicate weight of her—it was all too much. Too real. His mind screamed at him to let go, but the feeling of her shifting in his palm only deepened the heat pooling low in his gut.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice almost a broken murmur. “I just... I need this... you don’t understand.”

“No—no, Danny, don’t do this!” Her voice cracked, panic flooding her as he lowered her, his hand firm but almost tender as it moved her closer to his crotch. “You can’t—please, just talk to me!”

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated, almost mechanically, as though the words had lost their meaning. His gaze was locked on her bare body, unwilling to look away.

He started to pull down his shorts, his fingers trembling slightly as they hooked into his boxers. The slow, deliberate motion felt almost unnatural, and yet he couldn't stop.

Kayla’s voice mixed rage with desperation. “You’re going to use me like some—some toy? After everything? We were friends!”

Daniel flinched, momentarily broken from his trance, but the internal battle didn’t last. His eyes flicked from her heaving breasts, down her exposed skin, then back to her face—flush with panic, eyes wide and desperate. She wasn’t the friend he remembered anymore; she was something he needed.

“Nothing has to change,” he muttered, voice strained, like he was trying to convince himself. “Just... you’re helping me out. I swear, once I'm done, you can go.”

With that, Daniel yanked his shorts down.

His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, and fully hard. It whipped up as it cleared the waistband and smacked directly into Kayla’s face with a wet, startling thud.

He gasped, nearly coming from the contact alone. Her bare skin, the heat of her body, the tiny jolt as his tip struck her—he gripped her tighter, chest heaving. Guilt flared as she recoiled, stunned by the blow. That had to hurt.

Kayla’s head rang from the impact, the fleshy trunk leaving a wet smear across her cheek as it bounced back. She froze, her entire body locking in place as she stared at the monster in front of her.

It was massive. Easily her height. Thicker than her waist. Already glistening with precum, thick and glossy, it drooled slow, deliberate beads down the shaft. The sheer heat of it radiated toward her.

Her throat clenched. Her mouth moved, but no sound came.

This wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be.

Her back pressed against his fingers, her arms still pinned, the hot swell of his dick looming in her vision like some nightmare monument. And then it hit her—not just the scale of it, but the reality.

She knew the laws. The loopholes. Which states had repealed protection statutes, which counties had stopped prosecuting possession altogether. She’d read the headlines. She’d seen the footage—tiny girls used like toys, erased without a trace. She’d pitied them. Raged for them. Sworn that would never be her.

She checked the ordinances religiously. Made sure she was always safe.

But that wasn’t supposed to happen here.

Not in her own backyard.
Not in Daniel’s hand.

The horror broke her silence.

Kayla screamed.

She thrashed against his grip, her hands slamming into the thick pads of his fingers. She kicked furiously, her heels thudding against his palm. Her nails raked red lines down his thumb, and she twisted her head, sinking her teeth hard into his skin. Her sweat-slick breasts jostled wildly with every frantic motion, her whole body fighting like hell to get free.

Daniel winced. The bite stung, and her nails burned across his skin—but he didn’t let go.

If anything, he held her tighter.

He deserved it. That was the truth. What he was doing was wrong. He knew it.

This wasn’t something he could explain away or fix later with apologies. It wasn’t panic or confusion anymore.

It was a choice. His.

And she had every right to fight.

But that didn’t change the fact that he needed this. That something in him had already crossed a line.

Slowly—gently—he pressed her against the length of his cock.

Her cries were instantly muffled, her body forced against the slick, throbbing skin. Her face pressed into the glossy surface near the tip, smearing precum across her cheek. Her legs kicked out into the air, helpless.

The heat of him slid under her skin, slick and pulsing, the steady throb beating like a drum against her skull.

Daniel exhaled—shaky, tense.

The sensation of her struggles coursed through him, sharp and electric. He drew in a ragged breath, trying to steady himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though the words felt hollow in the midst of it all.

Her response was drowned out as he began to move her slowly up and down, stroking her along the length of his cock.

She pushed back, tiny hands pressing against his fingers, against his throbbing shaft, but her resistance only seemed to fuel him. Each futile struggle made him harder, his cock pulsing in time with the beat of his heart.

He tightened his hold, pressing her tighter against his shaft.

Her curves fit against him perfectly, her soft breasts squishing against his length, nipples stiff and slick from fear and precum. Her bikini bottoms still clung to her hips, now damp and starting to ride up from the friction. Her ass rippled as he moved her, her warm skin gliding along the slick coating that soaked his cock.

Her whimpers vibrated against him, sending sharp jolts through his gut.

It was everything he’d imagined—and more.

Her soft, delicate body fitting against him, every inch of her warmth pressed up against his cock. Her face twisted in a mix of fear and discomfort, her wide eyes glistening with tears as she realized how powerless she was, how little she could do to stop this.

Soon, it became unbearable. He couldn’t hold back anymore. With a guttural groan, he pulled her off his cock, cradling her with one hand while the other guided his length, stroking with desperate intensity.

When he came, it was explosive. Every pent-up desire he’d ever had for her, every twisted urge, released in a single, violent burst.

The first jet of cum shot out, thick and scalding, splattering across her tiny body. She choked, the sticky fluid coating her face, drenching her small frame in the force of his release.

Another pulse followed—then a third, heavier than the last—each spurt painting her tits, her stomach, and her thighs in relentless streams. Her hands flailed weakly, trying to wipe the mess away, but her movements were futile. Her gasps turned into choking gurgles as his cum continued to flood over her, her curves glistening with his release.

Desperate, she tried to squirm out of his hand, but he pressed his thumb firmly into her stomach, forcing the air from her lungs and pinning her in place. She was helpless, trapped beneath the torrent of his desire, unable to escape the sticky mess that coated every inch of her.

By the time it ended, she was drenched—not a single inch was left untouched by cum. Her face was covered, her breasts slick with the mess. Her chest heaved, sticky fluid dripping from her nipples, sliding down her stomach in slow rivulets.

She shuddered, wiping at her eyes so she could see again, the thick, white fluid dripping down her chin.

"Please..." Her voice was hoarse, her words weak and strained. "You said you’d let me go when you finished... please, let me go home..."

But Daniel didn’t put her down.

His cock was still hard—throbbing, insistent, slick with both need and leftover cum. The sensations, the power, the sight of her glistening body struggling in his hand—it clouded everything else. Thought dissolved into want. Reason buckled beneath the weight of pure, animal desire.

He needed more.

Needed to feel her body molded around his cock again.

This time, there was no hesitation. No gentleness. No lingering affection for his best friend, his childhood crush. Only lust.

Kayla screamed when he brought her back to the swollen head of his cock. The slit was still oozing cum, thick and lazy, pulsing with his heartbeat. With a firm press of his finger, he guided her face directly into it.

Her screams cut off in an instant.

A fat glob of cum engulfed her head, the slick fluid stretching around her face, clinging to her hair, her skin, her mouth. She thrashed, limbs flailing wildly as she tried to pull back—but his hand was a wall, his finger at the back of her skull holding her there, steady.

Daniel groaned.

The sensation of her fighting, the warmth of her breath vanishing into the thick wetness, her tiny body squirming in his grip—it all sent a fresh wave of heat crawling up his spine. The last dregs of guilt dissolved into the throb of want.

Kayla couldn’t breathe.

Every frantic gasp only drew in more cum, thick and suffocating, filling her nose, her throat. It coated her eyes, glued her lips together. She couldn’t scream. Couldn’t speak. The hand gripping her torso, the finger pressing against the back of her head, the scorching heat of his cock in front of her—she couldn’t escape.

Her thoughts blurred, slipping between panic and disbelief.

As she slowly drowned in the cum surrounding her, all she could think about was this—this was Daniel.

Danny.

The boy who used to give her shoulder rides. Who passed her notes in school and waited for her after class. The one who used to carry her in his pocket, who once shielded her with cupped hands during a rainstorm so she wouldn’t get wet.

She’d had a crush on him.

And now he was using her as a cum rag.

As a toy.

Her lungs screamed for air. Her arms pushed uselessly against the head of his cock, fingers slipping on the cum-slick skin. Her legs kicked in shallow bursts, growing weaker with every second. Her chest burned.

And then, finally, he let her go.

He eased the pressure off the back of her head and pulled her back—just a few inches. She gasped, a ragged, choking breath bursting from her lungs, cum pouring from her mouth in thick strands as she coughed and sputtered.

Daniel didn’t give her a moment longer.

He shifted his grip, wrapped her tighter, and began to stroke her up and down his cock again.

Kayla’s body slid easily along his shaft now, slick with his release, every pass leaving a glistening trail of warmth along his length. His grip on her was firmer, more confident—like something inside him had snapped, or settled. He no longer hesitated. No more apologies.

Only want.

Her body—so small, so perfect—molded to him like it was made for this. Every stroke pressed her soft curves into his skin, her tits dragging across the sensitive underside, her face brushing the ridge of his head. Her arms dangled weakly now, her thighs trembling as he rubbed her up and down, using her like a living cloth for his arousal.

She whimpered, her voice muffled, too tired to fight. Her breath came in shallow, wet gasps, little bubbles forming at her lips as precum smeared across her cheeks, her chin, her chest. Her mouth hung slightly open, glazed eyes fluttering every time the fat tip of his cock bumped against it.

He didn’t slow down though, too caught up in his lust. Her petite frame, barely six inches of warm, yielding flesh, whipped up and down in a rhythm as brutal as it was unrelenting. Each jarring impact made her tits flatten and smear across the thick shaft, her body grinding messily through the slick sheen of precum that now covered both of them.

Her face struck the swollen tip again and again—each bounce making her head crash against it, leaving her dizzy and disoriented.

She sobbed, helplessly riding the motion.

Then, between strokes, she found enough breath to choke out a plea.

“Please,” she whimpered, voice rasping, “please, Danny… just stop… I can’t—I can’t take anymore…”

Her voice broke at the end, her lips trembling as more of his release smeared across her mouth. Her chest hitched with each breath, small shoulders shaking.

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Something almost like guilt.

But it didn’t last.

He could feel it building again—that overwhelming, addictive pressure. The coil in his gut snapped taut, his cock pulsing with frantic need.

She whimpered in his grip, barely able to lift her head, slick with sweat and seed, her breath coming in weak, wet gasps.

He didn’t hesitate.

Her face pressed flush to the swollen head of his cock, and this time—there was no resistance.

With a grunt, Daniel came.

The first spurt hit her like a punch—thick, boiling-hot cum slamming straight down her throat. She jerked violently, her back arching, tiny fingers clawing at his thumb as she tried to scream. But there was no air. Only heat. Only pressure.

His cock pulsed again. And again.

The second shot blasted past her lips, bloating her belly instantly. Her torso puffed out in his hand, her soft middle swelling grotesquely beneath his grip. The third jet followed with even more force, spewing from her nose and the corners of her stretched mouth, cum gushing down her chin and soaking her tits in glistening white.

She convulsed—limbs twitching, body shaking, face slick and painted with his cum.

Still, he didn’t stop.

He held her there, pinned to the tip, grinding her face against the twitching head as pulse after pulse erupted from him. Her cheeks ballooned with every fresh burst. Her throat bulged, trying to swallow it all, but she couldn’t keep up. It flooded over her, thick streams spilling down her stomach, across her ass, matting her hair.

Her belly stretched tight, rounded and heavy, every inch of her visibly overfilled.

She gagged. Then choked.

A high, gurgled cry slipped from her stuffed mouth—raw and wet and pitiful—just before a fresh spurt forced it back down. Cum burst from her lips, trailing strings that dripped from her chest to the base of his shaft. Her eyes rolled back. Her legs kicked weakly.

Finally, as the last thick pulse dribbled from him, Daniel exhaled—deep and ragged, his body shuddering in release.

He pulled her back.

She was limp in his hand, body slick and glistening with his release. Her stomach was swollen, visibly distended from the load he’d forced down her throat. Her mouth hung open slightly, cum still pooling on her tongue, drooling in thick, slow drips down her chin.

Her eyes fluttered, unfocused.

Daniel just stared.

His cock was softening now, but still flushed, still twitching faintly with the echoes of pleasure. A single string of cum connected them—thick and glistening, stretched between the glossy head of his cock and the entire front of her face. It clung to her skin in a wet, web-like mask, coating her forehead, cheeks, nose, mouth.

It swayed slightly as he moved her, trembling under its own weight before finally snapping, splattering across her chest.

He couldn’t look away.

Without thinking, he brought her trembling body back toward his length, gently dragging her skin along the underside, using her like a cloth to wipe away what was left. Her tiny form slid across the shaft in slow, helpless arcs, smearing his mess across her limbs, her belly, her breasts.

She twitched faintly at the contact, a faint whimper rising in her throat.

It sounded more like a breath than a sound.

And then came the guilt.

It crawled over him the moment the haze lifted—sharp and cold.

“Fuck…” he muttered, voice cracking as he looked down at her. “What did I—?”

He trailed off, throat closing tight.

There was no undoing it. No pretending anymore.

Her chest was heaving, sticky strands of cum webbing between her breasts. Her legs curled in slightly, arms drawn tight around her bloated stomach like she didn’t want him to see what he’d done. But he couldn’t stop looking. He’d made her like this.

He’d used her—his best friend—as nothing more than a fuck toy. A receptacle.

And now she was spent, wrecked, painted in his cum and barely conscious in his hand. The tattered remains of her bikini bottoms hung shredded and tangled around one of her ankles, having been torn from the friction of his cock. It was just a scrap of ruined fabric now.

Daniel moved on instinct, grabbing a handful of wipes from the box on his nightstand. His hands shook as he pressed one to her face, gently brushing it across her cheeks, her eyelids, her slack lips.

“Kayla…” he whispered. “I didn’t mean—fuck, I didn’t mean to go that far.”

She didn’t answer.

Her lips parted slightly as another bit of cum slid from the corner of her mouth.

He wiped down her arms, her thighs, careful not to press too hard against the curve of her bloated belly. Cum clung to every dip and slope of her body. Her skin was warm—too warm—and the guilt swelled tighter in his chest, sharp and suffocating.

“I thought I could stop,” he said softly. “I thought I would. Just once. But then you… the way you looked… I lost it. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

More cum leaked from her mouth as he spoke, a thick glob sliding sliding down her chin.

He set her down on the desk, hands trembling. Her body slumped where he left her, too exhausted to sit up, one arm half-wrapped across her belly. Her head rolled to the side, cum-webbed hair sticking to the surface beneath her. Her lips parted slightly, a thin stream dribbling out onto the wood.

She moaned again, softer.

Daniel swallowed hard.

The silence was unbearable. The sound of the wipes crinkling in his hand, her faint breaths, the wet drip of cum on the hardwood—none of it made sense in the stillness.

So he spoke. Just to hear something else.

“We’re… we’re still friends, right?” he said, voice raw and uneven. “I mean, I didn’t—this doesn’t have to change anything. Not really. We’re still us.”

Her head rolled weakly to the side.

He nodded to himself. Slowly. Like if he believed it hard enough, it would become true.

“We’re still us,” he whispered again.

Her only answer was a quiet, strangled sound as more cum slipped from her lips.

[AB23]

Sometimes your inhibitions just don't exist anymore. Hope she's ok though, this one is def good enough to warrant a sequel!

[DocRick]

I thought this went along with your story.

[Saxanas]

I'd LOVE to see a full story of “Tiny Torments: Backdoor tiny never sees daylight again!” that you teased in a previous story. I think it could be a wonderfully fleshed out narration!!

[Justhereforamoment1]

Hey everyone! Didn't want to leave you hanging so here's an update. Haven't felt super motivated writing wise and I didn't want to burn myself out, so it might be a while before I release the next chapter. Currently I was working on the step siblings one but didn't get much done outside a bit of the intro. Anyways, thats all, so hopefully what I've got written already can tide you over. Bye!

[squelch]

I just read the story "What are friends for?" and I thought it was pretty dope. Looking forward to checking out the others.

[Justhereforamoment1]

Well its been a bit since I've written anything. Lost the spark for a bit but I was commissioned to write a new story (Dirty Works, go check it out) and it gave me the motivation to continue this one. Coming in at just under 14k words, I think you all will enjoy this story. Also, afterwords, I've got a question for you all so mame sure to check my reply.

Anyways, enjoy!

---

Paige stared down at her cereal, stirring it with slow, absent motions. She sat perched on the edge of a giant kitchen table, her feet dangling from a tiny wooden chair, a thimble-sized bowl balanced in front of her.

It was the last day of high school. At eighteen, she should've felt excited. Free. Ready for whatever came next.

But she didn't.

Not that there were many options. Not for someone like her.

At five inches tall, most careers were already out of reach. She couldn't work retail. Couldn't operate machinery. Couldn't even use a damn full-sized keyboard without both hands and a climbing harness.

It wasn't fair. But it was normal.

She sighed and poked at her cereal, wondering—again—what the hell she was supposed to do with herself after today.

And then the world shook.

The table groaned beneath her, vibrations rumbling through the surface and sending a ripple across her cereal, a thin wave of milk sloshing over the side and down her shirt.

Other tinies might've panicked. Screamed. Tried to run. But Paige just rolled her eyes.

She turned and shouted, "Would you stop shaking the table? I'm trying to eat, and the milk's spilling out."

Across from her, seated in a full-sized chair, was a giant redhead. He didn't answer. His massive headphones—each one bigger than Paige's entire mattress—were clamped tightly over his ears.

He kept eating. One hand on his phone, the other shoveling food into his mouth. His fork looked like a shovel from Paige's perspective—each scrape of metal against ceramic sent a tremor through the table strong enough to jostle her bowl.

If he wanted to, he could crush her like a bug.

He was also her stepbrother.

Years ago—back when she was five—her dad had walked out. He'd run off with the "love of his life," some woman Paige had never even met, and he hadn't looked back. For a long time, it had been just her and her mom, two tinies trying to survive in a world far too big for either of them.

That all changed when her mom met Darrel.

Darrel was a giant. A broad-shouldered redhead with quiet eyes, the kind of man whose shadow alone could swallow Paige whole. He'd lost his wife to cancer not long before, and in his grief, he'd somehow stumbled into her mother's life.

At first, her mom had been wary. Even afraid. A giant taking an interest in a tiny rarely ended well—for the tiny. But Darrel was different. He treated them like people. He gave them space, respected their fears, and slowly, he became someone they could trust.

By the time Paige turned eleven, they were married.

And with Darrel came Kyle.

Kyle, the giant currently sitting across from her, half-listening to music as he demolished his breakfast, was only a couple months older than she was. They'd grown up side by side—though for him, that meant being a typical-sized kid, while for her it meant… well, being what she was.

Still, Kyle had always looked out for her. Back then, he'd been her shield—swatting away curious classmates, lifting her out of puddles, keeping her out of harm's way in a world that never seemed to notice her.

Somewhere along the way, that closeness had faded.

Kyle had started spending time with people who didn't see tinies as people. She'd overheard snippets of their conversations in the halls—mocking laughter, casual talk about tinies as if they were toys, pets, or worse. It always made her stomach twist.

He never joined in, never said anything outright cruel. But he also never defended them. Never defended her.

Kyle had never done anything to her. Not really. He didn't tease her, didn't threaten her, didn't cross any lines. He just… pulled back. Got distant. Quieter around her.

But there were moments she caught him watching when he didn't think she noticed. Moments where his gaze lingered too long, his expression unreadable, like he was weighing something in his mind.

Like right now.

"Can you just get me off the table?" she shouted, looking down at the milk soaking through her shirt. "I need to clean this up."

Kyle didn't move right away. His eyes flicked down, following the wet fabric clinging to her tiny frame.

Then he grunted, reached for her with two fingers, and lifted her off the table with casual ease.

The pads of his fingers pressed against her sides as he lowered her to the floor. For a second, she swore his grip tightened just a little, almost imperceptible—but then she was down, standing on the hardwood like nothing had happened.

Kyle turned back to his breakfast, slipping his headphones over his ears again as if she wasn't even there.

Paige walked barefoot across the hardwood, the damp fabric of her shirt clinging uncomfortably to her chest. Cold milk wicked down her stomach, soaking into her jeans. She shivered.

The bathroom door stood slightly ajar. She slipped through the crack and padded toward the smaller sink built just for her—polished chrome, a scaled-down mirror, tiny porcelain basin. Darrel had installed it years ago. It was one of the few things in the house that actually fit her.

She stepped up to the mirror and stared at herself.

Her reflection stared back: pale skin with a cool undertone, long black hair falling in loose waves down past her waist. Her lips were dark, painted in matte black lipstick, and pouty enough to make her look constantly unimpressed—exactly the vibe she was going for. She had thick lashes, faint winged liner, and a sharpness to her features that made her look older than eighteen.

Even soaked, her outfit screamed goth. A black mesh crop top clung to her like a second skin, translucent enough to hint at the bra beneath.

A choker with a silver ring sat snug against her throat. Her jeans—black and skin-tight—were darkened further by the spill, damp patches crawling up her thighs.

She sighed and tugged the shirt off, wincing as the cold fabric peeled away from her skin with a sticky sound. It hit the floor with a wet plop. Underneath, a lace-trimmed bralette—dark purple, nearly black—clung to her modest but perky breasts. Her figure was slim, tight, toned in the way a dancer's might be.

She turned to the side, studying herself, then twisted just enough to check out her ass in the mirror. Tight. Round. A little heart-shaped curve to it, framed by the soaked waistband of her jeans.

Those came off next. She unbuttoned them, shimmied them down her legs, and stepped out of them with a quiet sigh.

Her panties matched her bra—dark lace, low-cut. Clinging.

She unlatched her bra with a flick of her fingers and let it fall, her breasts bouncing slightly free as she shrugged it off. Her nipples were already stiff from the chill in the air.

She slid her panties down her legs, one thumb hooked into each side. When they joined the rest of her clothes in the pile, she stood completely nude, the goosebumps just starting to rise along her arms and thighs.

Paige dragged a hand down her stomach—just a light touch over her pale skin—and then turned toward the shower.

She stepped in and tilted her head back, letting the warm spray hit her scalp first, soaking through her thick black hair. The water streamed down her neck, over her collarbone, then traced the gentle rise of her breasts, droplets sliding down to her stomach in slow, winding paths.

Her nipples stiffened even more under the warmth, her skin tingling as the heat chased away the cold.

She reached for her soap bar—tiny, worn smooth—and rubbed it between her palms until a creamy lather formed. The scent was faintly floral, subtle against the steam.

She ran her soapy hands up her arms, across her shoulders, over her chest, her fingers slick as they slipped down her sides and over the soft dip of her waist. The lather clung in sudsy streaks as she worked her way down her hips, across her ass, and over the smooth curve of her thighs. Each pass left her warmer, softer, cleaner.

She shut her eyes and breathed in the steam, letting the rhythm of the water soothe her thoughts.

Later, Paige sat in class, chin propped on her hand as she stared blankly at the board.

She was just hours away from being done with high school. And yet, here they were—still stuck listening to the teacher drone on about final paperwork, graduation forms, and how "adulthood" was just around the corner.

The tiny section of the classroom felt even smaller than usual. A raised platform with rows of scaled-down desks and chairs, barely wide enough for a handful of students like her. The railing around it was more for show than safety—it wouldn't stop anyone determined from plucking a tiny right out of their seat.

Paige's gaze drifted past the railing, toward the giant section of the room. Regular-sized students lounged in their desks, tapping away at phones or whispering to each other in bored murmurs. From here, even the most ordinary movements felt massive—the tap of a pencil, the thud of a sneaker against the floor.

A sigh slipped from her lips.

She glanced toward the front of the room, where Mrs. Nickles paced slowly as she read through the end-of-year instructions.

Mrs. Nickles was tiny too—maybe five and a half inches, just a bit taller than Paige. But she carried herself with a kind of confident poise that made her seem bigger than she was. Her voice had that sharp, clipped edge of someone who'd long ago stopped tolerating nonsense, especially from the giant students in the back.

She was young, barely thirty, with sharp features framed by shoulder-length auburn hair that swung gently as she moved. She wore a fitted pencil skirt that hugged her hips in a way you couldn't not notice, even if you tried.

And her ass—well, it was impossible to ignore.

Round. Full.

Way too prominent for her small frame.

When she bent over the desk to shuffle papers, the curve of it strained against the fabric, drawing quiet looks from the giants seated in the back rows.

Paige didn't have to glance to know some of them were staring. She'd seen it before. Heard the low, amused chuckles when they thought no one was paying attention.

Even now, Mrs. Nickles leaned forward slightly, adjusting a stack of tiny-sized folders on the miniature podium, the hem of her skirt stretching as the full shape of her butt pressed against it. One of the giant boys in the back snickered, elbowing his friend. Paige saw it in the corner of her eye—a subtle tilt of their heads, the quiet exchange of a grin.

Paige just sighed, bored.

As she debated whether she could pull off falling asleep, the classroom speaker above the board crackled.

Everyone's heads lifted. Even the giant students stopped whispering.

"ATTENTION STUDENTS AND FACULTY," a distorted male voice announced. It was calm, firm, but there was an edge to it—a finality that sent a strange chill down Paige's spine.

"Effective immediately…"

She sat up a little straighter.

"…all tiny rights within state borders are hereby revoked. For public safety, every tiny must register under a giant guardian's ownership. Non-compliance will result in seizure."

Silence. Absolute silence.

For a heartbeat, the entire room seemed frozen—like no one had processed the words yet.

Paige's ears rang. She couldn't have heard that right. She couldn't have.

Her breath hitched as the speaker clicked off, leaving only the faint hum of fluorescent lights.

Mrs. Nickles stood perfectly still at the podium, her mouth slightly open. One of the giant boys in the back gave a low laugh—nervous, disbelieving. But another just smirked, glancing toward the tiny platform with something in his eyes Paige didn't like.

The world tilted.

Her heart slammed into her ribs as adrenaline surged.

She didn't think. She didn't wait. She just moved.

Paige bolted from her desk, shoving past the other tiny students. She vaulted the little railing at the edge of the platform and hit the floor running, bare feet pounding the tile.

Her chest tightened as she sprinted down the hallway. Her tiny legs pumped as fast as they could, weaving past the shadows of giant students who were just beginning to stand, their conversations swelling into chaotic noise.

She didn't know where she was going. She just knew she had to get out. Had to hide. Had to—

A shadow fell over her.

She gasped as two massive fingers pinched her around the waist. She kicked, twisting, panic thrumming through every inch of her.

"No! Let go! Let go!" she shrieked, pounding uselessly at the firm pads holding her.

She writhed, heart hammering—until she turned her head and saw who it was.

Kyle.

Her stepbrother.

"Shit, Paige," Kyle panted, his breath ragged. "Stop squirming—I'm trying to get you out of here!"

She froze mid-struggle, chest rising and falling as she looked up at him. He was flushed, sweaty, strands of his red hair sticking damply to his forehead. He had run—probably all the way across the school.

"Kyle," she whispered, glancing around wildly at the chaos in the hallway. Other tinies were being plucked from the floor, their screams echoing against the lockers. "Did you—"

"Yes, I heard the announcement," he cut her off, his voice low and urgent. "Everyone heard it. We need to get you out of here before someone else grabs you."

Her heart thudded. She just nodded, instinctively curling against the warm curve of his palm as he turned and started down the hall. His fingers closed slightly around her, firm but not crushing.

Through the gaps of his hand, Paige saw flashes of movement—giant students and some teachers crouching to scoop up tinies, others shouting over the noise.

Paige pressed her back to his thumb, feeling it flex slightly against her ribs. It barely registered. Panic drowned everything else out. She didn't notice the way his eyes flicked down to her as he walked. Didn't see how long they lingered.

When they got home, silence reigned.

Darrel was already there—massive, motionless, standing in front of the TV with a look that made Paige's stomach twist. Her mom sat on his shoulder, tiny hands clutching the fabric of his shirt.

She looked pale.

Kyle stepped inside and closed the door behind them with a quiet click. The sound felt too final—like it sealed them off from the rest of the world.

He set Paige down on the kitchen table. The same one she'd eaten breakfast on that morning, before everything had gone to hell. The surface still smelled faintly of milk.

No one spoke at first.

Paige's mom finally broke the silence. "You both heard?" Her voice was soft, trembling.

Darrel nodded once, eyes still on the screen. "It's official. Every tiny has to be registered to a guardian by midnight. They've already started enforcing it."

Paige swallowed hard. "Registered," she repeated, the word tasting wrong in her mouth. "You mean—owned."

No one corrected her.

Her mom turned toward Darrel, her face tightening. "They said there's… compensation," she said quietly. "Incentives for giants who register tinies. Housing credits. Tax deductions."

Darrel exhaled slowly through his nose, his expression grim.

Paige's eyes flicked toward Kyle. He wasn't looking at her—but his jaw was tight, like he was thinking hard about something.

Darrel shifted his weight, the floor creaking beneath him. "Look, it's not ideal, but we don't have a choice. If we don't register by tonight, the state takes you both. Once that happens…" His jaw clenched. "You don't come back."

Her mom's hands curled against the fabric of his shirt. "Then we do it," she said, voice breaking. "I'll register under you."

Darrel glanced at her, eyes softening. "Already done. It went through automatically when the system recognized our marriage record."

Paige's throat tightened.

Darrel's gaze dropped to her. "Paige, you'll need to—"

"I'll do it."

Everyone turned toward Kyle.

He stood at the edge of the table, arms crossed, jaw set. His voice had been calm—too calm. Like he'd been waiting for this moment.

Darrel's brow furrowed. "Kyle, you don't have to—"

"I know," Kyle interrupted, meeting his father's eyes. "But it makes sense. I'm already a dependent under you, so the transfer's simple." He paused, his gaze sliding briefly to Paige before returning to Darrel. "And there's the education credit. It'll cover my tuition."

Paige's stomach dropped. "So this is about money now?"

Kyle's eyes shifted to her, unreadable. "It's not like that."

Her laugh came sharp and small. "Really? Because it sounds exactly like that."

"Paige," her mom said softly from Darrel's shoulder. "Please. If you don't register, they'll take you away. At least this way you stay with family. Safe."

Darrel looked between his son and stepdaughter, uncertainty flickering across his face. "Kyle… are you sure about this? This is a big responsibility."

Kyle nodded once, firm. "I'm sure. She's my stepsister. I'm not letting some stranger take her."

The room felt too big, too still.

For a long time, no one said anything.

Then Darrel laid his huge hand on the table beside Paige, the gesture slow and deliberate. "It's your choice, kiddo," he said quietly. "But the deadline's coming fast."

Paige looked between them—her mother perched high on Darrel's shoulder, her stepbrother looming at the edge of the table, his expression impossible to read as his eyes stayed fixed on her.

Her whole body trembled. The world had already decided what she was.

Paige's fingers trembled as she nodded, sealing her fate. Kyle's jaw shifted—something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"Okay." The whisper barely escaped her lips. "I'll... register under Kyle."

Her mom exhaled against Darrel's shoulder, relief and grief warring across her face.

Darrel's nod came slow. "We go now. Registration center closes at midnight. It's already packed."

The engine hummed through the silence. Paige pressed against her mother in Darrel's cupped palm, both of them dwarfed by the warmth of his skin. His thumb curled over them—a shield they both understood meant nothing.

Kyle occupied the passenger seat, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the window.

The building slouched unremarkably ahead—a converted DMV sporting hastily-printed signs funneling "TINY REGISTRATION" toward a back wing.

Paige's stomach plummeted as they pulled up.

The queue snaked out the entrance—giants clutching their charges in every degrading configuration. A rumpled businessman dangled a petite redhead by her ponytail, her bare legs twitching weakly. Another man had wedged a woman headfirst into his jacket pocket, only her kicking limbs visible.

Inside was worse.

Fluorescent lights buzzed their sickly institutional hum. The air hung thick with sweat, terror, and something predatory that raised every hair on Paige's body. A trash bin near the entrance overflowed with shredded clothing—torn shirts, ripped jeans, delicate undergarments heaped like garbage.

They drew ticket 127. The screen displayed 98.

Darrel claimed seats in the packed waiting area, both women cradled against his chest. Kyle settled beside him, face carefully blank, eyes forward.

Around them, registration unfolded in all its degrading chaos.

Two seats over, a man held a brunette by her ankle, letting her dangle inverted while he scrolled his phone. Her skirt had surrendered completely, exposing her panties to anyone who glanced. Silent tears tracked down her cheeks.

A college-aged guy in a backwards cap had a completely nude girl pressed against the bulge straining his jeans, grinding her there casually while chatting with his friend. Her face flushed crimson, tears streaming as she pushed uselessly at his fingers.

At a nearby station, a clerk photographed a naked woman from multiple angles, barking commands. "Turn. Arms out. Bend forward." Her sobs echoed across the tile.

Paige's mom turned her face into Darrel's thumb, unable to watch.

Darrel's jaw locked, his hand curled protectively around them. "This is fucking barbaric," he muttered.

Kyle's gaze drifted across the room, landing on the naked woman being documented. His expression remained unchanged, but his fingers flexed once.

"NOW SERVING 127 AT STATION 6."

Darrel moved first, his frame cutting through the crowd. Kyle followed.

The clerk at Station 6 looked late-thirties—greasy hair, wrinkled polo bearing a coffee stain. He glanced up from his keyboard with an expression that might've been boredom yesterday, but today carried something eager.

"Guardian names," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"Darrel Foster," Darrel replied, voice tight. "Registering my wife."

"Kyle Foster," Kyle added. "My stepsister."

The clerk's eyes flicked to Darrel's cupped hand, and he sat up a little straighter. "Set them on the counter."

Darrel complied slowly, lowering both women to the cold laminate. Sarah stood in her sundress, arms wrapped tight around herself. Paige stood beside her in black crop top and jeans, the metal of her choker catching the harsh light.

The clerk typed without looking away. "Full legal names of registrants."

"Sarah Foster."

"Paige Foster"

More typing. Then his fingers paused. "State requires visual documentation." He cleared his throat. "They need to strip."

Ice flooded Paige's veins.

"Absolutely not." Darrel's voice cracked like a whip. "That wasn't—"

"New regulation as of today." The clerk cut him off, voice a shade too eager. "Full body documentation. Non-negotiable. They can do it themselves or I call security to assist."

Sarah's hands flew to her dress straps, fingers shaking. "It's okay," she whispered to Darrel, though her voice cracked. "I'll do it."

Beside her, Paige stood frozen.

Her mother's sundress slipped down first—pale yellow fabric pooling at her feet. She wore simple white cotton underneath, modest and worn. The cold air hit immediately. Her hands trembled as she unhooked her bra, letting it drop. Small breasts revealed themselves, dusky pink nipples hardening instantly in the chill.

The clerk's eyes tracked the movement. He reached for his camera with deliberate slowness.

She slid her panties down next, past the soft curve of her hips. Her thighs were fuller than Paige's—motherly curves that had softened over the years. When she stepped out of the fabric, her round ass jiggled slightly, ample and exposed. Goosebumps rose across her pale skin.

Darrel made a sound like something breaking in his chest.

"Paige." Her mother's whisper cracked. "Please. Just get it over with."

Paige's fingers found the hem of her black crop top. She pulled it over her head slowly, revealing the dark lace bralette beneath. The clerk leaned forward, elbows meeting desk.

Her jeans came next, unbuttoned and shimmied down. She stood in matching dark lace panties riding low on her hips.

Kyle's breathing remained steady. Controlled. His eyes stayed on the counter—but something in his stillness felt like effort.

She unhooked her bra. Her small breasts came free, nipples tightening immediately in the cold air, puckering into hard points. The chill raced across her skin as her panties slid down next. Her tight, rounded ass was exposed—heart-shaped and firm—as the fabric fell away.

Naked on a government counter, documented like property.

The clerk lifted his camera with deliberate slowness. "Turn. Arms out."

They complied. He took his time with each photo, adjusting angles, taking extras. The mechanical clicks stretched on forever.

"Bend forward."

Sarah turned, her fuller backside swaying with the motion. When she bent forward, her breasts hung down, swaying gently. The clerk's camera lingered before clicking.

Paige followed—her ass lifting as she leaned forward, thighs pressed together, spine sharp and defined. Another click. Then another. The clerk shifted in his seat.

Sarah's tears dripped onto the counter as she straightened. Darrel's fists clenched until his knuckles went white.

The clerk finally set down the camera, though his eyes stayed on the two naked women a moment longer before turning to his computer. He typed slowly, uploading the photos. Then he reached beneath the counter and produced two thin metal collars—simple bands, no chains attached.

"Registration tags." He slid them across. "Guardian names are engraved. Put them on."

Sarah's collar read: Property of Darrel Foster.

Paige's read: Property of Kyle Foster.

The words burned.

Kyle reached forward, his fingers closing around the collar meant for Paige. For a moment, their eyes met.

"Let me," he said softly.

He fastened it around her throat with careful precision, the metal cool against her skin. His thumb brushed her collarbone as he secured the clasp, lingering just a moment too long. His eyes dropped—just for a second—to her bare breasts, her stiff nipples, before flicking back up.

"There," he whispered.

The clerk stamped the paperwork with satisfaction. "Registration complete. You're free to go."

They were allowed to dress. Paige pulled her clothes back on with shaking hands, the collar a constant pressure against her throat, hidden beneath her choker. Her nipples remained hard, pressing visibly through the thin fabric of her bralette and mesh crop top.

Darrel scooped both women back into his cupped palm for the walk to the car, holding them protectively against his chest.

In the car ride home, Darrel's knuckles went white on the steering wheel. Sarah sat in his cupped palm, silent tears streaming down her face. Paige sat beside her mother, staring at nothing.

Kyle occupied the passenger seat, silent, staring out the window. His reflection in the glass remained unreadable.

Days bled together in a numb haze.

Paige spent most of her time in her room—the tiny bedroom Darrel had built into the wall years ago, complete with scaled-down furniture that had once felt cozy but now felt like a cage. Her phone became her lifeline, the screen glowing against her face in the dark as she scrolled through the wreckage of her former life.

The group chats exploded with frantic updates.

Mia got out. Her family left for Canada last night. She's safe.

Has anyone heard from Jen???

My cousin registered under her boyfriend. Says he's been good to her so far. Fingers crossed.

They took all the adult tinies from Westbrook High. State custody. Every senior who was 18. Nobody knows where they went.

Paige's stomach twisted with each message. Some of her friends had made it out—fled to states where the laws hadn't changed, or across borders entirely. Others had been lucky enough to register under family, partners they trusted.

But some had just... vanished.

Radio silence. No replies. Accounts gone dark.

She kept checking one name in particular: Lily Chen.

Lily had been in her biology class last semester. Barely four inches tall—short even by tiny standards—with delicate features and long black hair she always wore in a braid.

She'd been the kind of girl who apologized when someone stepped too close, who never raised her voice, who smiled nervously whenever a giant looked her way.

Sweet. Quiet. Vulnerable in a way that made Paige's chest ache.

Lily's last message had been three days ago: They're coming to my house. I'm scared.

Nothing since.

Paige typed out another message, hands shaking: Lily please just let me know you're okay

The message sat there. Unread. Unanswered.

She stared at the screen until her eyes burned, then finally tossed the phone aside and pressed her palms against her face.

A knock rattled her door—giant-sized, making the whole frame shudder.

"Paige?" Her mother's voice, small and strained, carried through the crack. "Can you come out? We need to talk."

Paige's stomach dropped.

She climbed down from her bed, bare feet hitting the cool wood of her scaled-down floor. The door swung open at her touch, and she stepped into the hallway where her mother stood on Darrel's open palm.

Sarah looked exhausted. Dark circles beneath her eyes, hair pulled back in a messy bun. The collar still gleamed at her throat, barely visible beneath the high neckline of her sweater.

Darrel's expression was grim.

"Living room," he said quietly. "Kyle's already there."

The walk felt too short.

Kyle sat on the couch, forearms resting on his knees, his gaze fixed somewhere on the carpet. He glanced up when they entered, his green eyes flicking briefly to Paige before returning to the floor.

Darrel lowered Sarah onto the coffee table, then reached for Paige. His fingers were gentle as they curled around her, setting her down beside her mother.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Finally, Darrel exhaled, the sound heavy. "We're leaving the state."

Paige's heart stuttered. "What?"

"Pennsylvania," Sarah said softly, her voice trembling. "Darrel's company offered him a transfer. They still have protections there. Tinies have rights. We'd be safe."

Paige stared at her. "When?"

"End of the week." Darrel rubbed his face with one massive hand. "I know it's fast, but the longer we wait, the worse things get here. There are already reports of—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening. "It's not safe. Not for either of you."

Paige's throat closed. Leaving. Leaving everything. The house. The town. Whatever was left of her life.

But alive. Safe.

She glanced at Kyle, who still hadn't said anything.

"We're all going, right?" Paige asked, looking between them.

Sarah nodded. "That's the plan."

Kyle finally spoke, his voice measured. "I can't go."

Darrel's head snapped toward him. "Kyle—"

"My scholarships are here, Dad." Kyle sat up straighter, meeting his father's eyes. "State university. Full ride. If I transfer out-of-state, I lose everything. I'd have to reapply, start over, and there's no guarantee I'd get the same funding."

"We'll figure it out," Darrel said firmly. "We can find loans, financial aid—"

"With what money?" Kyle's tone stayed even, but there was steel beneath it. "You're taking a pay cut for the transfer. Mom's medical bills cleaned out the savings before she passed. You're already stretched thin."

Darrel opened his mouth, then closed it.

Kyle pressed on. "I just graduated. I'm starting college after the summer. If I go now, I'm throwing away four years of work. And for what?" He gestured around the empty living room. "The house is paid off. It's safe here. We can stay."

"We?" Sarah's voice went sharp.

Kyle's gaze slid to Paige, then back to his father. "Paige is registered to me. She stays with me."

The air turned to ice.

"Absolutely not." Darrel's voice came low, dangerous. "She's eighteen. She's a kid. You're a kid."

"I'm nineteen," Kyle countered. "Legally an adult. And legally, she's my responsibility now." His jaw tightened. "You saw what happened at that registration center. You think Pennsylvania's going to be any different if things keep spreading? At least here, we have the house. We know the area. It's familiar."

"You're talking about staying alone," Sarah said, her voice breaking. "Both of you. Without supervision."

"I don't need supervision." Kyle's tone stayed steady, reasonable. "I've been taking care of myself since I was sixteen. I can handle this."

Paige's mouth went dry. She looked between them—Darrel's expression stormy, her mother's face pale with fear, Kyle's unwavering calm.

"Kyle," Darrel said slowly, every word deliberate. "Do you understand what you're suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting," Kyle replied, "that you and Sarah go somewhere safe. Get settled. I'll finish my semester, keep the house maintained, and when things stabilize, we'll reevaluate." He paused, then added, "Paige stays with me because that's what the law requires. I didn't make the rules, but I'm not going to let her get seized by the state because we couldn't figure out logistics."

His eyes met Paige's across the table.

"We can stay safe at home," he said quietly.

The words hung in the air like a noose.

Sarah turned to Paige, desperation written across her face. "Baby, you don't have to—"

"She doesn't have a choice," Kyle interrupted, not unkindly. "If she crosses state lines without her registered guardian, she's flagged as a runaway. They'll detain her at the border."

Silence crashed down.

Darrel stared at his son for a long, terrible moment. Then his gaze dropped to Paige, and something in his expression broke.

"Two weeks," Darrel said finally, his voice rough. "That's how long you have to prove you can handle this. And if anything—anything—seems wrong, you're on the first flight to Pennsylvania. Understood?"

Kyle nodded once, expression unchanging. "Understood."

Darrel looked at Paige. "It's still your call, kiddo."

Her call.

She looked at her mother, whose eyes brimmed with tears. At Darrel, whose hands had curled into fists. At Kyle, whose face remained unreadable, patient.

Her throat burned.

The collar pressed against her throat beneath her choker. Property of Kyle Foster.

She closed her eyes.

"Okay," she whispered.

Two days later, Paige stood on the porch railing as Darrel loaded the last suitcase into the truck.

Her mom sat in Darrel's palm, tear-streaked and pale. "I can ask him to wait," she whispered. "We can figure something else out. I don't want to leave you, baby."

"Mom." Paige forced a smile. "I'll be fine. Kyle and I have lived together for years. Nothing's different."

Everything was different.

Sarah reached toward her, and Paige stepped into the warmth of Darrel's cupped hand, pressing against her mother. They held each other—two tiny women clinging together in a giant's palm.

"I love you," her mom whispered. "So much."

"I love you too."

Darrel lifted them both toward his face, his eyes red-rimmed. "You stay safe, kiddo. And you call us if you need anything. I don't care what time it is."

Paige nodded against his thumb.

He set her back on the porch railing, then climbed into the truck. The engine rumbled to life.

Kyle stood in the doorway behind her, silent, watching.

The truck rolled down the driveway. Paige watched until the taillights disappeared around the corner, until the sound of the engine faded completely.

Kyle watched the taillights disappear, his pulse thrumming as the engine's rumble finally faded into silence.

Holy shit. They actually left.

He'd half-expected his dad to turn around at the last second, to change his mind, to insist Paige come with them after all. But the driveway sat empty now, the house quiet except for the sound of his own breathing.

Since the announcement, he'd been careful. So fucking careful. Playing the protective stepbrother while his dad and Sarah hovered constantly, watching his every move around Paige like they suspected something.

He hadn't planned this—not really. But when the opportunity presented itself, when his dad mentioned the transfer and Kyle realized he could engineer a reason to stay...

Well. He wasn't going to waste it.

Kyle turned slowly, his gaze locking on the small figure standing on the porch railing.

Paige. Alone. Finally.

"Finally," he muttered under his breath.

---

Paige barely registered his movement before his hand shot forward.

His fingers closed around her waist and she gasped, her feet leaving the railing as the world lurched.

"Kyle—wait—what are you—"

His grip tightened, stealing her breath. She shoved at his fingers but they didn't budge, didn't even flex. Her heart hammered as he turned and strode into the house.

The front door slammed behind them with a boom that rattled through her bones.

"Kyle, you're hurting me—"

"Shut up."

The words came flat, cold—nothing like his usual measured tone. Fear spiked sharp in her chest as he carried her down the hallway toward his bedroom, his strides long and purposeful.

She twisted, trying to see his face, but caught only the hard set of his jaw, the intensity burning in his eyes as he shouldered his door open.

His room smelled like cologne and old laundry. The gaming setup dominated one corner—massive monitor, RGB keyboard, webcam perched on top like an unblinking eye.

Kyle dropped into his chair and planted her on the desk, his hand still caging her. She stumbled back against his fingers, black hair falling across her face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Her voice shook.

He didn't answer. Just reached for his mouse, the click sharp in the sudden quiet. His monitor flickered to life, Discord loading with its familiar chime.

Two names sat in the call list. His friends.

Paige's stomach dropped.

Kyle clicked to start the call. After a moment, two faces appeared on screen—Marcus, with an easy grin spreading across his face, and Riley, who leaned closer to her camera with obvious curiosity.

"Yo, Kyle!" Marcus's voice crackled through the speakers. "Dude, where've you been? Haven't heard from you since the announcement dropped."

"Yeah," Riley added, leaning closer to her camera. "You go dark on us or something?"

Kyle leaned back in his chair, one hand still hovering near Paige as she pressed herself against the base of his monitor. His expression shifted—relaxed, easy.

"Had to wait for the old man and his fucktoy to clear out," he said casually. "They've been hovering non-stop since the law changed. Would've caught me if I'd hopped on earlier."

"Fucktoy?" Riley laughed. "Harsh, man. That's your stepmom."

"That's what she is now." Kyle's grin widened, sharp and cruel. "Property. Just like the rest of them."

Paige's breath caught. The boy who used to protect her, who'd seemed like the safe option, was talking about her mother like she was nothing.

Kyle's hand moved. His fingers closed around Paige before she could react, lifting her off the desk. She kicked and squirmed, voice breaking into a scream as he brought her toward the webcam.

"But guess what?" His grin turned predatory, eyes glinting as he angled her terrified face toward the camera. "I've got my own toy now."

Marcus let out a low whistle. "No fucking way. Is that—"

"My hot little stepsister," Kyle finished, his grip tightening as Paige thrashed. "Paige. My sexy little stepsister. She's been registered to me since Tuesday."

Riley leaned forward, eyes wide. "Holy shit, Kyle. She's hot. And those tits—"

"I know, right?" Kyle turned Paige slightly, showing her off like a prize. His other hand came up, fingers gently brushing her cheek before finding the black choker at her throat. "But check this out first."

He hooked his thumb under the choker and pulled it aside, revealing the thin metal collar underneath. The engraving caught the light: Property of Kyle Foster.

"No—" Paige's voice cracked as she clawed at his fingers.

"Fuck yeah!" Marcus cheered. "That's official registration, right?"

"Government issued," Kyle confirmed, keeping the collar visible to the camera. His thumb traced over the engraving, pressing the metal against Paige's throat. "Permanent. Non-removable without authorized tools."

He let the choker fall back into place, hiding the collar again, but the damage was done. Riley and Marcus had seen it. Seen the proof.

"Dude, that's so fucking hot," Riley breathed.

"Been living with this for years. Couldn't touch her before. But now..." His thumb pressed against Paige's stomach, making her gasp. "Now she's mine. My perfect little toy."

"Come on, dude—unwrap her!" Marcus's voice crackled through the speakers, eager and demanding. "Let's see what you've been hiding!"

Riley leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "Yeah, Kyle. Strip her down. Show us the goods."

Paige thrashed in Kyle's grip, screaming. "No! Kyle, please—don't do this!"

His fingers found the hem of her black mesh crop top. She clawed at his hand as he yanked it upward, the fabric tearing as it caught on her choker. Her dark lace bralette was exposed, breasts heaving with panicked breaths.

"Kyle!" she shrieked, arms crossing over her chest.

He peeled the bralette away next, her small perky tits bouncing free. Her nipples hardened instantly in the cool air, pink and stiff. The camera caught everything.

Marcus whistled low. "Fuck, dude. Nice."

Kyle's fingers moved to her jeans, unbuttoning them with ease as Paige sobbed and kicked. He shimmied them down her pale thighs, revealing matching dark lace panties riding low on her hips.

"Stop! Please!" Her voice cracked, raw with desperation.

The panties came off last, sliding down her legs to expose the soft curve of her pussy, smooth and bare. Kyle held her up by the waist, turning her slowly so the camera caught every angle—her tight little ass, the terrified flush on her face, her trembling thighs.

The collar remained visible at her throat now that the choker had shifted during the struggle, the metal glinting under his desk lamp.

"There we go," Kyle said, voice thick with satisfaction. "Perfect. My hot little fucktoy. All mine."

He set her on the desk, his hand hovering close to prevent escape. Paige curled into herself, arms wrapped around her naked body, black hair falling across her tear-streaked face.

"So what about you guys?" Kyle asked, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "What'd you manage to grab?"

Riley's smile turned wicked. "Oh, I did pretty good. Got two."

"Two?" Marcus laughed. "Show off."

"Well, one's Mrs. Nickles," Riley said casually, adjusting in her seat. "Remember that hot teacher from school? The one with the huge ass?"

Kyle's eyes lit up. "No fucking way. You grabbed her?"

"Right off the sidewalk outside school," Riley confirmed, that predatory grin widening. "She tried to run but... well." She shifted her hips, and something in her expression turned darker, more satisfied. "She's tucked away nice and safe right now."

"Safe?" Marcus snorted. "Where?"

Riley's grin turned absolutely feral. "Up my ass."

Paige's stomach dropped.

"Dude, what?" Kyle laughed, leaning forward. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious." Riley's hand dropped below frame, and she sighed contentedly. "Took some work though. She was wailing the whole time—face pressed right up against my hole, screaming and begging. And that fat ass of hers? Almost didn't fit."

She paused, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. "But I got her in there eventually. Felt her squirming the whole drive home."

Marcus and Kyle burst into laughter.

"You're a fucking freak," Marcus wheezed.

"You love it," Riley shot back, unbothered. She sighed again, shifting in her seat. "And the other one's stuffed in my pussy. Little brunette, cute face—think her name was Sophie or something. Found her hiding under a car."

Another contented sigh. "They're both wriggling around in there right now. It's... exactly how I always imagined it'd be."

"Jesus Christ, Riley," Kyle said, shaking his head with a grin.

"What about you, Marcus?" Riley asked. "Please tell me you got something good."

Marcus's grin faltered slightly. "Just one. Had her in my underwear all day though." He reached down, fingers disappearing below the camera. When his hand came back up, he was holding someone.

Paige's blood turned to ice.

It was Lily.

Tiny, delicate Lily Chen, her long black hair matted and tangled, her pale skin streaked with thick white streaks of cum. It clung to her face, her small breasts, dripped down her thighs. She was completely naked, trembling violently in Marcus's grip.

"Lily!" Paige's scream tore through Kyle's room.

Lily's head snapped toward the camera, her eyes going wide with recognition and horror. "Paige—"

"Shit, dude," Riley laughed. "That's disgusting. She's covered."

"Been working her all day," Marcus said with a shrug, holding Lily up to the camera. "She's a good little cumdump."

Lily sobbed, her tiny voice breaking. "Paige, please—help me—"

Paige lunged forward, but Kyle's hand slammed down in front of her, a wall she couldn't breach. She pounded against his fingers, screaming. "Let her go! Lily!"

Marcus tilted his head, grin widening. "Aw, they're friends. Cute."

Lily managed one last wail—high, desperate, shattering—before Marcus pulled her out of frame. "Get back in there," he said offhandedly.

The sound of a zipper. A muffled scream.

Then silence.

Paige collapsed on the desk, sobbing, her naked body shaking uncontrollably. Kyle's hand remained close, keeping her caged as he turned his attention back to the screen.

"So," Riley said, voice light. "What's the plan with yours, Kyle? Gonna break her in tonight?"

Kyle's eyes dropped to Paige's trembling form, and his grin returned—slow, predatory.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I think I will."

Kyle's fingertip traced over Paige's breast, pressing firmly as Riley's laughter crackled through the speakers.

"So you really just left her there all day?" Kyle asked, his thumb circling Paige's nipple roughly. She flinched, trying to twist away, but his other hand caged her against the desk.

"Dude, it's been like eight hours." Riley shifted in her seat, that satisfied smile never leaving her face. "Mrs. Nickles is probably losing her mind in there. Every time I sit down, she goes absolutely feral."

Marcus snorted. "That's fucked up, man."

"Says the guy using his as a jizz rag," Riley shot back.

Kyle's fingertip dragged down Paige's stomach, pressing circles into her skin. She shoved at his hand uselessly, her tiny palms finding no purchase. He pinched one nipple between finger and thumb, twisting just enough to make her shriek.

"Damn, Kyle," Marcus said, leaning closer to his camera. "She's responsive as hell."

"Yeah." Kyle's voice came thick. His thumb pressed across her chest, grinding over both breasts. "Always wondered what these would feel like."

"Kyle, please—" Her voice cracked.

He flicked her other nipple with his fingernail. Paige yelped, body jerking against the desk.

"Turn her around," Riley said. "Let's see that ass."

Kyle flipped Paige onto her stomach. She tried to push herself up but his finger pressed between her shoulder blades, pinning her flat. Her tight little ass stuck up, pale and trembling.

"Fuck yeah," Marcus cheered.

Kyle's fingertip came down—sharp, firm. The smack echoed. Paige shrieked as her body jolted forward, ass reddening under his touch.

"Again!" Riley laughed.

He obliged. Another smack. Then another. Paige wailed, legs kicking uselessly as tears streamed down her face.

"Dude, you've been living with that?" Riley shook her head. "I would've lost my mind."

"Almost did," Kyle admitted. His fingertip pressed between her cheeks, dragging slowly. Paige sobbed into the desk. "But it was worth the wait."

He turned her over again, holding her up to the camera by her waist. Her legs dangled, arms crossed uselessly over her chest as tears streaked her face.

"Show us everything," Marcus said.

Kyle grabbed one tiny thigh between two fingers and pulled. She screamed, trying to keep them closed, but he pried the other leg apart until she was splayed in his grip. Her pussy was fully exposed—smooth, pink.

He pressed his pinky fingertip against her slit, trying to push it in. Her whole body convulsed.

"Jesus," Riley laughed. "I don't think its gonna fit."

"Maybe not now." Kyle grinned as he set Paige back on the desk. "But I'll make it fit eventually. We've all seen the videos."

"True," Marcus agreed. "Hey, I'm loading up that new game. You guys down?"

"Yeah, give me a sec."

Kyle reached for a wire mesh pen holder on his desk—cylindrical, about the size of a coffee mug. He dumped the pens out with a clatter, then grabbed Paige.

"No—Kyle, wait—"

He dropped her inside. The metal was cold against her bare skin, the mesh pattern pressing into her thighs as she landed hard. She scrambled to her feet, but the holder was too smooth, too tall to climb. The holes in the mesh were too small for her to squeeze through.

"Sit tight, my little toy," Kyle said, his fingertip reaching through one of the mesh holes to stroke her cheek. "Be good for me." His monitor flickered as the game loaded.

Paige sank down inside the wire mesh pen holder, the cold metal pressing against her bare skin. She pulled her knees to her chest, arms wrapping around her shins as she tried to make herself as small as possible.

But there was no hiding.

The mesh was too open, the gaps too wide. Anyone looking could see everything—her naked body curled up, pale skin pressed against cold metal, black hair falling across her tear-streaked face.

And the collar.

She reached up with trembling fingers, touching the smooth metal. It was seamless, locked permanently around her neck. No clasp. No way to remove it without special tools she didn't have access to.

The mesh dug into her ass, her back, her feet as she shifted, trying to find a position that didn't hurt. There was none. Every movement pressed the wire pattern into her skin, leaving red marks across her thighs and spine.

Through the gaps, she could see Kyle's face lit by the monitor's glow. Relaxed. Happy. Laughing at something Marcus said.

Game sounds filled the room—explosions, gunfire, Kyle's casual commentary. Time stretched.

Paige pressed her forehead against her knees, trying to block it all out. But she couldn't escape the weight of the collar at her throat, the constant reminder of what she'd become.

Property.

The metal warmed against her skin, heated by her body, but the word stayed cold.

She could hear them playing for what felt like hours. Riley made a joke. Marcus cursed at a missed shot. Kyle's fingers clicked rapidly on his keyboard, the mechanical switches loud in the quiet room.

None of them looked at her.

She didn't matter anymore. Just a toy put away until he wanted to play again.

Finally, Marcus yawned. "Alright, I'm out. Gotta give my little toy another feeding." He grinned at the camera. "She gets cranky if she doesn't get her protein."

Riley snorted. "Gross, dude."

"You're one to talk," Marcus shot back. "You've got two of them shoved up your holes."

"And they're loving it," Riley said with a wink. "But yeah, I'm done too. Need to let these bitches out before they suffocate. Night, losers."

"Night," Kyle said, barely glancing at the screen as it went dark.

The room fell silent.

Paige lifted her head slowly, heart pounding, and met Kyle's eyes through the mesh.

He was smiling.

[Justhereforamoment1]

Kyle's fingers drummed on the desk as he stared at Paige through the wire mesh, his smile widening.

She pressed herself against the far side of the pen holder, knees pulled tight to her chest, trying to make herself smaller—impossible when every inch of her naked body was visible through the gaps.

"You know," Kyle said, voice dropping into something almost tender, "I've been thinking about this moment for a long time."

Paige's heart slammed against her ribs. "Kyle, please—"

"How many times did I catch myself staring?" he continued, ignoring her. "Watching you walk around in those tight little outfits. That mesh crop top that showed everything underneath."

His eyes dropped to her exposed breasts, and she wrapped her arms tighter. "Always wondered what you looked like without it. What you'd feel like in my hands. What you'd taste like."

"Stop," she whispered, voice breaking.

His hand reached for the pen holder. Her breath caught as his fingers closed around it, lifting it off the desk. The world tilted, her body sliding against the cold wire mesh as he turned it slowly, examining her from every angle.

"God, you're so fucking hot," he murmured. "Even hotter than I imagined. My hot little stepsister."

He set the holder back down and reached for his waistband.

Paige's eyes went wide. "No—Kyle, don't—"

His fingers hooked under his shorts. She watched in frozen horror as he shifted in his seat, adjusting his position. The fabric shifted, and she could see the bulge straining against it—thick, pressing hard against the material.

"Please," she begged, her voice thin and desperate. "You don't have to do this—we're family—"

"That's what makes it so perfect," he said softly, pulling his shirt off first. The fabric lifted over his head in one smooth motion. His chest was lean, pale, a light dusting of red hair trailing down his stomach toward his waistband.

Her breathing came faster now, panic rising as his hands moved to his shorts. She pressed back against the mesh, the wire pattern digging into her spine, her ass, nowhere to go.

The button popped. The zipper rasped down.

"Kyle!" Her scream cut through the quiet room.

He pushed his shorts down slowly—deliberately—letting them fall to his ankles. His boxers followed, and then—

His cock sprang free.

Paige's breath stopped.

It was massive. Thick as her torso, veined and flushed dark, already rock-hard and pulsing. A fat bead of precum glistened at the tip, the slit weeping steadily as it twitched in the open air.

From her perspective, trapped at her tiny size, it looked monstrous—a tower of flesh that could crush her without effort.

"Oh god," she whimpered, shrinking back. "Oh god, no—"

Kyle wrapped his hand around his shaft, stroking once—slow, deliberate. His cock throbbed in response, another thick droplet oozing from the tip.

"You see this, Paige?" His voice was thick, rough. "This is what you've been doing to me. For years. My sexy little stepsister driving me crazy every single day."

He reached for the pen holder again. She screamed, scrambling uselessly as he tipped it forward, dumping her out onto the desk.

She hit the surface hard, naked body sprawling, and immediately tried to run. Her bare feet slapped against the wood as she bolted—

His hand slammed down in front of her. She crashed into his palm, bouncing back with a cry.

Before she could recover, his fingers closed around her waist, lifting her into the air. She kicked and thrashed, fists pounding against his hand.

"Let me go! Please, Kyle—let me go!"

He brought her closer—closer—until his cock filled her vision. The heat radiating off it was suffocating, the musky scent overwhelming. The tip pulsed inches from her face, precum dripping in thick, sticky strands.

Kyle's fingers tightened as he lowered Paige toward his throbbing cock, her pale skin stark against the flushed, veined shaft, black hair tangling in his grip as she screamed.

"No! Kyle, please—don't!"

Her small palms pressed against the slick tip, trying to push away, but the precum coating it made her hands slip. The heat radiating off him was suffocating, the musky scent overwhelming as he brought her closer.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he breathed, voice thick. "My perfect little toy. Mine."

He pressed her face against the leaking slit. The thick bead smeared across her features—over her dark lips, across her pale cheeks, into her black hair. She gagged, trying to turn her head, but his thumb pressed against the back of her skull, holding her there.

"Breathe it in, my little fucktoy," he growled. "Get used to my scent."

Her muffled scream vibrated against his cock, sending a jolt through him. He held her there for several seconds before dragging her face up and down through the slick mess, coating her forehead, her nose, her chin.

When he finally pulled her back, she gasped desperately, thick strands of precum connecting her face to his tip. Her dark eye makeup was already starting to run, black streaks mixing with tears on her pale skin.

Kyle shifted his grip, pressing her body lengthwise against his shaft. Her small breasts flattened against the hot, pulsing flesh, nipples dragging across thick veins as he stroked her up slowly.

"Stop—please stop!" Her voice cracked, hands clawing uselessly at him.

He groaned, the sensation of her naked body sliding through his precum making his cock throb harder. He dragged her down, then up again—slow, deliberate, savoring every inch of contact.

Her thighs pressed against his shaft, her stomach sliding through the slick coating, her ass rippling with each stroke. He angled her so her face dragged across the sensitive underside, her panicked breaths hot against his skin.

"God, Paige," he panted, pace quickening. "You feel so fucking good. So soft. So hot."

He flipped her around, pressing her back against his cock. Her ass molded to the curve of his shaft as he stroked her faster now, precum coating her from head to toe. Her black hair stuck to her skin, to his cock, matting in the sticky mess.

She sobbed, body shaking, completely helpless in his grip.

Kyle's breath came faster, his cock pulsing. He could feel it building—that overwhelming pressure coiling tight in his gut. He dragged her back to the tip, pressing her face against the slit again.

"Kyle—no—please—"

"Take it, my little cumrag," he groaned. "Take all of me."

His cock twitched violently. Then he came.

The first jet exploded with brutal force, slamming into her tiny frame. It flooded her mouth instantly, pouring down her throat as she choked. The thick, hot cum coated her face, drenched her black hair, painted her pale skin in heavy ropes.

Another pulse followed—then a third—each one stronger than the last. It poured over her small breasts, down her stomach, between her thighs. Her body convulsed in his grip, overwhelmed by the sheer volume.

Kyle held her against the tip, groaning as rope after rope covered her. Her stomach began to swell slightly, bloated with the cum he'd forced down her throat. It dripped from her lips, streamed down her chin, pooled in the hollow of her throat where the collar gleamed.

He stroked himself through the final pulses, smearing her through the mess coating his shaft. Her whimpers were barely audible now, muffled by the cum filling her mouth.

When it finally stopped, he pulled her back to look at her.

She was completely drenched. Not a single inch of pale skin visible through the thick coating. Her black hair was matted and stuck to her face, her dark makeup completely ruined, streaking down her cum-covered cheeks. Her small body trembled, chest heaving as she coughed and sputtered.

"Fuck," Kyle breathed, his cock still hard, still throbbing against his thigh. "Look at you. So fucking hot like this. My hot little stepsister."

Paige could barely see through the mess. Could barely breathe. Her whole body felt heavy, saturated, violated in a way that made her want to die.

And Kyle just grinned, knowing this was only the beginning.

Later that night, Paige's body ached in ways she didn't know were possible, every muscle screaming as Kyle used her for what felt like the hundredth time.

She'd stopped counting after the fifth. Or maybe the seventh. Time had blurred into a nightmare of heat and suffocation and the overwhelming stench of his cum that coated every inch of her skin.

Her black hair was matted beyond recognition, clumped together in sticky ropes. Her pale body was painted white, so thoroughly drenched that she could barely see through the mess crusting her eyelashes.

The collar at her throat gleamed through the coating, a constant reminder of what she'd become.

Kyle had her pressed lengthwise against his shaft again, stroking her up and down through the slick mess. Her small breasts dragged across thick veins, her stomach sliding through precum, her thighs spread wide around the girth.

She'd stopped screaming hours ago. Her throat was raw, voice gone. Now she just whimpered—small, broken sounds that didn't even register to him anymore.

Then his phone rang.

Kyle's rhythm stuttered. He glanced at the screen, and Paige caught a glimpse through cum-blurred vision: Dad calling.

Hope ignited in her chest—sharp, desperate, overwhelming. She sucked in a breath to scream.

Kyle's fingers shifted. Before any sound could escape, he shoved her head directly into the tip of his cock.

The slit stretched around her face, swallowing her completely. Her scream cut off instantly, muffled by hot, pulsing flesh that clamped tight around her skull. The musky darkness was suffocating, the pressure immense.

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. Couldn't move.

Above her, she heard Kyle answer the call, his voice perfectly calm. "Hey, Dad."

Paige thrashed, arms flailing uselessly against the shaft, legs kicking in open air. Her lungs screamed for oxygen but there was none—only the choking heat of precum pooling around her face.

"Yeah, everything's good here," Kyle said, his voice steady even as his cock throbbed around her trapped head. "House is fine. No issues."

She convulsed, body jerking violently as panic consumed her. Her vision started to darken at the edges.

"Paige?" Kyle's breath hitched—just slightly. The sensation of her thrashing inside his cockhead was too much, too good. He recovered quickly. "Uh—she's sleeping. Didn't want to wake her with everything going on. She's had a rough day. But she's safe. I'm taking good care of my little stepsister."

His cock pulsed harder, twitching around her suffocating face. Paige's consciousness flickered, her movements growing weaker.

"Love you too, Dad," Kyle said, and then—

He came.

The flood was instant and brutal. Hot cum exploded around her trapped head, filling every space, pouring into her nose and mouth and choking her completely. It surged in thick, scalding waves, drowning her from the inside out.

She convulsed violently, body seizing as the cum kept coming—pulse after pulse flooding the space around her skull. Her stomach bloated grotesquely, swelling with each jet forced down her throat.

The call ended with a soft click.

Kyle groaned, hips jerking as the final pulses emptied into her. Then, slowly, he pulled her head free.

She emerged gasping and retching, cum pouring from her mouth and nose in thick streams. Her body shook uncontrollably, chest heaving as she choked on the mess still clogging her airway.

Kyle brought her close to his face, his expression cold and hard.

"Listen carefully," he said, voice low and dangerous.

Then his expression softened slightly, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead—gentle, possessive. "If you ever try to tell anyone—Dad, your mom, anyone—I will crush you. Like a bug." His fingers tightened around her waist, just enough to make her whimper.

"But if you're good... if you're mine... I'll take care of you. I'll keep you safe. I'll give you everything you need." His thumb stroked her cum-soaked cheek. "Do you understand?"

Paige couldn't speak. Could barely nod. But she did.

"Good girl," Kyle murmured, pressing another kiss to the top of her head, and set her back on the desk.

She collapsed immediately, her cum-drenched body too weak to hold itself up. The collar pressed against her throat as she lay there—broken, violated, utterly owned.

For the next few days, Kyle kept Paige like a secret tucked in his desk drawer, her pale body still sticky from the last time he'd used her.

The drawer became her prison between uses—cramped, dark, smelling of old cables and plastic. Every time those fingers reached in, she flinched, black hair matted beyond recognition, the collar at her throat gleaming dully through dried cum.

He plucked her out whenever the urge struck.

Sometimes he stroked himself with her, her tiny body dragged along his throbbing shaft in brutal rhythm until he painted her with fresh ropes.

Other times he called up Riley and Marcus on Discord while he played with her—thick fingers groping her small tits while he laughed at something Marcus said, pinching her nipples until she squealed loud enough for them to hear through his mic. Between the rougher touches, his fingertip would trace gentle circles on her stomach, a mockery of tenderness that made her skin crawl.

Once, when she was clean enough, his teeth sank into the soft flesh of her thigh, not hard enough to break skin but enough to leave marks, enough to make her shriek.

"Dude, she's loud," Marcus commented, grinning on screen.

Kyle spanked her ass, watching it jiggle in his palm, then immediately soothed the reddened skin with slow strokes. "She gets noisy when I do this."

Riley leaned closer to her camera. "Make her squeal again."

He did, harder this time, followed by gentle petting, then brought her to his mouth and bit down on her shoulder—possessive, marking. Paige's cry echoed through his room as his friends laughed.

One afternoon, bored and restless, Kyle decided to head to the mall.

Before leaving, he pulled Paige from the drawer. She trembled in his grip, eyes wide with exhausted terror as he brought her close.

"You're coming with me," he said, grinning. His lips pressed against her forehead—a brief, possessive kiss. "Want to keep you close, my perfect little toy."

"No—Kyle, please—"

He ignored her.

Kyle stuffed her down into his boxers, her naked body pressed tight against the thick heat of his cock.

The elastic snapped shut, sealing her in humid darkness. Immediately his shaft pressed against her—searing hot, impossibly thick, pulsing with each heartbeat. She tried to push away but there was nowhere to go, the fabric trapping her flush against him.

Her face mashed into coarse pubic hair, the wiry strands scratching her cheeks and tangling in her matted black hair.

She thrashed, trying to free herself, but the movement only ground her naked body harder against his cock—her small breasts flattening, her stomach sliding through the heat, her thighs spreading around the girth.

His cock twitched in response, swelling thicker. Every struggle sent friction along the sensitive skin, making it pulse and throb against her. She could feel it hardening further, the thick length pressing her deeper into the damp, musky space.

Kyle grabbed his keys and headed out, grinning.

Each step jolted her. His cock bounced and shifted with every stride, grinding her face into the tangled pubes, smearing her breasts across the shaft. The hair caught in her mouth, wrapped around her arms, matted into her own hair until she couldn't tell where she ended and it began.

The walk to the mall was endless torture. Heat radiated from his cock, suffocating and inescapable. It twitched constantly—responding to her helpless squirming, growing harder with each frantic movement.

Her struggles only pleasured it more, the friction making it pulse and leak, sticky warmth spreading across her skin.

Inside the mall, the casual cruelty was everywhere.

A man in a business suit strolled past, dragging a naked tiny woman behind him on a thin silver leash attached to her collar. Her bare feet scrambled against the tile as she struggled to keep up, breasts bouncing with each desperate step. When she stumbled, he yanked the leash sharply, jerking her forward.

No one even glanced.

Near the food court, a group of teenagers lounged on the benches, passing around a tiny brunette like a toy.

One girl held her up by the waist, laughing as the tiny kicked and screamed. Another teen grabbed her, squeezing her breasts hard enough to make her shriek before tossing her to his friend. They were showing off, comparing—seeing whose tiny could scream the loudest.

By the fountain, two kids—couldn't have been more than ten—played catch with a tiny woman.

They threw her back and forth, her terrified wails echoing as she sailed through the air. When one kid missed and she hit the ground hard, they just scooped her up and kept playing, ignoring her whimpers.

Kyle adjusted his stance as he walked, grinding Paige harder against his throbbing cock. She was drenched in sweat and precum now, tangled hopelessly in his pubes, her naked body trembling against him.

No one knew. No one could see the tiny girl trapped against his cock while he shopped.

When he finally got home hours later, he pulled her out—gasping, soaked, her black hair impossibly matted with pubic hair and fluids.

He brought her to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her trembling body before tossing her back in the drawer without a word.

Two weeks of hell had left Paige hollow when the doorbell rang, but Kyle had made sure she was dressed—black mesh crop top, tight jeans, choker hiding the collar.

She sat in his palm, hope flaring white-hot in her chest. That was Darrel's knock—she knew it, three firm raps followed by a pause.

"Remember what I told you," Kyle whispered, his fingers curling around her waist. His thumb traced a slow circle on her stomach—gentle, almost loving. "One word. Just one. And I'll make what I've been doing feel like a vacation." His thumb pressed warningly against her ribs, which had become more prominent over the past fourteen days. She'd barely eaten—only scraps dropped near her between uses, and her stomach was usually too full of his cum to hold real food.

The front door opened.

"Kyle!" Darrel's voice boomed through the house, and Paige's chest clenched. "How's everything going?"

"Good, Dad. Come in."

Darrel's massive frame moved into the living room. Through the gaps in Kyle's fingers, Paige could see her stepfather's face—tired but hopeful.

"Where's Paige?" Darrel asked, glancing around. "She doing okay?"

Kyle opened his hand, holding her up where Darrel could see. "She's right here. Been keeping her close." His fingertip stroked her cheek as he spoke, the gesture looking protective to Darrel.

Paige blinked against the sudden light, meeting Darrel's concerned gaze. Her black hair was clean for once—Kyle had forced her to shower before this visit. Her goth outfit looked normal, the choker perfectly positioned to hide the collar beneath.

"Hey, kiddo," Darrel said softly, leaning closer.

Paige opened her mouth. Kyle's thumb pressed warningly against her stomach—just enough pressure to remind her.

"Hi," she managed, voice thin.

Darrel's brow furrowed as he studied her. "You look... thin. Have you been eating enough?"

Kyle laughed easily. "Oh yeah, she's been getting plenty of protein. Haven't you, Paige?"

The words hit like a fist. Paige's face flushed hot with shame, and she couldn't meet Darrel's eyes.

"Right," she whispered, unable to meet Darrel's eyes.

Darrel studied her for a long moment, something uncertain flickering across his face. She looked tired, maybe too thin, but she was dressed. Clean. The house was fine. Kyle seemed responsible.

Whatever concern he felt, he pushed it down.

"Well, as long as you're taking care of her," Darrel said finally. "Your stepmom worries. You know how she is."

"I know," Kyle said, his grip on Paige tightening slightly. "Tell her Paige is doing great. Really. I'm taking very good care of my gorgeous little stepsister." His thumb stroked her side as he spoke, the possessive touch hidden from Darrel's view.

They talked for another twenty minutes—about school, about the house, about nothing that mattered. The whole time, Paige sat in Kyle's palm in her goth clothes, so close to salvation she could taste it.

When Darrel stood to leave, he leaned down one last time. "You call me if you need anything, okay, kiddo?"

Kyle's thumb pressed harder against her ribs.

"I will," Paige lied, the words ash in her mouth.

The door closed. The lock clicked.

Kyle's hand closed around her immediately, fingers pressing into her sides as he walked toward his bedroom.

"Good girl," he murmured, bringing her to his lips for a lingering kiss that covered her entire upper body. "Such a good girl for me. Let's celebrate you keeping your mouth shut, my perfect little fucktoy."

Ten minutes later, Kyle pumped Paige's thrashing form up and down his cock, her black crop top torn away, pale skin slick with precum.

The thought that she'd been right there—that Darrel had been so close, that she could've screamed for help but didn't—sent electricity through him. He'd always found his stepsister sexy, those tight goth outfits driving him crazy for years, but this?

The sheer power he had over her was intoxicating beyond anything he'd imagined.

He tilted her body, angling her so her face struck the swollen rim of his cock with each brutal stroke. She gasped and choked, black hair matting further with each impact.

Kyle laughed, breathless. "Fuck, Paige—I heard about other states losing tiny rights and always hoped, but I never expected it to actually happen here." His voice dropped lower. "Never expected I'd get to have you like this. My hot little stepsister, all mine. My perfect little cumrag."

Her muffled sobs only made him harder.

His grip shifted. He peeled her off his shaft, spreading her trembling thighs between his fingers. Her pale pussy aligned perfectly with the leaking slit of his cock.

Paige's eyes went wide with fresh terror. "No—Kyle, please—"

"Shh, my gorgeous little toy," he cooed, pressing a kiss to her terror-stricken face. "I've got you. Always got you."

His cock pulsed. Then he came.

The first jet erupted with brutal force, flooding into her tiny body. Her scream choked into a gurgle as hot cum poured directly into her womb, the pressure immediate and overwhelming. Her belly began to swell—round, taut, grotesquely distended as rope after rope filled her.

Kyle held her pinned against the tip, groaning as her abdomen bloated in his grip. Cum spilled from between her spread thighs, coating her pale skin, dripping down his shaft.

When it finally stopped, he pulled her back slowly. A thick string of cum stretched from her pussy to his cock before snapping.

Her body hung limp in his hand, belly swollen and heavy, chest heaving with shallow gasps. The collar gleamed at her throat.

Kyle brought her to his face, his lips pressing gently against her distended stomach. "So fucking hot," he whispered.

"My hot little stepsister. Mine forever." Then his teeth found her thigh—the one still relatively clean—and bit down possessively, marking her pale flesh with his claim.

He tucked her back into his dresser drawer, dropping her among the cables. She landed with a wet sound, too exhausted to even curl up.

"Rest up, my perfect little toy," he murmured, his fingertip stroking her matted hair one last time.

"I'll take care of you." And then he shut the drawer.

Summer days melted together as Kyle settled into possession, each morning unfolding with ritualistic precision.

The pattern never varied.

Kyle would wake with his hand already reaching into the drawer, fingers closing around Paige's sticky form. She'd learned not to flinch—resistance only delayed the inevitable.

He'd pull her out and press her face directly against his morning wood, still half-asleep as he stroked himself lazily with her trembling body. Her black hair would mat immediately with precum as he dragged her along his shaft, groaning softly until he came across her face and chest.

"Good morning," he'd mutter, carrying her to the bathroom.

The shower would run hot, steam fogging the mirror as Kyle set Paige on the counter. She'd sit there naked and shivering, cum covering her form as she watched his silhouette move behind the frosted glass, listening to him hum contentedly.

When he emerged—towel around his waist, water beading on pale skin—he'd scoop her up for round two. "Can't start the day right without my gorgeous little cumdump," he'd murmur, pressing her against his cock again until he painted her with fresh ropes.

Then came the cleaning. He'd rinse her under the faucet, fingers scrubbing cum from her black hair, before setting her back on the counter with her tiny makeup palette.

"Put it on," he'd command, eyes gleaming. "Heavy. I want you looking exactly like you used to."

Paige's hands trembled as she obeyed—black eyeliner extending past her lashes in sharp wings, mascara coating each tiny lash, matte black lipstick painted across her pouty lips. The goth aesthetic that once felt like self-expression now felt like another collar.

When she finished, Kyle would lift her to examine his work, thumb brushing her painted cheek. "Fuck, you're perfect. My hot little goth stepsister." His lips would press against her made-up face, smearing the lipstick slightly.

Breakfast meant scraps—sometimes actual food mashed with his cum in her tiny bowl, sometimes just cum itself, thick and cooling as he watched her choke it down.

During the day, he kept her close. Sometimes in his boxers, her naked body grinding against his cock with every step.

She'd learned to stay still—thrashing only made him hard, and when he got hard in public, he'd duck into a bathroom stall and stroke himself with her until he came, drenching her again before stuffing her back into the humid darkness.

Most afternoons meant Discord calls. Riley and Marcus would watch through webcams as Kyle casually groped Paige in his palm—pinching her nipples until she squealed, spreading her thighs to show off her exposed pussy, making her perform for their entertainment.

"Dude, you're obsessed," Marcus laughed one afternoon, watching Kyle's fingers knead Paige's small breasts for the third time in ten minutes.

"Can you blame me?" Kyle grinned, thumb tracing over her dark-painted lips. "Look at her. Those tits, that ass, that sexy goth makeup." He brought her closer to the webcam. "She's perfect."

"Make that little hottie squeal," Riley laughed from her screen, and Kyle bit down on Paige's pale breast before soothing the mark with gentle kisses that made her skin crawl.

One evening, during a particularly long call, Riley leaned close to her camera with that wicked grin.

"Kyle, you ever try putting her inside you?"

Kyle's fingers stilled, Paige trembling in his grip. "What?"

"Like, up your ass," Riley clarified, shifting contentedly in her seat. "Dude, it's fucking incredible. Mrs. Nickles has been up there for days. Every time I sit, every time I move—she goes absolutely feral. The sensation is unreal."

Marcus snorted. "That's so fucked up."

"Says the guy using his as a cumdump," Riley shot back. She turned her attention to Kyle. "Seriously though. The way they squirm inside you? The heat? The pressure? You're missing out if you haven't tried it."

Kyle's eyes dropped to Paige, whose black-lined eyes went wide with fresh terror.

A slow grin spread across his face. "You know what? Why the fuck not."

That night, after ending the call, Kyle positioned himself on the bed and pulled Paige from the pen holder. Her goth makeup was still perfect—dark wings, black lips—and her naked body trembled violently.

"Riley gave me an idea, my perfect little toy," he murmured, flipping her so her head faced downward.

Paige thrashed as he brought her toward the tight ring waiting below, the heat immediate and overwhelming even before contact. The musky scent made her gag.

"Kyle! No! Please!"

He pressed her face against it first—letting her feel the texture, the warmth. She sobbed, trying to turn away, but his grip was absolute.

"Get used to it," he said softly, holding her there for several seconds. Her muffled cries vibrated against him, sending sparks up his spine.

Then he began to push.

The resistance was immense. His rim fought the intrusion, muscles clenching as he forced her head through. Paige's scream was swallowed by flesh as the tight ring stretched around her skull.

"Fuck," Kyle groaned. The sensation was exactly as intense as Riley had promised—the pressure, the heat, the way his body gripped her struggling form.

He pushed deeper, feeding her shoulders through. Her arms pinned to her sides as the ring swallowed her upper body, squeezing tight around her ribs. Her makeup-streaked face disappeared completely into the suffocating darkness.

Inside, Paige was drowning. Heat crushed her from every angle, the musky stench overwhelming, flesh pulsing around her as she fought to breathe. Her muffled screams buzzed against his inner walls.

Kyle's head tilted back, jaw slack as he worked her deeper. Her breasts disappeared, then her stomach, each inch accompanied by her desperate struggling that sent electricity racing through his nerves.

When only her legs remained visible, he paused—savoring the sight of her pale thighs kicking helplessly—before shoving them in too.

The ring sealed shut completely. Paige was gone, fully trapped inside him.

Kyle shuddered violently, his cock rock-hard and leaking. Every frantic squirm inside him felt like fire racing up his spine. His hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking hard as her muffled wails vibrated through his body.

"Holy shit," he panted. "Riley wasn't kidding."

He lasted less than a minute before coming, thick ropes splattering across his stomach as his ass clenched tight around her thrashing form.

Hours later, he finally pushed her out—gasping, soaked, her black makeup completely ruined. He pressed a gentle kiss to her trembling body.

"Such a good girl," he whispered, tucking her back in the drawer.

From that night on, anal insertion became regular. Another way to use his hot little stepsister, another reminder that every part of her existed for his pleasure.

The summer routine continued—morning uses, makeup application, Discord calls, insertions that lasted hours.

And through it all, Paige's spirit cracked a little more each day, her protests growing weaker, her struggles more resigned.

By late-summer, when Kyle lifted her from the drawer, she no longer screamed.

She just waited, black-lined eyes vacant, for whatever he wanted next.

Darrel's truck rumbled to a stop outside the dormitory, August heat shimmering off the pavement. Kyle hopped out, stretching as his dad began unloading boxes.

"Got everything?" Darrel called, hefting a heavy bin.

"Yeah, Dad. Thanks."

They hauled Kyle's belongings up three flights—clothes, gaming setup, mini-fridge. Darrel had even packed a small platform with scaled-down furniture for Paige, complete with tiny bed and desk.

"Figured she'd need her own space," Darrel said, setting it carefully on Kyle's desk. "Keep her comfortable, yeah?"

Kyle nodded, throat tight with false sincerity. "Of course. I'll take good care of her."

After an hour of setup and a brief meeting with Kyle's new roommate—a lanky guy named Trevor—Darrel pulled Kyle in for a hug.

"You call if you need anything. And take care of Paige."

"I will."

The truck disappeared down the street.

Kyle waited exactly thirty seconds before grabbing the tiny platform and shoving it into the closet. Paige watched from the pen holder, black-lined eyes hollow.

"You won't need that," Kyle said, pulling her out and holding her close to his face. His lips pressed against her trembling body—possessive, claiming. "Dad meant well, but he doesn't understand. You'll be somewhere much more secure. Much more intimate."

His thumb stroked her pale cheek as his grin widened.

"Right next to my cock. Where you belong, my perfect little fucktoy."

Two weeks later Trevor knocked on Kyle's door frame, fidgeting. "Hey, uh... weird question."

Kyle glanced up from his laptop, Paige's nude body visible in the pen holder on his desk. "What's up?"

"So my girlfriend's coming over this weekend." Trevor's eyes flicked to Paige's tits. "And I was wondering if... if I could borrow your tiny. Just for a night."

Kyle's jaw tightened. Possessiveness flared hot in his chest—Paige was his, his hot little stepsister, his toy.

But then again... Trevor had been cool about the whole thing. Never asked questions. Never judged.

"Yeah," Kyle said finally. "Just don't break her."

Trevor's face lit up. "Dude, thanks. I owe you."

Later that night, Trevor's held Paige in his palm, her tiny naked body trembling violently. His girlfriend—Emma—lounged on the bed behind him, already stripped and eager.

"Hurry up, babe," Emma purred, rolling onto her stomach. Her ass lifted invitingly, thighs spreading. "I want to feel her inside me."

Paige's scream cut through the room as Trevor brought her face toward Emma's puckered hole. The tight ring flexed, warm and waiting.

"Please—" Paige's voice cracked.

Trevor didn't hesitate. He pressed her head against the rim, feeling the resistance as Emma's body fought the intrusion. Then he shoved.

Emma gasped—delighted, breathless—as Paige's head breached the tight ring. Her muscles clenched around the tiny form, squeezing as Trevor forced Paige's shoulders through.

"Oh fuck," Emma moaned, face pressed into the pillow. "She's squirming—I can feel her—"

Trevor pushed deeper, feeding Paige's torso into Emma's ass. The wiggling was electric, sending visible shivers through Emma's body. Her thighs trembled, pussy already glistening.

"More," Emma whimpered.

He obliged, shoving Paige's legs in last. Emma's rim sealed shut completely, and she let out a keening cry of pleasure.

Trevor's cock was rock-hard now, throbbing as he watched Emma writhe on the bed. He positioned himself behind her, lining up.

Emma's gasp turned into a delighted squeal when his cock thrust deep, shoving Paige even deeper into her bowels.

The pressure. The heat. The way Paige thrashed inside her with every thrust.

"Fuck—Trevor—don't stop—"

He didn't. He pounded into Emma as she screamed beneath him, her body clenching tight around both his cock and the tiny girl trapped deep in her ass.

Inside, Paige drowned in suffocating darkness, crushed from every angle as they used her body for their pleasure—nothing more than a living toy to enhance their fucking.

And outside the dorm room, life continued normally.

Just another college Saturday night.

[Justhereforamoment1]

So I'm thinking of writing a new story, but this one not constrained to the tiny universe I've made in Tiny Torments. It would obviously involve tiny women, but how that shapes up would be different. Let me know your favorite or even come up with some of your own. Whatevers most popular/what I like the most will more than likely be made into a story. Also, and I've updated the first page to reflect this, I'm willing to do commisions if you guys can't wait for a story to be chosen. Anyways, here's some ideas I've had:

The Various Predators of Fairies
- Documentary style focusing on different beasts eating fairies. Limited(animal)/no sex and would contain mentions of snuff and heavy vore. Would also contain some pov from the fairies.

[Superhero Name] vs Tessera: The Little that Goes a Long Way
- In which a shrinking supervillian learns what her archenemy gets up to at night. Could either be M/f or F/f.

Stretch to Fit
- A fairly standard story of a man with a shrink ray and little morals. The girls are stretchy after they're shrunk. You do the math. Will contain all the way through.

Little Big Love
- A story about a Giant man and a tiny women as they navigate a world that sees her as a toy. He tries to shield her. Would contain gentle M/f sex scenes as well.

Any other ideas you have?

[TheMacroMan]

Stretch to Fit appeals to me more tbh. Shoving a huge cock inside a tiny woman is very underrated.

[Raso719]

So I'm thinking of writing a new story, but this one not constrained to the tiny universe I've made in Tiny Torments. It would obviously involve tiny women, but how that shapes up would be different. Let me know your favorite or even come up with some of your own. Whatevers most popular/what I like the most will more than likely be made into a story. Also, and I've updated the first page to reflect this, I'm willing to do commisions if you guys can't wait for a story to be chosen. Anyways, here's some ideas I've had:

The Various Predators of Fairies
- Documentary style focusing on different beasts eating fairies. Limited(animal)/no sex and would contain mentions of snuff and heavy vore. Would also contain some pov from the fairies.

[Superhero Name] vs Tessera: The Little that Goes a Long Way
- In which a shrinking supervillian learns what her archenemy gets up to at night. Could either be M/f or F/f.

Stretch to Fit
- A fairly standard story of a man with a shrink ray and little morals. The girls are stretchy after they're shrunk. You do the math. Will contain all the way through.

Little Big Love
- A story about a Giant man and a tiny women as they navigate a world that sees her as a toy. He tries to shield her. Would contain gentle M/f sex scenes as well.

Any other ideas you have?

Stretch to fit sounds hot! Maybe include cumflating until one of them bursts too? Can only stretch so much before you pop!

[Fanta]

My votes goes to little big love. Glad to see you writing again