Brass keys jangled against the solid wood door, scrabbled at the deadbolt. Patti muttered under her breath, slipped the bolt, and ushered her bags inside. She never let her energy down until she hustled across the floor and unloaded three over-sized shoulder bags onto her table. Only then did she let up, collapsing into a chair with a heavy sigh and a satisfied grin.

When she got some strength back, she bolted the front door again and turned on a couple floor lamps. The living room glowed with warm light, a couch and a loveseat angled toward a wide-screen TV on the opposite wall. Patti took up a remote, clicked the TV on (preset to load a fireplace loop), and tossed the remote on the couch. She pulled off her beige mac and hung it up in the closet, then began unloading her bags.

She pulled out her laptop. The battery had died on the train but she was pretty sure all her work was backed up.

Next came the dirty Tupperware that stored her breakfast and lunch. Once she diligently held to packing her own food, she saw a significant drop in spending in just one month!

Then a couple books and a folder of notes. Two of these were financial texts, one was a guide to identifying trees: she turned to nature as a break from numbers.

Lastly, she carefully extracted a large glass bowl filled with several dozen miniature people. None of them were taller than an inch, they were all naked, and most of them were in stages of fright. Patti held the bowl up to eye level and grinned at them: they trotted around in a circle, to the far side of the container. They tripped over each other, kicked and shoved each other out of the way. Little brutes.

She strode across her apartment to place the glass bowl on the low mahogany table before her couch, then put on the electric kettle and went to her bedroom to change.

The cream silk top tugged off easily. She folded her arms backward to disengage her lace bra, then unhooked and unzipped her skirt. It pooled around her ankles as she massaged and hefted her breasts, sighing deeply at the release from constriction.

– Mes pauvres filles! Enfin libre.

She peeled off her sheer hose and tugged her panties off her hips, digging in her top drawer for a fresh pair. The events of the day had conspired to induce a sensual moisture in her cotton rise thong—pleasant at the time, but increasingly uncomfortable as it chilled. She selected some nice flannel boxers and found her plush hoodie on a chair by the bed. Cozily attired, she padded out of her room on the balls of her feet.

She wondered what it looked like, to the little people in the tempered glass cage. She was the young side of old, taller than average, with long and slender limbs. Were they aroused? Were they terrified at being only the size of her thumbnail? What did they think, when she entered the room again?

The kettle whistled. She plucked a packet of herbal tea for her favorite mug and started it steeping as she waltzed out of her kitchenette to the living room. She set her mug down and admired the roaring blaze on the TV for a while, turning up the volume. Her eyes lit up with an afterthought: back to the kitchen for a large pasta bowl, then she retrieved the chamber of minuscule people and settled down on the couch.

The tea smelled wonderful! Winter was getting established outside so the commute home was a bit of a shock. Ruefully she considered downloading a weather app for her phone, to look up forecasts each morning, but it was all the way across the room now, and she was just getting comfortable.

Patti liked the feel of the spongy, pliant couch cushions on her bottom. She clenched a couple times, happily, then slouched and parked her heels on the dark wood table. Resting the pasta bowl beside her, she nestled the cold glass bowl upon her bare thighs. Briefly chilling, but the force of her being was stronger and the glass reached an amenable temperature.

She took up the remote, switched from the fireplace video and called up an art film. Nothing too eclectic, just something pretty and thoughtful to wrap up the week. She popped the lid on the bowl.

Tiny little screams, dimly perceptible through the sweeping violins playing over the credits. Tiny little feet tapping at the tempered glass: she could feel their vibrations on her thighs. Tiny little people scrambling left and right, charging at the slick walls and sliding back down, down to the depression in the bowl just over Patti’s crotch. She looked down at them, smiling, watching the bodies mass up where her plaid flannel boxers bunched up under the glass.

Maybe half of them began to slow down and look up at her. Their tiny gazes ran up the sides of the bowl, up the rumpled front of her hoodie, and on up into her eyes. She could feel them looking at her, more of them each second, and she felt a rising sensation of tingling inside her chest as she did so. She licked her upper lip and smiled, teeth parted, her eyes flickering all over the little crowd.

She glanced up once at the name actor holding this movie together and the promising supporting lead. They were engaged in a domestic squabble, something petty and bitter. Patti pouted, pushing out her bottom lip, and scrubbed through the video to what looked like a make-out scene, letting that play instead. That was much better.

Her shoulder flexed, her forearm tensed, and her right hand hovered over the glass bowl of tiny little people. Some shrieked, some froze in place. The stupider ones, the ones who were reacting beyond rational thought, tried to clear a space beneath where they thought her fingers were reaching. Yet her thumb and forefinger, lacquered nails glinting in the TV light, hovered and changed course easily over the mass hysteria.

Who did she want? Patti’s brow furrowed slightly, though her eyes grinned winningly. There, that one: she plucked up a blond man, nearly buried between her fingertips. She turned him over, examining his spindly little frame. Why were they always naked? She brought him closer to her green eyes, opening them comically wide for him.

He only stared back. She focused on his expression, which was intent, only a little wary, but mostly he seemed self-composed. Yes, this one would do: she waggled another finger at him in playful admonition, then brought him inside a wide, glossy wave of black hair and tucked him in the scoop just outside her aural canal. There he nestled, obedient for the time being. If he could prove himself worthy…

Patti plucked a dozen others out of the tempered glass food bowl, transferring them one by one to the large pasta bowl. She had to do this quickly because the latter container’s sides were much lower and sloped more gracefully: a good sprinter could hurl himself over the lip and onto the couch, onto the floor! She wrinkled her nose in distaste, recalling the last time that happened. It was a fun little mess, but she’d had to reupholster the entire couch, and that was not cheap.

With her party carefully selected, she sealed the silicone lid back on the glass bowl and set that on the low table. She rest her feet before it, stroking the sides with her long toes, and she wondered what that looked like to them, too. She wondered what it looked to see the soles of a pretty woman’s feet wrap around the glass walls, the skin going a little pale with the pressure she applied, the toes that stroked eagerly at the barrier.

Oh, she was getting wet again. Patti couldn’t help her mind wandering!

The lead actor was having a revelation with a friend out at a bar, and the scene kept cutting between him and the supporting lead with her girlfriends, getting drunk in someone’s living room. Did she select the right movie? This didn’t seem artsy at all. Snorting, she lifted the pasta bowl up to her chest. Now for the party!

She licked the tip of her index finger and stroked it through the small crowd of a dozen tiny people. Some of them stuck to it: their chests, their backs betrayed them and adhered to the broad fingerprint. Pointing at the ceiling, she turned her long and shapely finger before her huge green eyes, her strong lips breaking into a wide grin. She tilted her head slightly, angling her ear at the scene for the benefit of the tiny man ensconced within.

After a few seconds she turned to face the tiny struggling people on her fingertip. She licked her upper lip slowly, raised her eyebrows, and studied every expression on each face, the activities of each body. Their situation was confusing, they were panicking and squealing, and they couldn’t do anything about−

Oops! One little man, stuck by his chest, pushed away with his arms and legs and dislodged himself! He dropped slowly, like a snowflake, bouncing off Patti’s third finger and tumbling through space back into the pasta bowl. He sprawled among the several people remaining, gaping up at her hand and the people stuck to it.

She nodded at him in a mild salute, and she never took her eyes off of him as she opened her jaw, stuck out her tongue, and slowly wiped the tiny people upon her taste buds. She let her tongue hang there for a moment, terrified little people squirming on it, on display for the small group in the bowl. Very slowly she drew her tongue back into her mouth with a breathy moan from the back of her throat.

The tiny struggler in the bowl stared, his eyes like minuscule saucers.

On her tongue Patti could feel a collection of arms and legs squirming, kicking, going nowhere.

Her chosen little guy began babbling in her right ear. She didn’t recognize his language.

Still staring at the one who freed himself, Patti opened her mouth once more, tongue placed firmly against her palate. The struggling diminished slightly; she opened wider, creating a vacuum on the roof of her mouth, and the squirming lessened further.

Inhaling deeply through her nostrils, she pressed her tongue as hard as she could against her palate. Slowly she pushed her tongue forward, then dragged it back, then forward again. She could feel the limbs snapping easily, the rib cages shattering and caving in. The bodies lost their bumps and ridges, turned into little rolls of pulp that squeezed and seemed to melt as her tongue rubbed them. No more squirming, now, just the spread of salty droplets all over her papillae.

When she stuck her tongue out at the little people again, it was dyed mostly red.

–  Hmm… un vrai délice, vous en voulez?

Oh, how they screeched. They scrambled for the far edge of the bowl, the edge that rose up her thighs. There was no way they could possibly climb out, and she laughed at their efforts. Not a mean laugh, just a playful amusement at a cognitive disconnect. She sucked the juices off her tongue, closing her eyes to really savor their umami, trying to produce enough saliva to wash the various parts down her throat.

She wished she could show the handsome little guy in her ear that her mouth was empty. All gone! Instead, she showed the people in the bowl, but they weren’t even looking. They were all tumbling over each other in a futile effort to escape.

With an amused snort, Patti took up the bowl and gave the far end a little bump. Tiny little people flung through the air, cartwheeling comically, before crashing back down into the porcelain. They clutched at their arms and legs, they moaned and screamed, but Patti knew they were okay. But if they wanted something to scream about, well…

She loomed over the bowl. Eyes widening, lips pouting to one side, she made a farcical show of scrutinizing the remaining several captives. There were more men than women in here, as it happened: one little woman glared back up at Patti with impotent rage; another quailed and hid behind another man (who was himself trying to hide behind her); but the last one, she laid back in the bowl somewhere near the center, a short distance from where the rabble were piling up in their futile efforts. She had a long mane of coppery red hair, pale skin, and a look of…

Patti made eye contact with her. The audacious little woman stared up at her, slowly rubbing her thighs together. Patti raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised, and the little woman bit the knuckle of her index finger. Patti blinked, both eyebrows raised, and the grin she tried to suppress made her mouth all wrinkly. She shook her head and reached into the bowl toward the flirtatious little lady.

She very gently stroked the length of her body with the merest edge of her fingertip. The little woman gasped, then blushed and smiled. Patti bared her painted nail at her, held it at the tiny woman’s throat, dragged it over her breasts and belly, and pried her legs apart with the tip. The tiny woman was visibly shaking, but the expression on her face represented any number of emotions. Patti only grinned at her and pinched up the frightened woman and her cowardly man.

They shrieked as she hauled them slowly from the crowd, from the bowl. She wanted everyone to see their little legs kicking in the warm apartment air. She wanted every little head to be filled with confusion, knowing she could have selected anyone at all, at any time.

She lifted up her left hand, flat above the bowl, and dropped the couple into her open palm. They really were so tiny and delicate! They were a marvel to study, these little people, with their wide range of expressions and the detail on their hands and knees, their little hairstyles. She raised her palm closer to her face, the better to watch her new partners.

The tiny woman had immediately righted herself to a kneeling position. Her hands were laced together and she wagged them beseechingly up to Patti. She was wailing and sobbing and it just did not look good on her. She had a little belly, and Patti couldn’t tell if she was five months along or just liked ice cream on the couch. The man, however, was sprawled on his back and doing an  ungainly crawl backward, not looking where he was going. And he… Patti scowled very darkly to realize he was trailing urine across her lovely skin.

She had no patience for that. Drawing her thumbnail, she placed the precisely curved ridge into his right shoulder and pressed down hard. Too dull to sever the skin, it nonetheless dislocated the joint completely, and the little man howled like a fire engine siren. She did the same thing to his left shoulder, and his arms hung at ugly angles along his sides as his tiny legs resolutely shoved him away. He couldn’t see he was heading straight for the cushiony digits of her index and middle fingers, where she could have easily pinched him before he fell back into the pasta dish.

So she crunched his tiny knees the same way and he just lay there, screaming and writhing in a pool of his own piss. This was too disgusting for Patti, so she pinched his head between two fingernails and dragged him off her palm and into the crowd of tiny people. On the end table beside her was a box of tissues, which she used to mop herself off. She sniffed at her skin to make sure she got it all.

When she lowered her palm again, the tiny little woman was pallid with terror. She looked so ridiculous, stiff and trembling (and silent for once!) that Patti couldn’t resist teasing her. She lifted her palm up to her lips once more, but bent her head and lowered her nose into her palm. Flaring her nostrils, she inhaled extra hard over the little woman, as though trying to really take in a special rose or something. She pulled her hand back and looked at the woman: she had thrown herself to her back, to resist the strong breezes she felt. With her limbs splayed, her little belly, her pale skin and gaping mouth, she looked like one of those rare subterranean frogs that gets discovered inside a lump of coal.

Patti laughed at the little woman. She laughed upon the little woman, bowing her head to shadow her with her huge, white teeth and quivering tongue. She laughed harder, blowing gusts of hot, humid breath into her palm, and absolutely not holding back on the volume, either. The tiny woman seemed completely miserable, her flabby breasts and round little belly shuddering with sobs.

Patti could only shake her head and grin at this. You never knew what one of these little people was going to do! She raised her back up to her nose and began snuffling around her palm, short little gusts and snorts in rapid succession, running her nostril in a circular pattern over her hand as though seeking for the tiny woman by scent. She could just hear the shrieks of the tiny woman, could barely feel the feather-light weight of her getting up and crawling around.

At last, she cupped her palm around her nostrils, to increase the wind speed. She exhaled with a long phoo-oo-oo, then inhaled as hard as she could. It took a couple tries, but she felt the tiny little body bump against her nostril, tickle her nasal hairs, and get lodged in her sinus. Patti crinkled her nose with irritation, resisting the urge to pinch her nares shut: she wanted the annoying little woman alive for this. Laying one finger upon the opposite nostril, she snorted exceptionally hard, and the squirming little lump shot down the back of her throat.

That was satisfying! Patti cleared her throat, and the tiny woman rolled over her tongue, bouncing against the narrow opening of her lips. She poked her tongue out and wiped the tiny woman back on her palm, lifting her up for examination. The little woman was clearly dazed at this point, coated in a small globule of clear mucus and saliva. One of her arms lay at a strange angle, and it could’ve been broken, except it didn’t matter.

Patti brushed her hair back with her right hand and raised her left palm up to her ear, to show her little companion. She felt the tiny man wriggling in her ear, but this time he refrained from babbling at her in his strange tongue. After Patti displayed the tiny woman to the people in the pasta bowl—turning her palm down, her own snot pasting the woman securely to her skin—she simply folded her fingers in and crushed her with the tip of her middle finger. In front of everyone, slowly and deliberately. Right before contact, the tiny woman began screaming, only to fall silent shortly thereafter. Patti idly reached for the tissues on the end table and wiped her palm clean, tossed the used tissue to the floor. She’d get it later. Or not.

The several tiny people in the bowl were still losing their shit, scrambling up the sides and weeping, nonsense like that. The disabled tiny man lay in the lowest curve of the bowl, and the other people made sure to avoid him. All he could do was cry, craning his little head around, but the others were careful to look away or else they were too intent on finding a way out of the bowl. She shook her head at them, then glanced down her long legs at the food storage bowl at her feet!

Patti swore! She’d forgotten all about them! That huge, dense crowd of tiny little people didn’t get to see what she’d done to Mr. Urination or what the weeping woman looked like in her snot! They didn’t get to see the little people on her tongue! That sucked, she wanted everyone to know what they were in for.

She’d also completely forgotten about the movie, and they were doing something that made no sense to her. Swearing again, she changed the movie back to the blazing fireplace and set the pasta bowl down next to her.

Bon. Faites moi le plaisir de rester en place! Suis je assez claire?

But no sooner did she stand up than four of them spread out and started making good progress toward the edge of the bowl. Her arm lashed out, swinging down from on high to smack the couch cushion good and hard. It rattled most of them, sending them tumbling back into the bowl, but one little guy caught a lucky bounce and flipped over the edge.

At least it was just the one. Picking up the bowl and balancing it high on one hand, Patti loomed over the little man, trying to impress him with her height. Her knees pressed against the cushions, so he lay almost between her bare thighs. The little guy was gaping at her pretty thoroughly, so she flexed one thigh, her muscle twitching and sliding beneath her flawless skin. She leaned forward just a little, thrusting her hips over the seat, letting the legs of her flannel boxers swing out: predictably, the tiny little pervert lay there, motionless, craning his head to peer up her boxers at the treasures within.

She nearly laughed to herself. As he was effectively immobilized, she simply turned on her heel, bent sharply at the waist and knees, and drove her pert little butt directly upon the castaway. The people in the pasta dish missed this entirely, but a large crowd had formed in the storage container, tiny naked bodies pressed against the tempered glass, and they watched their brother-in-size disappear beneath her underwear and—to them—the sheer tonnage of her bulk.

Experience had taught her he wouldn’t die right away, like this. There was enough give in the couch cushions to give him just enough room to escape being crushed. He was, however, pinned well beyond struggling, and if she sat there for a few hours he would probably asphyxiate.

Patti had no time for this. She only scooted her butt forward, then stood up. There was a short, thin crimson streak on the cushion, and she knew she’d added another stain to her boxers, as well. Grumbling, she stomped over to the dining room table and dug single-handedly through her bags until she found her stupid goddamned phone.

Was it worth it? Time would tell, but she used her time up to also grab a pink Moscato and a glass. Thus laden, she returned to her couch and cradled the pasta bowl in her lap once more.

She poured herself a full glass, peeled off the lid of the food container, pinched several tiny people at random and dropped them into her wine. Sealed the lid again. Sat back.

The tiny people tried swimming and treading wine for a while. Others floated when the mild carbonation formed bubbles on their skin and supported them. That was good, they’d save their energy for when the immersion in alcohol seeped straight into their feeble bloodstreams. She wiggled the toes of one bare foot at the little swimmers and floaters, then turned back to the prisoners of the pasta bowl.

The broken screaming guy was still making a ruckus. The angry woman was still glowering up at her, and the flirty redhead was pumping her hand between her thighs. Two little men started yelling at her, so Patti picked one of them up; the other shut up, witnessing how close lightning just struck to him. The red-haired woman watched her intently.

Except Patti didn’t really have any plan for him. It was just kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing, standing up for her little girlfriend in the dish. She examined the tiny man between her fingers for a while, just staring at the tiny little legs kicking at the air. Was this the same guy who peeled himself off her finger before? Or was that the one she sat on? They really all looked alike.

Shrugging, Patti brought the little man up to her mouth and locked her lips around his chest and waist. Holding him securely, she used the tip of her tongue to guide his little legs onto the lower row of her incisors. He squirmed and kicked around a lot, so she had the choose the optimal time to give him a little nibble. Not to snip his legs off, just to shatter one more more bones. He was screaming bloody murder long before she ever made contact, so she could only guess when this was accomplished.

Hanging her head over the bowl, she carefully spat the tiny man into the center. He struck the porcelain with a wet little tap, still screaming. She brought her hand over the bowl and pointed a very stern finger down upon him.

– Maintenant, debout.

The tiny man didn’t seem to be listening, hollering and clutching his thigh. The other tiny people stared at him, wondering whether it was safe to approach him and try to help. They must’ve thought this could incur some other kind of punishment.

Patti understood their confusion but she frowned upon their lack of activity. She plucked up the other tiny man who had been scolding the cute little redhead, and she made a gesture of standing him up several times, like the pawn of a children’s board game. By his expression he was far too terrified to scream and submitted to her direction.

She set him down, pointed at him and glared at the crippled tiny man, repeating herself. When he didn’t move, she began her countdown, tallying her fingers above the pasta bowl.

That got some of the other minuscule people aroused. They shouted at the little man holding his leg, pointing at her fingers, pointing at the frightened man standing nearby. That was good, they were becoming more compliant. But the man she’d just hobbled only lay there, crying out and clutching his leg.

So when she got to ten, Patti made no fanfare of bringing her fingertip upon his skull. She simply pressed down until his head popped. All the little people in the pasta dish cried out, covering their faces, turning away, so they didn’t see her do the same thing to the little man whose limbs she’d shattered. He was getting annoying.

Patti sighed. Angry woman, sexy woman, frightened little man… and one bland little guy that hadn’t done anything but try to scale the sides of the bowl now and then. Four little people. What could she do with four little people…

Well, she wanted something to remember the night by, so she gracelessly plucked at all the tiny little people but the redhead. Her fingers swooped and swiped, snatching up the tiny little figures and dropping them upon her extended tongue. The evening was getting late and she was wearying herself with this demonstration. She mashed her tongue against the roof of her mouth to stun them, stuck out her tongue and took a couple selfies of them, then reached for her glass of wine.

Oh, the wine. She was so forgetful. The tiny people were doing something marvelous in it: all of them were intoxicated well beyond their capacity, so they only floated in the pink beverage. The bubbles would carry them to the surface and pop, and the tiny bodies would drift back down to the bottom of the glass, where they’d accumulate more bubbles and rise once more.

The effect was quite dreamlike and mesmerizing, honestly. Patti grinned and took up the glass, admiring the gentle activity. She had to get a couple pictures of this, too, of course, and she had to turn her head so the little man in her ear could be impressed with it. It was a great idea, after all, she’d have to remember this for her New Year’s Eve party.

She leaned over slightly to stick her tongue out at the tiny people in the tempered glass bowl, under the silicone lid, made sure they all saw. That done, she knocked back the Moscato and downed all the tiny little people in one pull. Sure, they felt like little clumps over her neck and down her throat, but she’d never had much of a gag reflex. It was like taking a lot of baby aspirin, actually, and she’d done that before.

The pink Moscato was damned tasty, too.

That was that, then. The dead tiny bodies washed right down, and the three living tiny people squirmed and struggled all the way down into her stomach. She lost track of them there, but it was a unique sensation to feel their activity along her throat, up to that point.

Belatedly she recalled the very angry little woman! Dammit! It would’ve been fun to mess with her a little more, break her spirit! Her timing was all off tonight. All these missed opportunities…

She grinned at the tempered glass food bowl. At least there would be many, many more opportunities to correct those errors.

That left two survivors: the sweet little man in her ear, and the frisky little vixen in the pasta bowl. As for what to do with them, the answer was obvious.

Patti cut the fire video and loaded up some nice porn on YouTube. Even better on a wide-screen TV like this. She tugged her hoodie up over her head, arranged a couple pillows against one arm of the couch, and refilled her wine. Settling into the pillowy support, she very gently plucked the saucy little redhead out of the bowl and placed her upon one of her own bare breasts. Not a large boob, but huge to this tiny little woman, who was already warming up to Patti’s stiffening nipple. Good girl.

She tapped suggestively against her earlobe, and when the shuffling in her aural canal ceased, she assumed the little man had taken the hint and climbed aboard her finger. This turned out to be the case, and she very carefully slid the tiny guy onto her breast as well.

He looked up at her and, at the top of his lungs, called out the only French he knew: “Pourquoi?” She grinned with surprise, and the pleasure at being so surprised.

– Parce que je t’adore, gros malin.

It was a little hard for Patti to watch the two minuscule people, themselves only twice as tall as her erect nipple. But she did see the red-haired woman study the TV for a moment, then beckon the tiny little man into her embrace. He was a little slow to react, but he picked up on her lead easily enough and began kissing the full length of her body.

Patti toasted them and pulled at her wine, her left hand slipping down between her own thighs. These two… they would do well for themselves. She dripped just a little bit of wine upon the tiny naked people: the man seemed a bit shocked, but the tiny woman threw back her head and laughed. Rolling to all fours, she directed the tiny man to engage with her curvy, pale rear while she lapped all the sweet liquor off of Patti’s tremendous nipple. To his credit, the little man seemed game for this as well.

She glanced at the TV but found her little couple more interesting—more sincere, certainly—and she switched back to the video of the fireplace.

[Based on an idea by Giantess Tina. Image by Starkadhr]

One thought on “A Relaxing Night In

  1. Well done! For a story with an ostensibly contemplative theme, this was briskly paced and untroubled by digression. Patti indulges in a nice variety of play modes, illustrating both the sensual delights of vore as well as a refreshingly casual domination of her tinies.

    Best of all, Patti’s character is coherent and comprehensible. Her motives are self-evident and clear, but it’s not until she’s down to the last two tinies that she decides that there’ll be a second act, and it remains plausible throughout.

    All of our days should end with such a consummation.

    Liked by 1 person

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