This Shrinking Fetish Fantasy is a Tale about Sweet, Diabolical Retribution
Who would have thought that my shrinking fetish fantasy would begin with me being tortured by this ass? But here I am, sitting across from my boss Bryce, nodding politely to whatever hum-drum subject he has decided to inflict upon me. I look at him, wondering if he will ever wipe the sauce from the corner of his mouth. The topics of choice from him have varied, but always with the same underlining theme – himself.
But I digress. Let me explain how I got myself into this self-inflicted punishment.
You see, I have curtailed his advances for weeks now, with his oh so cliché lines and cheesy innuendos. After all, he is the boss, and I thought a more delicate hand, versus a knee to the groin, would be a better course of action.
It was only after the incident that I changed my resolve.
After I found him cornering Cheryl in the copier room, trying to inch his hand up her skirt. After I literally had to step in between them both to get him to cease and desist with his unwelcome advances. It was only until then that I finally decided that Bryce had to be dealt with – permanently.
Using Bryce’s belief that every woman is waiting for their turn for him to have her, I started the flirtation process. It didn’t take much more than a wanting smile for him to take the bait – after all, the man views all women as sub-humans, and that they should feel lucky that he has allowed them the privilege of serving and servicing him. Well, that is about to change tonight.
Yes, my shrinking fetish fantasy was going to take an oh-so-wicked twist.
A devious, knowing smile grows slowly across my face. I am snapped back to the present as he mistakes my smile as approval to his latest attempt at a joke. If he only knew that the joke would soon be on him. Thank goodness the meal is finally coming to a close.
The waitress appears and asks if we would be interested in coffee or dessert. I tell her just coffee for the two of us. I lean in towards Bryce, place my hand seductively on his, and say softly, “I was thinking we could have a special dessert at my place.” I can almost see the drool forming in the corner of his mouth where traces of sauce still reside. He tries to pass on the coffee, but I insist.
Seeing my resolve, and preoccupied with the promise of a special “dessert”, he yields to my wishes and excuses himself to the restroom. In his absence, the coffee arrives, and I seize the opportunity. I pull out the vial that is at the end of a long chain that I wear around my neck. Opening it, I allow the contents to empty in Bryce’s coffee cup. I even dropped a couple of ice cubes into the hot liquid to cool it for faster consumption.
When he returns, I say off-handedly, “You know, the faster you finish your coffee, the faster we can get out of here.” Not needing to be told twice, he gulps down his coffee, pays for the check, and hastily leads me out of the restaurant.
Smiling to myself as I imagine just how my shrinking fetish fantasy will progress.
I glance at my watch – I calculate that my special liquid should be taking effect any minute now. On the way to the car, Bryce gets notably light-headed and starts to stumble. I play the concerned date, allowing him to lean against me. I take his keys, saying maybe I should drive. In his weakened state, he makes no objections (at least none that matter). I lean him against the car but do not unlock the doors – not yet.
I lean into him, letting my breath caress his ear, and say, “I thought I could be your dessert, and you mine. But in order for me to fully enjoy your dessert, I’ve had to make some adjustments.”
Bryce looks at me with confusion, then panic, as he looks up at me as I seem to be growing larger and larger.
But then he realizes that I am not growing – he is the one shrinking. Within a minute he has shrunken down to only six inches tall. I bend down and pick him up by the scruff of his neck.
Holding him up so he can see my eyes, my red lips, I tell him, “Are you ready for your dessert?” And with that, I hike up my dress, pull out my panties, and drop ‘Romeo’ in. I push him down between my thighs, towards my already wet pussy, smashing him against my throbbing clit.
“There’s your dessert babe, just like I promised. Now get to work, and you better make me squeal! I like my dessert well marinated. Oh, and you may want to find yourself a nice warm place to curl up into fairly quickly; else you may find yourself flattened when I sit to drive us home.”
It must have taken Bryce a minute to fully comprehend what I just told him. But then I felt Bryce wriggling quickly, trying to make his way deep inside my pussy, feeding my vaginal vore fantasy story needs as well. I laugh out loud, knowing that this is just the beginning…
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