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Size Erotica: Dear Professor, Part 1

I’m excited to share a story I wrote for my good friend @giant_micro back in January 2020 as a gift. I’m revealing it slowly over three weeks, in three parts. Scroll to the read more if you want to jump right to the story.

“Dear Professor” explores micro sizes, which I define as “under a millimeter,” so if you enjoyed “The Therapist Will See You Now,” odds are good this one could get your heart racing, too.


Precious Darkness

This story shows off my darker side, playing with humiliation, dubcon, and other elements of size kink that I fantasize about regularly but don’t include in my writing as often. That’s one reason I used my kink name for the protagonist—she’s not me, but she’s a facet of me. I have heard before that some folks consider me “too nice” to have a dark side.

I love my comforting, nurturing scenes. And I love my darker scenes, too. Both are me. Maybe I don’t go as dark as many in our community. And maybe I go too dark for others. I’m the only one who can know what feels good to me to explore, the only one who can test and learn where my limits are.

To quote Dossie Eastman and Janet Hardy at the end of The Topping Book, which offers strategies on how to travel as safely as possible in “your precious darkness”—

All BDSM play is shadow play — when we play together, we find acceptance for emotions and behaviors that would be unacceptable outside scene space. And we believe that all play is potentially, and potently, healing and growthful. When we venture purposefully into our darkest shadows, we get to write our own script, determine the outcome, validate forbidden and rejected parts of ourselves, reclaim parts of ourselves that we had lost or buried, and find ways to grasp all the parts of ourselves, every single one, in a profound act of self-acceptance through which we may become whole.


Read the story


Dear Professor: Part I

By Elle Largesse

Copyright 2021, all rights reserved.

3027 words

A professor agrees to a BDSM shrinking scene to work out some stress with a friend, and discovers just how stressful—and sexy—a body can be at micro sizes.

This F/m story contains shrinking to sizes under a millimeter, breast play, body exploration, insertion, anal, sex toys, entrapment, falling from a height, domination and submission, humiliation, praise, some mind control elements, and aftercare. There are also hints of fear play and dubcon (dubious consent), and processing emotions like anger and helplessness. Not all themes will be present in all parts. I welcome help in tagging—please let me know if I have missed anything important.


“I’ll work out next week. I have to get through this stack by tomorrow at 7,” Ryan said, gesturing to the stack of ungraded papers between him and his frustrated friend.

“Next week will never come,” she told him. “You’re working too hard, and haven’t done a damn thing for your body in weeks.” She looked down at the papers spread across the coffeeshop table and frowned. 

It had been a long time since he was as physically fit as his favorite partner-in-crime. He tore his eyes away from her shapely breasts in her contoured blue sports top just in time to meet her gaze and give her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. I shower, eat, and sleep. I even hydrate.” He raised his glass of cold brew coffee—black and bitter, like his soul—and took a long drink.

“Not nearly often enough, Professor,” she said. “How is it that I’m in law school, and I still manage to take better care of myself than you do?” 

He gave her an exasperated look. “That’s not fair. I can’t read on the treadmill like you do. And you’re the only person depending on your work. If I don’t do this, I’ve got five auditoriums full of people who—”

“Who can deal. I get it, I really do. But it’s not the end of the world if you make time to take care of yourself. You do good at work, why don’t you do some good for yourself?”

“I do well at work,” he corrected her. He looked away, feeling even more tired and hopeless than he had when she had walked into the café. “Elle. Stop. Just let it go.”

“No.” She produced an envelope from behind her back. “I’m sorry, Professor, but it’s time for me to take matters into my own hands.” 

He rolled his eyes at her corny line, but stopped when she pulled out the contract, the pendant, and the collar. His face went pale.

“Signed consent from your past self when you took this job,” she said with equal parts satisfaction and frustration. “That if you didn’t take care of yourself—really make any kind of effort whatsoever—then I had your permission and full blessing to make use of this.” She spun the little leather-studded collar on her finger and gave him a look fit for a queen who’s tired of being disobeyed. 

His eyes swept the café to see if anyone had noticed, but the place was nearly empty. They hadn’t played like this since their undergrad days, back when they’d been friends with benefits. They’d gone to some dark places with this power, and had mutually agreed to put it away before they got fully addicted to it. Seeing it again now made his heart rate spike.

Elle slipped the pendant over her head and allowed it to nestle at the top of her cleavage. Then she placed the collar on the stack of essays he had halfheartedly been forcing himself to read. He touched the leather and felt a thrill of emotion and sensation emanating from it with pure magic. His awareness of his friend sharpened and he could feel an echo of empathy in her frustration and the desire to move and use up the energy pent up in her body. He felt a pang of envy. How could she stay so motivated, even with all her own stress? How he missed feeling that energy in his own body, the potential for movement and strength. He pulled his hand away and the sensations faded back to overwork and sedentary exhaustion.

“Put. It. On.” She crossed her arms. “I can already tell how much you want this. Christ, man. Can you even feel how much you’re holding bottled up inside? Your body is practically screaming to run or hide or explode. I’m going to force you to deal with this, damn it. No more running.”

He stared at the collar, then at the ungraded work. He closed his eyes and tried to call up the fading sensation of vitality in his friend’s body. He couldn’t.

“You’ll keep me safe,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “And it’s just until tonight. After that it’s going back in that envelope unless there’s an actual emergency.” He opened his eyes and glared at her.

“Sweetheart, if you could see you, you’d know this was a goddamn emergency.” But her gaze softened and grew serious. “And you know you’ll always be safe with me. Impervious to all harm.”

“You’re angry at me,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “You’re going to keep that in check, right?”

She nodded, her face serious. “It’s true, this will let me vent my own frustration. I want to fix things for you, and that’s… not my job.” She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “But I’m your friend, and one thing I can do as your friend is make it safe for you to feel all of the shit you haven’t had the bandwidth to process.”

“And if I say no?”

She smiled and nodded. “You can always say no. I’m always gonna be your friend, no matter what we do or don’t do together.”

Ryan relaxed a little. He took a sip of cold brew and considered her. “And if I say yes?”

“Then I’ll keep you safe, even from my own frustration. Do you trust me?”

She reached out a hand, palm up. He sighed, smiled wryly, and took her hand in a handshake to seal the deal. She returned his smile. 

“Do you still remember the safeword?” she asked.

Slowly and deliberately, he reached out to touch the collar again. His fist closed around the leather and squeezed three times. 

Elle nodded, her eyes half-closed as she shivered from the bond re-forming between them.

His hands shook as he lifted the collar to his throat and clicked it in place. 



Elle’s satisfaction and relief came through their bond first, then her arousal. Clearest and most alarming to Ryan was a sense of something almost red-hot. They had played rough before, but he hadn’t ever felt this level of anger from her, as if she wanted to pick him up and shake him, or squeeze him into a mold of her making. He couldn’t read her thoughts, but there was a “fuck it” kind of feeling that felt dangerously close to “consent be damned.” Ryan was suddenly very glad they were in a public place.

He knew his fear would turn her on more, and sure enough, she bit her lip and closed her eyes, giving a soft sigh of pleasure. “God, I missed this,” she said. But when her eyes opened again, her gaze was clear, purposeful, and her emotions had been reigned in under control. 

Protectiveness radiated in their bond, then the kind of you’re-not-alone love that builds between friends who have shared years of darkness and shame and secrets. Through the bond, he could feel her eyes burning with tears at that intensity. Part of him wished he could cry with her.  

He marveled at her control as she pulled all of this back behind whatever curtain existed in her mind. Her face and lips flushed red and she let out a huff of exertion. Soon he lost almost all sense of her through their bond, beyond the connection itself. The intimacy became a leash between their bodies and minds. She was there with him, but they both knew who was in control. 

They smiled at each other, but the imbalance of power was especially telling. His smile felt tremulous and afraid. Hers, dominant and eager.

She leaned in close until her lips brushed his ear and he could have raised a hand to touch her breast or toned stomach, if he’d dared. “You start shrinking now,” she said. “You should probably pack up your things if you don’t want to lose track of these papers… or your pants.” She sat back, laughing as he jumped into action. 

Papers, pens, phone, books, worksheets, he shoved them all in his bag without hesitation or any plan to keep them organized. He was on his feet and aiming for the door in less than half a minute, but he could already feel that his bag was absurdly heavy and his shoes too large for his feet. He tripped, and fell.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just a clumsy lil’ guy,” Elle said to the few people in the cafe. She strode up behind Ryan and scooped up his bag easily, grinning down at him and his embarrassment. He prayed that nobody here recognized him as he scrambled to his feet and walked right out of his now enormous shoes. Elle scooped those up, too, as if he were a helpless idiot. Terrified of being seen, he ran for the door and was horrified to see that he almost couldn’t reach the handle to push it open. He heaved against the door and dashed out to Elle’s car, his hands pulling his now-enormous clothes around his dwindling body. She smirked as she followed and opened the door for him. He climbed inside, his face burning with embarrassment and anger.

She set his shoes and bag on the floor of the car, shut the door, and then walked to her side of the car. As soon as she opened the door he started cussing at her. “The fuck was that? I could have been recognized! Elle, that could’ve been really, really bad!” He expected her to climb in and cuss him back, but instead she stayed on her feet, bent over, and reached across the car seat towards him. Fear clenched his throat shut and he pushed himself back on instinct. 

That’s when he realized he’d shrunk out of his clothes without even realizing how far it had gone. He tangled in his shirt and underwear and gave an undignified yelp as Elle’s massive hand closed around his waist and lifted. 

“You’re fine,” she said dismissively, clearly savoring his fear and helplessness. “Nobody saw anything more than a clumsy kid in baggy clothes making an idiot of himself. That cute barista even laughed.”

She plucked his boxers from his legs and tossed them to the floor of the car, then lay him flat on the driver’s seat as easily as if he’d been a Barbie doll. He stared up at the distorted view of the steering wheel, then back at Elle.

“Sit still, Ryan.” She climbed into the car and settled her weight onto the lower half of his body. Her leggings were soft, but her toned thighs were as massive as two heavy duty pickup trucks. His legs and feet were pinned beneath the crushing weight of her ass, and his chest and torso struggled for breath under the warmth of her vulva. Only his shoulders and face were free. As he looked up her body from this absurd angle, he realized he couldn’t see her face.

“You’re allowed to stare at my tits now,” she said to him, giving her shoulders a shake so that they jiggled suggestively. Their size was so outlandish that it was like watching boulders shimmy together along a sheer cliff face. 

He heard the car door slam and watched her push her keys into the ignition. She laughed, then pulled them out again. When she pushed them into the ignition she gave a moan, then worked the keys in and out repetitively with a laugh. Finally she turned the car on and sat there for a moment, caressing her breasts, stomach, and thighs. 

“Oh! I nearly forgot.” She lifted up off his body and he felt air rush into his lungs for a brief blissful moment. Her thumb and forefinger closed on his arm and raised it gently up, as if he were asking a question in class. She sat back down again and the brief moment of breath whooshed out of him once more. “There. Now you can activate your safeword if you need to. Not that it’s a word. And not that it’s strictly necessary, since I can feel when you’re freaking out. But we both know working through your fear is going to be one of the best parts of this process.” He could hear the satisfied smile in her voice as she said this and rocked her hips from side to side. 

He focused on his frustration, not wanting to give her any more of his fear. She was so huge, though, and it was hard not to flinch as she smacked her thigh. “Oh, getting angry, are you?” She rolled her hips with more intensity on top of him. Even through the soft blue leggings, he could feel the pillowy shapes of her vulva lips lifting and smushing down on him repeatedly.

“That’s a good idea, you pathetic little thing. I’ll drive us to the gym like an actual adult, and you just get yourself good and worked up. Don’t forget to remember who got you into this situation in the first place. Whose fault it is that you needed a woman to come rescue you. Big strong man who can’t be bothered to behave like one.”

Ryan knew that Elle was only playing. He knew that she saw taunting his masculinity as an effective way to dominate him sexually. He knew that he was safe, and that the power in the collar at his throat would keep him from suffocating or sustaining any real damage. He knew that Elle was safe. She respected him. She did.

But as she shifted the car into reverse and began backing out of the parking space, she kept up her litany against him, and some of it hit a little close to home. Even if she was teasing, there was part of his brain that couldn’t help but suffer with the shame of it. So heavy, all this truth. Maybe it was just that he hadn’t played this way in so long, and maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t see her face. But he reached a point where he couldn’t accept the weight of her or her words any longer, and something snapped. He struggled. He fought, one-armed and angry, and shouted cuss words up at her.

“Mmm, does the doll-sized man want to fight me? How cute,” Elle said, clearly not giving a fuck. “It’s not very smart of you, is it? Distracting the giant woman who’s driving the car. Don’t be stupid, Ryan.” He struggled harder, hating her for a moment. “Fine, you insecure little prick. Keep fighting, and you’ll keep shrinking.” She turned up the music on the radio and began singing along. 

He couldn’t make himself stop fighting. The collar, the heat, the inability to budge her thighs and ass and pussy. It got worse, as promised. Heavier, hotter, closer. He knew he was getting smaller, but couldn’t tell how much smaller until his face disappeared beneath the warm, slightly sweaty fabric covering her vulva. 

Distantly, she sang along to the radio as if she didn’t have a care in the world. As if she wasn’t swamped with work, and keeping him from dealing with his own work like a responsible damn adult. Who the fuck made her the arbiter of right and wrong? Who was she, to judge what was and wasn’t healthy for him? Just because she was smart and sexy and managed to stay physically fit while studying for the bar exam, fuck her and her superhuman stupidity! He wasn’t her. He couldn’t do what she could do. Arrogant bitch probably wasn’t far from a breakdown of her own damn making, either. And being trapped under her body like a sex toy wasn’t going to change a fucking thing. He’d have even less time to deal with the work when he finally got back to his correct size. Whenever that would be.

He thrashed, screaming in rage. 

When the car finally came to a halt and the motor no longer vibrated through the padding of the car seat, Ryan felt a twinge of fear encroaching on his fury. How small had he made himself, by continuing to fight? The smallest he could remember going in years past was an inch tall. 

Two immense, warm shapes pushed in around him and pinched against his body. His heart sank as he tried to grapple with the inevitable. Movement, disorientation, light. 

“Dear Professor,” she said. “What have you done to yourself?”

He lay on the wide cushion of her fingerprint, shocked at his own insignificance. Her index finger was larger than a King sized mattress. The ridges of her skin felt like quilted lines on a blanket. He gaped up at the giantess looming over him and tried to make sense of it, tried to see his friend in the billboard face above him. 

The eyes of the titanic woman above him narrowed. “Hey. Look at me.”

Amusement tinged with annoyance trickled in through the bond he shared with Elle and he realized she was opening up the bond on purpose to help him orient himself. He managed to summon a small burst of shaky gratitude before the bond closed him off from her again. 

“That’s better,” she murmured. “While it’s not my fault that you’re an idiot man obsessed with your own outrage, I have to admit it’s no fun if you’re too confused to understand what’s happening, or who’s doing it to you.”

Somehow he found it in himself to glare at her. He doubted she could read his expression, but she could feel it. He flipped her off.

“Just for that, your first task will be to lick the sweat off my nipples.” Her finger moved suddenly and he clung to the ridges of her fingerprint by instinct. He watched her other hand pull open her shirt and matching blue sports bra, revealing a breast the size of a blimp. “Enjoy the ride while I’m on the treadmill, you sick little pervert.”

Her finger lowered him into the confines of the bra, into a warmth entirely different than the heat from her crotch. It was almost comforting. Almost.







Looking for more? Read Part 2 here.

Published inEroticaShort FictionWriting


  1. Olo Olo

    This is such moving intimacy, Elle. It only works because she knows Ryan so well, and we believe it because she anticipates his responses. Of course the sexiest part is how well she knows herself.

    I am definitely greedy enough to ask for an audio narration of this story.

    His awareness of his friend sharpened and he could feel an echo of empathy in her frustration and the desire to move and use up the energy pent up in her body. He felt a pang of envy. How could she stay so motivated, even with all her own stress? How he missed feeling that energy in his own body, the potential for movement and strength.

    What a perfect encapsulation of the emptiness and longing that visits everyone on occasion. This is what I’m talking about when I say “I want to make love and fight for my life at the same time.”

  2. Ryan Ryan

    I haven’t read it yet, but one of the characters has my name and that’s going to be amazing, like the rest of your stories I’ve already read already.

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