Today I was inspired to share a fantasy of mine in the form of a kinky scribble. Skip to the story content section if you want to jump right in.
A kinky scribble is a flash fiction exercise I developed to help me level up as a writer, to create stories and let them go. I envy artists who can scribble a sketch and share it unfinished into the wild for people to enjoy. This is my answer to that for writers. Feel free to join in yourself, and share with #KinkyScribble so others can find it.
Most of my original kinky scribbles are short, but in recent years I find them growing and growing (heh). This particular beast clocks in at 4159 words and took me about 2.75 hours to write with about a half hour of edits. Okay. Forty-five minutes. I’m stopping now, I promise.
In the end, I had to ask some fellow size writers to help talk me down as my brain tried to convince me that this story “deserved” a beta reader, more rounds of edits, more thought on the story arc and characterization, time spent balancing three-beats and avoiding word repetition, commissioning artwork, and gods know what else. If my brain had her way, I’d work on this for six months and still release it unsatisfied. Some projects need that kind of attention. This is not that project.
I’ve received feedback on this story that the connection between the characters is very sweet and caring. This due in large part because this fantasy was inspired by my wonderful partner and fellow sizeshifting erotica writer pseudo_size!
I asked his permission to talk about this here, and to make an important distinction. This character is not pseudo, this character is my invention in my personal fantasy that was inspired by my interactions with pseudo.
In the years since we met and began dating here in the size kink community, he’s been incredibly sweet and caring with me, and has shared so much of his knowledge about BDSM experiences in real life. We’ve explored some kinky things together, some rough, some gentle, but at the end of the day we know the other is a human with wants and needs and vulnerabilities just like anyone else. I’m grateful he is in my life, and grateful to be in his, too.
If you enjoy heartfelt size kink erotica, I highly recommend his work.
Support the author
Money is tight right now. I have multiple works of fiction in progress, ranging from wholesome to kinky as fuck. I’d like to continue releasing them here for free.
If you enjoy this story and want to see/hear more like it, the best way to do that is to support me financially. The few donations I get usually go right into commissioning art and paying beta readers. (The second best way is to boost the signal on my stories and encourage your friends to support me, too.) Thanks, y’all!
A tiny woman begs her partner to tuck her in his pocket and use her as his fidget toy. As the day—and distractions—and orgasms—multiply, he shrinks her smaller and smaller, and tucks her into the safest place he knows.
Tagging is the only way I know for people online to be able to opt in or out of a sexual experience with fully informed consent. I welcome help in tagging—please let me know when I have missed anything important.
Tags for this story include:
Content tags: M/f – shrinking, handheld to micro sizes, pocket riding, cock play, precum, cock vore / cock insertion, public play, scientist, sex in a workplace, trance, tiny used as a fidget toy, teasing, begging, BDSM, a tiny going subverbal, themes of unfairness and insignificance, embracing sluthood, lots of orgasms and cum, aftercare
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TEXT VERSION: Read the text version of the story behind the cut.
AUDIO VERSION: I might record audio for this story. If I get enough requests, I will move it up on my priority list.
A Good Luck Charm for His Pocket
By Elle Largesse
Copyright 2023, all rights reserved.
She begged her lover to take her to work with him. Well, she begged him to tuck her into his pocket. It amounted to the same thing.
“I have a lot of work in the lab today,” he said. His downward gaze fell on her like a caress. “There won’t be many moments of downtime.”
“Take me with you for a fidget toy, then. A good luck charm.”
His gaze softened even more, and she admired his brown eyes, the way he shifted his immense body, the way he held himself as he considered.
“Front or back?”
She grinned and debated her options. She loved going full spread eagle in his back pocket as the tension of the fabric held her taut against his firm ass. The way he’d sometimes lean back in a soft leather chair just to feel her writhe in place. It was like bondage, but no knots needed. Just his presence, the effortless gravity of his body proving to hers that she was tiny, and helpless, and his.
But then there was the front. She could curl up there, change position at will, and she would be easier to reach if he did decide to take her up on the fidget toy offer.
“Front, I think,” she said, tossing her hair over her bare shoulder.
“Mmm. There are some fun things around there.”
He drifted close, larger than an ocean liner, until his hip moored against the edge of the kitchen table. She left her thimble of morning tea behind and pulled his left jean pocket open, then climbed aboard. His hand at her back wasn’t necessary, but it felt nice anyway.
She sank into the warmth of him, marveling how cozy this space felt already. As if pockets were originally designed not for coins and keys and small interesting rocks, but actually to comfort tiny, horny people.
She felt the ritual three taps at her own hip through the fabric. She tapped back, her hand smacking harmlessly against his hip. She kissed the same spot afterward, then nuzzled him. “So warm,” she moaned. The far distant rumble of his laugh echoed through his body and down to her, making her smile.
She let herself be carried through his morning. At times his blue jeans held her tightly, stretching when he stood, compressing when he folded himself into his car to drive to work. There was the wind-like sound, the susuration of fabric on fabric as he pulled on his white coat.
Conversations. Distant music. Machine sounds. Unusual scents. She swayed through it all, drowsing, dreaming, content.
Sometime during the morning, a wet dream became enticingly real as a large, thick finger pushed down into her hiding place. He stroked her, finding the top of her head and giving her what they called “the good little slut” pat that made her swoon a little. She took his fingertip in both hands, as round as a basketball, as pliant as the memory-foam pillow where she slept beside him the night before. She kissed him. Sucking her lips on his skin as if she could possibly give him a hickey.
He pulled lower, out of her reach, and began making circles on her breasts. She stifled a moan, arching upward to show that she liked it. He stroked lower yet, nudging her legs open. He had to guid one of her legs upward to fit his fingertip against her vulva, but soon he had coaxed heat and moisture between her legs, as if he were the kind of scientist that used to be called an alchemist. Conjuring arousal in her.
True to her offer, he repeated these strokes—up to her breasts, circling each three times, then down over her vulva, stroking three times, then up to her breasts again—and used her like a fidget toy. She melted into the giddy knowledge that she was being useful to him. Bringing him pleasure, and a comforting distraction, even as he was driving her to distraction.
She braced herself against his hip and the cotton wall and rocked herself against him.
“Fuck,” she whispered, her hands grasping for his finger in the dark as her body spasmed into climax. If he noticed, he didn’t stop. Three circles on her left breast, the nipple aching hard. Three circles on her right. Down to her stomach, rounding over her abdomen and down against her sensitive clit, throbbing against his touch, one stroke, two—
She climaxed again, gasping as it sparkled into a kind of bottle rocket firework on his third stroke. She felt dizzy as he began the cycle again. It made her feel incredibly slutty to be at his mercy this way, and that knowledge, that permission to be a slut for him, slipped her into a third orgasm.
She lost herself in the trance of his touch. Letting the strokes bring her up, and somehow calm her, and bring her up again, until she wasn’t sure how many orgasms she had given him, until all she could think about was the powerful insistence of his fingertip stroking, stroking, stroking her.
Eventually he gave her another “good little slut” pat that left her in a haze of profound pleasure, and pulled his finger out of her pocket hiding place.
She swayed into the delicious afterglow of having pleased him and offered him so many orgasms. Here in his pocket, it didn’t matter that she had lost count. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t big enough to do many of the things a “real” woman “ought” to do. She had served a good purpose today, and it had made him happy and made her feel amazing. It was enough. She was enough.
She squirmed lower, and tried to snuggle herself closer to the “fun things” he had mentioned.
Doubled warmth. A different shape beyond the fabric. Soft. Firmer. Warmer. Now genuine waves of heat. Hardness. The scent that rolled up in waves through the fabric was intoxicatingly good. She stroked the cotton and the firmness.
Nearby, the massive click of a door. Swaying steps.
The fabric tugged around her in a new way. Light poured in, until she could see the shape of his straining erection through the thin blue cotton. He reached in with thumb and forefinger curling down around her torso and legs, and lifted her with no effort.
He pulled her into the cool air and turned his hand so she knelt on his palm.
She knew, objectively, that this was a small office. But to her it was immense, with brightly lit stacks of papers and books, a desk with plants and post-it-notes, and unknown devices, and in the very center a laptop with—holy shit—was that a Zoom call in progress? Shock rocketed through her, even as her eyes searched the enormous screen for the evidence that he had the camera off, and the sound as well. Someone was giving a presentation, but the sound was distant, as if he had turned it low.
“You were such a good fidget toy earlier, I thought I might see if you could keep me entertained during this meeting.”
She craned her head back to stare up at him, and the distance between them seemed to underscore her size, her helplessness. But when she met his eyes, the intimacy of it left her breathless. She nodded.
“I’m impressed at how many orgasms you gave me, and I want to reward you by tucking you into… a deeper pocket.” He reached forward with his thumb, gently knocking her onto her back. Stroking over her left breast, circling three times. Then her right breast three times. She felt dizzy and arched her hips to meet his thumb as he stroked lower—and then stopped.
“Do you want me to take you deeper? Do you want to be my good luck charm for the day?” She whimpered, her voice barely loud enough to compete with the tinny sounds from the people on the laptop. She didn’t understand what they were saying and didn’t care. His voice was the only voice that mattered. She rocked her hips as his thumb hovered over her pubis mons.
“You need to use your words, sweetie.”
She whimpered louder. Tried to reach lower to touch herself, but he blocked her easily, making a ticking sound with his tongue. “Such a horny little slut. There will be time for that later.”He fixed her with a look. “It’s okay to say no. But I need an answer.” She was now panting, rutting against him.
He held her in place and stroked back and forth in tiny increments over her pubic hair, smirking down at her. “I want to play with you. If you want to play with me, too, I need you to use your words.”
She nodded. And moaned. And finally managed: “Please!”
She shuddered as his thumb pressed down finally onto her vulva, stroking once, twice, three times. She came hard, clinging to his thumb with both arms and legs. “Please, yes! Yes! More! Deeper! Please! Yes!” The words became a chant, and he stroked his approval into her, pressing down with his thumb. Lowering his whole hand and her in it.
The pressure and the drop seemed no match for the shrinking sensation of her body. Of his will against hers, his touch commanding her smaller with three strokes on each breast, and three more at the core of her, pressing her smaller, smaller, trancing into obedience.
His cock loomed hard into her peripheral vision, then towered over her. Then lowered down on top of her. His thumb disappeared, to be replaced by the behemoth of his erection. Velvet soft skin caressed over her face and hard nipples and stomach, then pressed down, the weight, the gravity of him pushing her smaller, smaller, using the same pattern of strokes from before, even though this instrument had no fine dexterity like his finger or his thumb. He stroked himself over her, gargantuan movements that pushed her hard into his palm with the kind of demand she couldn’t imagine denying and didn’t want to.
He stroked and worked her up to the tip. Around her, the bowl of his palm stretched farther than she could have imagined just minutes before. He lifted up, his cock not touching her for the briefest of moments. Above her, the swollen red dome of the head of his dick loomed like something at once alien and also so familiar. Demanding intimacy. A drop of liquid coalesced at the tip and slid down to form a drop at the edge of his rim.
Her mouth watered with an ache to taste him. Her chant came back to her. “Please! More! Yes!”
She watched as his enormous hand stroked down the length of him, milking the drop until a rivulet of precum appeared and the drop swelled. Dangling above her.
The moment stretched between them and she thirsted with the desire to taste, to be overwhelmed, to be—
Drenched. The drop of his musky precum fell the distance to her body, landing with a kind of unexpected gravity, like the kind of slap or spank you hope for but still feels a shock on impact. Her body came alive in the smack of this wet sensuality. She reached up with her hands to clear her eyes, and moaned with open mouth as she drank him in, stroked his flavors onto her skin.
“Oh, yes,” he said. She could hear the husky tones of his voice and knew he was enjoying himself. “Now. Be a good little toy. If you can pleasure me, I’ll take you deeper.”
He lowered the tip as if dropping an entire skyscraper down onto her body. Except instead of unyielding brick, this was silky soft skin, firm and throbbing, stretching taut against her. So heavy. He left his cock pressed there against her, a Herculean task, an unmoveable object against her tiny determined arousal. She could feel herself still shrinking under the might of him.
And then he turned his attention to the presentation. She felt incredulous for the briefest of moments. He was listening to voices distantly talking about things she didn’t understand and didn’t care to know. How could he just look away, when she could tell he was obviously aroused, when he had just promised her that her words would win her the next, deeper intimacy? It felt so unfair.
Part of her knew, the unfairness was a turn-on for him. Looking up beyond the dome of his cock, the red opening welling up with more precum, up the long distance of his shirt, his labcoat, the broad shoulders like a mountain range, the edge of his jawline, up to his face as he looked at the screen and nodded. She could see the hint of the smirk. She heard a click and then unbelievably, he began talking to someone onscreen. He was on camera! He was pushing his cock to shrink her against the palm of his hand and he was pretending to ignore her while on a business call.
She felt impossibly small. She felt herself even more to be what she was: his toy. To be used as he saw fit, how and when it pleased him. The weight of him swelled above her as she shrank. The weight of his words were even more powerful, incomprehensible. Words for big people. She wasn’t a big person anymore. She was tiny, beyond tiny. “Please!” was the only word left to her. “Please!” she begged. She moaned at the top of her lungs.
A new wave of precum swelled up over his tip. She knew it was dribbling down, but to her it felt like a torrent, a rush of proof that his tiny, helpless toy was turning him on. The arousal of this treatment seemed to break over her like another wave of sensation. Something in her unleashed. A desperation beyond the helplessness.
She writhed underneath him. She licked him. Stroked him as much as she was able. It wasn’t much. It couldn’t be much. But it was everything she had.
A click and the big words from the big people fell silent. “If only they knew,” he said. He spoke as if to the screen, but she could feel that he was talking at least partly to her. Or to himself? She felt the scale of difference between him, her unbelievably small stature, and she wasn’t sure if she rated on the scale of someone worth talking to anymore. It made her tremble with the need to pleasure him. Because if she wasn’t worth talking to, that meant she was probably only good for sex, didn’t it?
Should that bother her? Probably. But she loved sex. She loved being free of the need to go to work or join meetings or say big words while pretending to be a professional person who doesn’t hunger for a cock to lick. She was good at sex, and she loved it, and that was good enough for her.
His cock twitched over her body and he went on, far above her inner struggle. “I wonder which would scandalize them more, that a respectable scientist like me uses magic, or that I’m using it during a meeting to do the kinkiest things to my tiny lover?”
She strained to see the mountaintop of his face beyond the immediacy of his cock, which twitched again. Harder. But she saw the way he looked down at her. His smirk widening.
“Say it again. Beg for me, toy.”
She groaned, struggling with the desperate ache of her arousal, with the impossible pressure of him. He stroked himself. Another drop of precum slid down him to drench her. Sputtering, moaning. Still shrinking.
She kissed him. Fought for the word. The big word, it seemed so big now. Everything was too big for her, except sex. Could he even hear her, if she could find a way to speak?
“Is it too much, toy?” He moved his hand under her, like a continental drift, and she was free of his weight. It was so sudden she felt as if she were floating.
When he lay his cock on his palm before her, it felt like something out of a fairy tale. If he was a mountain, this was like walking up to a palace, all the sculpted glory of him, and a single, immense door. The entrance to him throbbed, a sliver of red glistening in the light from his laptop screen. “Am I too much for a sexy little speck like you to handle?”
She struggled to her unsteady feet and, still slick from his precum, she fell to her knees again. And so she crawled towards him, to this opening, this promise of him. It felt right.
“Show me you’re brave, toy. And you can be safe and warm, my good luck charm.”
Determined, she made her way to him. Kneeling, then touching, then standing and leaning against his flesh. He pressed the tip of his cock down until the entrance rested at her feet.
She climbed up, one foot, then both, on the edge of him. She pressed one hand against the opening, watching it glisten, feeling it give. She rested the length of herself along him and panted, then nuzzled him. Writhed against him. Begging. The only “please,” she had left.
She heard him make a sound, like a moan but bigger.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetie.”
His hand moved to cup around her. A fingertip many times the size of her entire existence tapped the “good little slut” signal and pressed his strength against her.
“Smaller and smaller. Shrink for me, and be safe, my little good luck charm.”
She shrank for him. Against his cock, against the entrance of him, against the swelling drops of precum. She felt the world shift and realized he was tilting his cock to an upright angle. The doorway to the palace now became like a pool, filled with the musky liquid she loved so much.
The pool at this tip of him was now so wide, so deep, that she had to swim to keep her head above the surface. She couldn’t touch the bottom of the pool.
“Dip your head under the surface. Feel how it’s enough.”
She obeyed, dreamlike, trusting. The warm liquid enveloped her, seemed to echo the throbbing of his flesh. She came back to the surface and stared up at him with awe. Tried to understand what she could see of him. He was so big it boggled her mind. His words washed over her. She tried to listen, to understand, even as she ached for what came next.
“You don’t need air, when you’re like this with me. You won’t need anything but me for the rest of the day. Give me as many orgasms as you can. I will know. I will feel every one. And tonight, if you’ve been very good, I’ll reward you with a wild ride you won’t forget.”
Far away and above her, he closed his eyes. And he began to stroke.
The tip of him opened. She moved below the surface and felt along his warm skin.
She slid into him, the throb and ebb and flow echoing along the walls, and against her body. She had expected it to feel like a big slide, somehow, because she was so small that she knew she just wouldn’t be able to touch the far wall. She was wrong.
A squeeze began above her head, and moved like a powerful gripping wave over her, then down below.
It began again. And she realized he was gripping his shaft and pushing her lower. She released her hold on the wall and let herself slip into the flow. In the confines within his cock, she pushed her hand over her left breast, circling three times. Then her right breast three times. Then lower, down over her vulva and clit. After his powerful touch her own tiny hand seemed surreal, but also perfect, because this whole experience pushed the bounds of reality.
A crushing wave rolled over her, making her writhe to know he was stroking himself as she stroked herself. He knew. And he worked himself and worked her lower. Tighter. Pleasure echoing pleasure. The blood pulsing around louder than a rush of a storm.
She stroked herself and in one final powerful grip of his hand around his cock around her entire tiny body, she used her body like the toy she was and climaxed for him.
She seemed pulled now by some force she couldn’t understand. Deeper. Deeper.
The disorienting rush and throbbing need of him drew her into the most intimate of places. She could feel the change when it happened. When her surroundings shifted from a twisting unknown tunnel and became an opening.
Like a pocket. She smiled with delight, feeling the give and take along one wall of him. The sway of him.
She stretched herself full eagle, then with one hand began circling her nipples, and with the other, stroked her desperate, obedient clit. The rhythm flowed like the trance, flowed like the heartbeat and the heat of him, and she came, and in the joy of it she came again, again, again, and she didn’t even try to count. She just offered her orgasms as they came, and sometimes she felt the grip of an impossible force beyond the confines of her perfect refuge, and the murmur of sounds, and the sway of his movement, sometimes tightness, sometimes freedom, but always, arousal, as if her whole purpose was freed up into the permission to give herself pleasure, to him him pleasure, to know that her entire body could be here, his secret, intimate, the most intimate use and pleasure she could ever know.
She almost didn’t understand at first when the swaying became truly rhythmic. She had been so long here, warm, within. Her trance unfolded into an awareness of him she could not have fathomed before.
Every movement, a caress.
The thrusting of her world, a profound need, like moving in gravity into the orbit of a desire so great she could only worship it with her tiny pleasure, her tiny, insignificant body.
And yet, she knew with the hot urgency of this intimacy that she was the cause.
She was his good luck charm. She had fucked herself into his body, into this deep secret pocket, and fucked herself into pleasure beyond measure.
And this was his reward.
The thrusting world, the profound need, the gravity of it seemed to take precedence over any rising desire of her own. She found she could not orgasm, not because she was spent, but because his need eclipsed her own. Drew her into the swaying, rushing, thrusting, diving, roaring, groaning, crushing maelstrom of his body, his power, his world-changing pleasure as it rushed forward and up, and into gripping waves of heat and NEED and NOW—
and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE—
and a final, unyielding
After the flood, she floated. A pearly white luminance, an afterglow. And as she rested, she felt her body swell. Not in arousal, but in a deep peace.
The heartbeat no longer encompassed her, but she lay against it. Slowly, the depth of it changed. Becoming less a resounding drumbeat and more the warm pulse of laying your head against a lover’s chest. The rise and fall lulled her into a dreamless sleep.
She woke to the feel of a warm wet cloth stroking down her body. She stretched and worked her body against it, groaning happily. She laughed as it rubbed over her face and then her hair.
She opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her. All traces of the smirk from before were gone. It was the same gaze that caressed her over the morning tea, when she’d asked to be in his pocket. It seemed like eons ago.
“Hey, you.” His hand, a much more huggable size now, continued gently massaging her clean with the warm cloth.
She took one of his fingertips in her hands and kissed it. “Hey,” she managed to say.
She nodded and rested her head against his knuckle.
“You don’t need to say anything until it feels good,” he said. She kissed him again, giving him a grateful smile.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetie. Thank you for being my good luck charm today.”
His praise overwhelmed her, and she buried her face in his chest. After a while she knew what she wanted to say. She lifted up and looked at him, the hint of a smirk curling her smile. “You did a good job, too.”
He blushed, and she knew she had made him very happy.