Titaness of Industry
Shrunken First Semester
Chapter 7
"I..." Max hesitated. Despite everything Veronica had put him through this week, part of him was seriously considering her offer. If there really wasn't any chance of him getting back to normal any time soon, and the only alternative was trying to make it on his own and risking all the dangers of the big, wide world at three inches tall, he might as well stay where he was. Sure, Veronica's treatment was borderline evil—but it was also the closest thing to a known evil he had right now.
Several seconds passed in silence. Then, with a deep, solemn breath, he looked up at the voluptuous Black chemist and nodded. "Let's do it."
Veronica nodded back. "Good choice."
*
One year later...
It was a warm late October Monday morning around 7 AM, and Veronica was just waking up after a long and very restful night. Rolling over on her back for a big stretch, she sighed with satisfaction. Her new California King-size mattress was worth every penny she'd paid for it, and the high-thread-count sheets and luxurious pillows on top were just the icing on the cake.
brrrraaaappppppppp
Beneath her, nestled between her cheeks in his usual place, her shrunken test-subject-turned-assistant Max was in the process of being gassed awake. Twelve months as her live-in butt boy had done much to help him adapt to the realities of life in her ass. Not that it made her farts smell any better.
"Ahem," chuckled Veronica, a sliver of clear impatience in her tone.
Knowing what his captor expected of him, Max gritted his teeth and pressed his face against her asshole, plastering it with kisses.
"That's better," the voluptuous amazon giggled, rolling out of bed. "Good morning, Max."
"G-good morning, Veronica," Max sighed, allowing himself to go limp as his captor peeled him out of her crack and shuffled into the bathroom. As she placed him down on the marble countertop and settled herself on the toilet, he braced himself for all the awful smells to come. Putting aside all the things she'd put him through in the last year, he felt thankful she still had the baseline compassion to remove him from her ass when she went to take a dump.
Several dozen wipes and a quick shower later, Veronica was downstairs in the kitchen, sitting at another polished marble countertop, sipping a cup of coffee and catching up on emails. Somehow, running a business came with even more correspondence than academia, and she never wasted an opportunity to take out her frustrations on her obedient assistant. Even when her full-sized underlings let her down, she knew she could always count on Max to diligently absorb whatever came out of her ass, and keep any of her new designer pantsuits from getting stained.
BBBRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPPP
Ripping another coffee-fueled fart into her shrunken assistant's face as she hammered out a response to a particularly incompetent subordinate, she couldn't resist taking her frustrations out on him by grinding her hips into her chair. As with all her most irksome lackeys at work, today's problem subordinate was a male. A few more mistakes like this one, she thought, and she'd have him relegated to R&D.
Once she finished her coffee, she headed down to her six-car garage and stepped into her car—a brand new silver Rolls Royce, a birthday present to herself purchased after her company secured its second round of funding. She'd never been one for empty status symbols before last year, although having a billion dollars in the bank did a lot to change that. So did her ten-bedroom, fifteen-bathroom Palo Alto mansion—a far cry from the dorm housing where she'd spent most of her 20s and 30s. Door to door, the drive to work took her about fifty minutes—plenty of time to inundate Max with several dozen more heinous farts. This was another critical part of her pre-work ritual, ensuring her tank was empty ahead of her most strenuous meetings, which inevitably took place earlier in the day.
While all of this was happening, Max remained in a state of hazy catatonia. He'd never felt completely confident in his decision to stay with Veronica, although he couldn't deny that he was physically quite safe and secure. Being the shrunken plaything of a billionaire biotech tycoon had its fair share of perks—although he still spent every waking hour of his life trapped in her asscrack, huffing her farts and trying not to asphyxiate. The upside of that was, he was usually too high on her fumes to give these thoughts much serious attention.
When Veronica had started selling shrinking serum last year, she'd headquartered her company out of her lab at Ventus—but once her products hit the market, it was only a matter of time before they had to scale up. Their first official office had been a coworking space in Palo Alto. Then, following their first round of funding, they'd moved to their latest digs, a huge skyscraper in the San Francisco financial district where they had the top thirty floors all to themselves. They even had their name on the building—"MAXCORP," lit up with huge LEDs and big enough that it was still legible at least a mile away.
Every time Veronica saw it on the drive into work, she couldn't help smiling—and today was no different. Of course, the name was a play on her own last name, Maxwell. The fact that it was also her assistant's first name was pure coincidence.
After being waved through by security and parking in her reserved spot in the garage beneath the office, Veronica stepped out of the car and clenched her cheeks around her shrunken assistant. "You awake back there, Max?"
Struggling to life again, Max gave his giant captor's asshole another kiss with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
"Good," she said, stepping over to the executive elevator beside her parking spot and swiping her ID card. "Because we've got a big day ahead of us."
As usual, Veronica decided to start her day in R&D. After cornering the market on shrinking serum, she'd made a point to invest a significant chunk of the company's resources into the research and development of even more innovative products—namely, an exciting range of supplementary compounds to expand the capabilities of their original product. In addition to allocating several floors of the new office to research, she'd also spared no expense recruiting some of the best, brightest, biggest, and smelliest young women from House Minerva to spearhead the department. Of course, it was still too early in the morning for most of them to be here yet. Right now, she proceeded down the spotless white halls of the testing floor to her personal lab, stocked with everything she needed to explore a few specific "passion projects."
Her favorite project, an experiment she'd been running nearly as long as they'd been in the new office, was a long-term sociological test. The experiment was a massive terrarium, ten feet by ten feet across, filled with several hundred one-millimeter-tall former male interns and several tiny pastoral villages with thatched roofs. The running joke in R&D was that it also included every single former male MaxCorp employee who'd ever gotten on Veronica's nerves... and she'd never done anything to dispel that rumor.
Every night, the terrarium was sprayed with a mist of a specific proprietary serum she'd been developing—code-named "New World." Unlike most of the other chemicals MaxCorp had produced to date, this one worked primarily on the brain. It was designed to erase the subject's long-term memories and encourage feelings of intense submissiveness—and based on the way the guys in the terrarium reacted whenever she came in to check on them, it seemed to be working perfectly. By now, most of them had zero recollection of their lives before the experiment. As far as they knew, the known world ended at the limits of the vast glass mountains that walled them in—and they were ruled by an unpredictable, beautiful goddess of terrible power.
As Veronica stepped up to the edge of the enclosure, she grinned as she saw her tiny subjects already bowing to her. Unable to resist giving them a gift in appreciation of their reverence, she turned around, hiked her butt out and let loose.
BBBBRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPP
A five-second fart blasted out of her ass and washed over the terrarium like a sulfuric tidal wave, blowing the roofs off buildings and knocking several hundred of her subjects out cold. As she turned around to survey the damage, she could just barely hear them cheering, many at the top of their lungs, thanking her for her generous gift. While this was all happening, still wedged in Veronica's ass, Max shuddered. For all the indignities his captor had ever visited on him, none of it would ever hold a candle to this.
"Enjoy that, you bugs," Veronica chuckled. "I'll be back later."
After giving the boys in the terrarium a final wave, she sauntered over to her next experiment—another glass-walled enclosure filled with slightly larger shrunken test subjects. This one resembled a giant jar, a few feet across on each side and roughly three feet high, and the men inside were all roughly the same size as Max. The most significant difference between this enclosure and the "New World" was that this one was completely airtight—except for a single one-way air duct the size of a golf ball on the top.
As she approached the jar, the subjects inside responded with similar enthusiasm—rushing up to the edges of their clear prison and anxiously pawing the walls, beckoning her closer. Happily obliging, Veronica winked and pulled down her pants. Well aware of the drill with this particular test, Max allowed himself to go limp again as his captor peeled him out of her ass and set him down on the table beside the jar. With her asscrack clear, Veronica then climbed up on top of the enclosure, leveling her asshole with the single hole in the top, and let rip.
ffrraaaaappppppp
Compared to the fart she'd just let loose on her New World, this one was fairly tame—but it was still more than enough to flood the entire enclosure with her fumes. Thanks to the serum that all the subjects in this test had been dosed with, code-named "Fart Breath," that was exactly what they'd been hoping for. As her gas settled down into the jar, the shrunken men inside became noticeably less anxious. Many almost looked high.
Scanning their reactions, Veronica smiled again. So far, this was already shaping up to be one of the most successful products she'd ever devised—and easily one of the cruelest. Just a few weeks into the experiment, the men in the jar were hopelessly addicted to her farts. She had a feeling the chemical compound behind this phenomenon would go on to become one of MaxCorp's top sellers.
Watching all of this never failed to give Max a much-needed dose of perspective. Until now, his captor had mercifully refrained from testing any of her creations directly on him, save for a few initial attempts in the company's early days. He felt very thankful she'd decided he'd be more useful as an assistant than a lab rat before she'd developed this particular serum.
Grabbing her assistant and shoving him back down into her ass, Veronica turned her attention to the final experiment in her current roster. While it remained confined to some tests on her work laptop for now, it had the potential to be the most interesting and disruptive product MaxCorp had ever produced in the long term—perhaps even more so than "New World."
While still in the earliest possible stages of development, all of her initial testing seemed to confirm that it was, indeed, possible to reverse the effects of the process that had shrunk Max in the first place—but not for men. With the same amount of serum that Max was dosed with, it was seemingly possible to multiply the height and weight of a female test subject anywhere from ten to fifty times. Checking in on a few ongoing tests from her laptop, she was pleased to find that all the numbers continued to point toward positive results. She'd already told multiple members of her R&D team that she'd be the first to try the prototype once they finished synthesizing one, and she meant it.
"Some day, Max," she sighed, giving her cheeks another clench around her assistant, "we're gonna look back on all of this as the beginning of something really, really incredible."
Beneath her, all Max could do was shudder.
A few minutes later, Veronica was back up in her office, dialing up her first contact—the latest in a long string of conversations regarding a possible merger with one of the world's largest pharmaceutical companies. While the talks had started with the possibility of the company buying out MaxCorp, Veronica's meteoric rise had flipped the tables in a matter of weeks. Now, MaxCorp was going to acquire the pharmaceutical company—and use the company's infrastructure to make their serums even more widely available than ever.
pfffooooooootttttt
"Helen. Veronica." Leaning back in her luxe office chair, Veronica couldn't help grinning as she felt her assistant squirming around in the wake of the silent-but-deadly fart she'd just cut in his face. "Let's talk."
While this conversation was happening, Max was immersed in his most important duty—absorbing Veronica's farts during meetings, so that her business partners wouldn't have to smell them and she wouldn't have to worry about holding them in. Even though most of her meetings were virtual today, he knew he couldn't disappoint her—at least, if he wanted to avoid ending up as just another one of her lab rats.
It wasn't exactly the most glamorous job in the world, although he took some strange pride in fulfilling such a useful role for someone who had become such a powerful and influential figure since he'd first met her. All of her power, at some level, came from him. Not that she'd ever acknowledged that in any real way or given him a taste of the benefits of that power. For all intents and purposes, his life hadn't changed at all since that first fateful Saturday morning. Then again, he tried to remind himself, he knew it could have been worse. He just wasn't sure how.
THE END
...Try again?
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August 21
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