Bookkeeping
A Shrunken College Student
chapter 7
by
copier
· original author:
unknown
“I’m sorry little guy, but I’m going have to get rid of the evidence!” Professor Erin whispered, a glimmer of pity in her eyes but a grimace of determination on her lips. Terror wracking your body, you flailed and twisted in her tight grip, but it was no use. The gorgeous giantess teacher uncurled her grip on you, but only to systematically rub your entire body flat with her thumb, squeezing you into a flat, sticker-like shape.
Erin leaned over her table as she worked to squish your body as flat as possible. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…” She repeated, over and over, clearly a bit distraught over what she was doing. Sadly, your entire predicament was caused purely by her overreaction at finding out the result of Amy’s terrible planned protest, and thinking you would rat her out, Professor Erin was more concerned with saving her career than you.
From the front row, a cute blonde laughed. “Who are you talking to, professor?”
Professor Erin paled and looked her student in the eyes, stammering for a response. “N-no one, dear…just reading an email aloud…heh heh.”
“Ah, okay. Yeah, I like to talk to myself when I work.” The girl nodded, and was instantly absorbed back into her phone, tapping her foot along with the music, and totally oblivious to the butchered lump of a tiny being crushed over and over under her sole.
Returning her attention to you, Erin dug through her drawer of personal belongings before retrieving a small red notebook that appeared to be a journal of some sort. Flipping through the pages, she located an empty page marked simply with the day’s date. Wincing in anticipation, Professor Erin slammed your into the page of her book back first, startled face facing outward.
Grinding your body up and down with one hand, Professor Erin spent nearly five minutes ironing your squishy body into the paper, until finally you were quite thoroughly stuck. Afterwards, the attractive yet currently quite frightening teacher scribbled on the borders around you “This is just a cute sticker, nothing more”. Her plan was to force herself to forget about you, and forging a fake description would trick her brain into misremembering what had occurred.
Forced to stare straight upwards, nearly glued to the paper of her journal, you could only mutely watch Professor Erin flash you one final look of remorse before slamming her journal shut. The heavy notebook collapsed onto you, slamming you even flatter than you already felt, and casting you into darkness. The continuous pressure exerted kept you flat and unable to reform or move, and you could only numbly feel the journal being lifted and slipped back into the drawer.
Many hours passed as the rest of the day dragged on, Professor Erin teaching her classes happily and shoving memories of you far from her mind. Once Amy left after the first class, her catastrophic blunder completely forgotten, any chance of you being rescued went fully down the drain. The same held true for the other poor tinies abused by the oblivious class. Some students were found quickly, others left behind on the floor or the seats, but still others stayed crushed and stuck for days.
As the sky darkened for the evening, Erin gathered her belongings, including the notebook you were imprinted into, and left the class. Humming a little song, she crossed the parking lot, slid into her car, and drove back in the direction of her house, a modest one floor home twenty minutes from campus. A block from home, she picked up her six-year-old daughter Ellie from daycare, and the two giantesses walked into their house.
It wasn’t until after dinner that Erin finally retrieve her notebook and flipped it open onto the kitchen table, intending to pencil in the days activities, like a diary. She audible gasped as she thumbed to the page she had thoroughly rubbed you into, and found you staring back at her, the bright lights stinging your eyes after so many hours in darkness. Truthfully, she had nearly forgotten about you already, but seeing your terrified face brought all the memories back.
Scrambling up onto her mommy’s lap, Ellie peered down at the journal, her young, childish smile diminishing into a frown. Even at her young age, the girl dwarfed you completely, towering above you. Tentatively poking and prodding at your body, Ellie looked to her mom.
“That sticker is not very cute mommy.” She pouted. “It should be smiling!”
Professor Erin affectionately rubbed her daughter’s head, and then her eyes twinkled with the slightest hint of an idea dawning. Reaching down to you, she pinched your lips and forcibly curled your squishy face from a shocked open mouth into a wide, seemingly inconspicuous smile. You were powerless to fight against her manipulating you in such a way.
Giggling, Ellie clapped her hands. “Yay! It’s happy now!” Eyes widening, the curious six-year-old pointed to a cabinet by the table. “Can I draw on the sticker? Make it really really pretty? Please mommy?”
Erin returned her daughter’s smile. “Of course, sweetie.” Standing up, Erin helped her daughter onto the table for easier access, and retrieved a box of markers and other craft supplies from the cabinet. Returning to Ellie, she sat down and let her daughter get to work, amused at how creative her precious girl was. In fact, her thoughts were filled only by love for her daughter, and not at the cruel twist of fate befalling you.
For the next thirty minutes, Ellie had free reign to vandalize and abuse your poor body, and you could only take it all with your frozen smile. The terrifying six-year-old ripped your clothes clean off, deciding to draw an outfit of her own onto you. That outfit ended up being a bright pink dress scribbled into your skin and the surrounding page with a pink marker and red highlights.
Getting into it, Ellie stuck her tongue out in what would normally be a cute gesture of childlike concentration as she traced red blushes in your cheeks, black eye shadow, and bright yellow hair all over your head. In just half and hour, Ellie had stripped you naked and defiled your squishy body, clothing you in intangible marker and colored pencil stains that would surely smudge your skin for weeks after this ordeal was through.
Finished with her drawing, Erin kissed her daughter lovingly on the cheek, complimented her art skills, and slammed the notebook shut, placing it back into her bag. Carrying her daughter up to bed, the two of them changed into comfy sleeping clothes and went to bed, their art project all but forgotten immediately. All you could do was lament your fate, and pray for some sort of salvation.
Nothing had changed in the morning, and you realized the depths of your horrible situation as Professor Erin flipped open the journal to a fresh new page before her first class. Glancing at you, the gorgeous teacher merely smiled fondly, picturing her angelic child happily scribbling away, and then flipped the page over, burying you under the weight of her hand as she wrote in the date for the day.
This, sadly, was your standard routine for the next week and a half. Trapped in the notebook, you felt your skin pretty much fuse with the paper from the constant crushing pressure, especially as Erin buried more and more pages atop you as the days passed by. You couldn’t move, speak, reform, or do anything at all but lay there with your damn smile and girlish makeup. Erin’s methodical erasure of her encounter with you had been effective, and she didn’t remember you in the slightest anymore.
About ten days after your horribly misconstrued punishment and imprisonment, Erin left her diary laying out while her students were taking a test. Lo and behold, Amy herself was the first to skip up to the front of the class, proudly clutching her test against her abundant chest, absentmindedly crumpling and folding the paper.
Reaching Professor Erin’s desk, Amy handed her the paper. “Here’s my test! I finished much earlier than I…oh gosh, how’d it get all crumpled?” Amy inquired, genuinely confused. She didn’t notice the ink smudges on her white blouse either, nor was she likely to any time soon.
Professor Erin sighed. “Amy, you know I can’t grade this. That little auto-checking machine only accepts flattened papers. This test is really folded and rumpled.”
Amy’s face fell. “What? But I tried so hard!”
Erin laughed melodically. “You didn’t fail, Amy. Take this test back, grab some scrap paper, and write your answers again, and don't mess up the paper this time.” After her explanation, Professor Erin stood up. “I’ll be in the bathroom, should only take a minute. Just place the test on my desk if you finish copying your answers before I get back.”
Strolling away, Erin passed by Amy, who was left to stand awkwardly by her teacher’s desk. Amy didn’t have any scrap paper on her, so she was still in a bit of a panic. Adjusting her trademark nerd glasses, Amy’s roaming gaze fell on the rather plain looking notebook lying open on Professor Erin’s desk, and grinned enthusiastically.
“Nice! A spare journal! Can’t hurt to borrow a page from this.” Amy reasoned, grabbing up her teacher’s diary, ripping out a page, setting the notebook back down, and returning to her seat. She plopped back down into her seat (and quite mercilessly slammed a poor tiny ingrained into the seat cushion for the past ten days with her amply sized ass) clicked her pen, and gazed down at her paper.
What does she see?
Erin leaned over her table as she worked to squish your body as flat as possible. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…” She repeated, over and over, clearly a bit distraught over what she was doing. Sadly, your entire predicament was caused purely by her overreaction at finding out the result of Amy’s terrible planned protest, and thinking you would rat her out, Professor Erin was more concerned with saving her career than you.
From the front row, a cute blonde laughed. “Who are you talking to, professor?”
Professor Erin paled and looked her student in the eyes, stammering for a response. “N-no one, dear…just reading an email aloud…heh heh.”
“Ah, okay. Yeah, I like to talk to myself when I work.” The girl nodded, and was instantly absorbed back into her phone, tapping her foot along with the music, and totally oblivious to the butchered lump of a tiny being crushed over and over under her sole.
Returning her attention to you, Erin dug through her drawer of personal belongings before retrieving a small red notebook that appeared to be a journal of some sort. Flipping through the pages, she located an empty page marked simply with the day’s date. Wincing in anticipation, Professor Erin slammed your into the page of her book back first, startled face facing outward.
Grinding your body up and down with one hand, Professor Erin spent nearly five minutes ironing your squishy body into the paper, until finally you were quite thoroughly stuck. Afterwards, the attractive yet currently quite frightening teacher scribbled on the borders around you “This is just a cute sticker, nothing more”. Her plan was to force herself to forget about you, and forging a fake description would trick her brain into misremembering what had occurred.
Forced to stare straight upwards, nearly glued to the paper of her journal, you could only mutely watch Professor Erin flash you one final look of remorse before slamming her journal shut. The heavy notebook collapsed onto you, slamming you even flatter than you already felt, and casting you into darkness. The continuous pressure exerted kept you flat and unable to reform or move, and you could only numbly feel the journal being lifted and slipped back into the drawer.
Many hours passed as the rest of the day dragged on, Professor Erin teaching her classes happily and shoving memories of you far from her mind. Once Amy left after the first class, her catastrophic blunder completely forgotten, any chance of you being rescued went fully down the drain. The same held true for the other poor tinies abused by the oblivious class. Some students were found quickly, others left behind on the floor or the seats, but still others stayed crushed and stuck for days.
As the sky darkened for the evening, Erin gathered her belongings, including the notebook you were imprinted into, and left the class. Humming a little song, she crossed the parking lot, slid into her car, and drove back in the direction of her house, a modest one floor home twenty minutes from campus. A block from home, she picked up her six-year-old daughter Ellie from daycare, and the two giantesses walked into their house.
It wasn’t until after dinner that Erin finally retrieve her notebook and flipped it open onto the kitchen table, intending to pencil in the days activities, like a diary. She audible gasped as she thumbed to the page she had thoroughly rubbed you into, and found you staring back at her, the bright lights stinging your eyes after so many hours in darkness. Truthfully, she had nearly forgotten about you already, but seeing your terrified face brought all the memories back.
Scrambling up onto her mommy’s lap, Ellie peered down at the journal, her young, childish smile diminishing into a frown. Even at her young age, the girl dwarfed you completely, towering above you. Tentatively poking and prodding at your body, Ellie looked to her mom.
“That sticker is not very cute mommy.” She pouted. “It should be smiling!”
Professor Erin affectionately rubbed her daughter’s head, and then her eyes twinkled with the slightest hint of an idea dawning. Reaching down to you, she pinched your lips and forcibly curled your squishy face from a shocked open mouth into a wide, seemingly inconspicuous smile. You were powerless to fight against her manipulating you in such a way.
Giggling, Ellie clapped her hands. “Yay! It’s happy now!” Eyes widening, the curious six-year-old pointed to a cabinet by the table. “Can I draw on the sticker? Make it really really pretty? Please mommy?”
Erin returned her daughter’s smile. “Of course, sweetie.” Standing up, Erin helped her daughter onto the table for easier access, and retrieved a box of markers and other craft supplies from the cabinet. Returning to Ellie, she sat down and let her daughter get to work, amused at how creative her precious girl was. In fact, her thoughts were filled only by love for her daughter, and not at the cruel twist of fate befalling you.
For the next thirty minutes, Ellie had free reign to vandalize and abuse your poor body, and you could only take it all with your frozen smile. The terrifying six-year-old ripped your clothes clean off, deciding to draw an outfit of her own onto you. That outfit ended up being a bright pink dress scribbled into your skin and the surrounding page with a pink marker and red highlights.
Getting into it, Ellie stuck her tongue out in what would normally be a cute gesture of childlike concentration as she traced red blushes in your cheeks, black eye shadow, and bright yellow hair all over your head. In just half and hour, Ellie had stripped you naked and defiled your squishy body, clothing you in intangible marker and colored pencil stains that would surely smudge your skin for weeks after this ordeal was through.
Finished with her drawing, Erin kissed her daughter lovingly on the cheek, complimented her art skills, and slammed the notebook shut, placing it back into her bag. Carrying her daughter up to bed, the two of them changed into comfy sleeping clothes and went to bed, their art project all but forgotten immediately. All you could do was lament your fate, and pray for some sort of salvation.
Nothing had changed in the morning, and you realized the depths of your horrible situation as Professor Erin flipped open the journal to a fresh new page before her first class. Glancing at you, the gorgeous teacher merely smiled fondly, picturing her angelic child happily scribbling away, and then flipped the page over, burying you under the weight of her hand as she wrote in the date for the day.
This, sadly, was your standard routine for the next week and a half. Trapped in the notebook, you felt your skin pretty much fuse with the paper from the constant crushing pressure, especially as Erin buried more and more pages atop you as the days passed by. You couldn’t move, speak, reform, or do anything at all but lay there with your damn smile and girlish makeup. Erin’s methodical erasure of her encounter with you had been effective, and she didn’t remember you in the slightest anymore.
About ten days after your horribly misconstrued punishment and imprisonment, Erin left her diary laying out while her students were taking a test. Lo and behold, Amy herself was the first to skip up to the front of the class, proudly clutching her test against her abundant chest, absentmindedly crumpling and folding the paper.
Reaching Professor Erin’s desk, Amy handed her the paper. “Here’s my test! I finished much earlier than I…oh gosh, how’d it get all crumpled?” Amy inquired, genuinely confused. She didn’t notice the ink smudges on her white blouse either, nor was she likely to any time soon.
Professor Erin sighed. “Amy, you know I can’t grade this. That little auto-checking machine only accepts flattened papers. This test is really folded and rumpled.”
Amy’s face fell. “What? But I tried so hard!”
Erin laughed melodically. “You didn’t fail, Amy. Take this test back, grab some scrap paper, and write your answers again, and don't mess up the paper this time.” After her explanation, Professor Erin stood up. “I’ll be in the bathroom, should only take a minute. Just place the test on my desk if you finish copying your answers before I get back.”
Strolling away, Erin passed by Amy, who was left to stand awkwardly by her teacher’s desk. Amy didn’t have any scrap paper on her, so she was still in a bit of a panic. Adjusting her trademark nerd glasses, Amy’s roaming gaze fell on the rather plain looking notebook lying open on Professor Erin’s desk, and grinned enthusiastically.
“Nice! A spare journal! Can’t hurt to borrow a page from this.” Amy reasoned, grabbing up her teacher’s diary, ripping out a page, setting the notebook back down, and returning to her seat. She plopped back down into her seat (and quite mercilessly slammed a poor tiny ingrained into the seat cushion for the past ten days with her amply sized ass) clicked her pen, and gazed down at her paper.
What does she see?
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·
March 28, 2025
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