You approach a table full of rowdy, half drunk sorority sisters, laughing and loudly gossiping about some drama or another. You hear snippets of conversation and a few familiar names, classmates you know that have probably slept with women from half the sororities on campus.
It doesn't take them too long to notice your presence when you sidle up to their table. The reaction is mixed, some giving wary looks, well deserved considering you'd hit on at least a few of them in your classes, resulting in some amused as well as scathing rejections. But some eyed you up just as much as you were eyeing them, after all some of them were just as perverted as you.
With a suggestive grin, one of them pulls up a chair and starts to fill you in on the latest escapades of some of your more notorious male classmates, to a combination of amused, mildly scandalized and outright horrified reactions from the other girls at the table. After about two hours of increasingly suggestive and flirtatious conversation, one of the girls, Sarah you think, or maybe Samantha, has her hand halfway up your thigh under the table, winking at you in an unmistakable signal of invitation. On your fifth drink by this point you excuse yourself, promising to be right back as she feigns a pouting look.
After relieving yourself and quickly washing your hands, an itchy, tingling sensation spreads across your whole body, followed by profuse sweating. Panic sets in immediately, because as anybody living in the world over the past decade has been made aware of, these were the first symptoms of the shrinking virus, and were almost immediately followed by the very swift decrease in size that the virus got its name for.
In your last moments as a normal sized human being, you shouted for help, but it was a hopeless effort. Within seconds, you were trapped within your own shoe, terrified of what would come next.
Since the symptoms of the shrinking virus took hold without any forewarning, in random places, and there was a high demand for tinies in bars, especially on Saturday nights, it was the job of certain employees to regularly do rounds of the establishment, checking for newly shrunken tinies, easily identified by the pile of clothes they left. Unfortunately, as you attempted to scale the back of your shoe, one of these employees was checking the men's washroom and came upon your empty clothes. Light began to shine on your small form, halfway up the heel of your shoe, as your pants and shirt are pushed aside.
Your pleas are met with a massive sadistic grin as you are picked up and deposited in a small glass vial. Exiting the washroom you see the bar from a new and terrifying perspective. Tinies stared up in fear at the gargantuan customers, treading water as they awaited their impending doom. You caught sight of the girl you'd been flirting with, not fifteen minutes ago. Between her pursed lips is the head of a tiny, screaming in desperation, quickly sucked down, soon visible only as a squirming bulge travelling down her throat. You can still recall how arousing that had been to you just half an hour ago, but now it just fills your veins with ice.
The vial you're in is added to a line of identical containers on a rack behind the bar, placed for easy access by the bartenders. You can remember coming in here many times and laughing as they beat futilely against the glass. Now you share their fate.
It doesn't take them too long to notice your presence when you sidle up to their table. The reaction is mixed, some giving wary looks, well deserved considering you'd hit on at least a few of them in your classes, resulting in some amused as well as scathing rejections. But some eyed you up just as much as you were eyeing them, after all some of them were just as perverted as you.
With a suggestive grin, one of them pulls up a chair and starts to fill you in on the latest escapades of some of your more notorious male classmates, to a combination of amused, mildly scandalized and outright horrified reactions from the other girls at the table. After about two hours of increasingly suggestive and flirtatious conversation, one of the girls, Sarah you think, or maybe Samantha, has her hand halfway up your thigh under the table, winking at you in an unmistakable signal of invitation. On your fifth drink by this point you excuse yourself, promising to be right back as she feigns a pouting look.
After relieving yourself and quickly washing your hands, an itchy, tingling sensation spreads across your whole body, followed by profuse sweating. Panic sets in immediately, because as anybody living in the world over the past decade has been made aware of, these were the first symptoms of the shrinking virus, and were almost immediately followed by the very swift decrease in size that the virus got its name for.
In your last moments as a normal sized human being, you shouted for help, but it was a hopeless effort. Within seconds, you were trapped within your own shoe, terrified of what would come next.
Since the symptoms of the shrinking virus took hold without any forewarning, in random places, and there was a high demand for tinies in bars, especially on Saturday nights, it was the job of certain employees to regularly do rounds of the establishment, checking for newly shrunken tinies, easily identified by the pile of clothes they left. Unfortunately, as you attempted to scale the back of your shoe, one of these employees was checking the men's washroom and came upon your empty clothes. Light began to shine on your small form, halfway up the heel of your shoe, as your pants and shirt are pushed aside.
Your pleas are met with a massive sadistic grin as you are picked up and deposited in a small glass vial. Exiting the washroom you see the bar from a new and terrifying perspective. Tinies stared up in fear at the gargantuan customers, treading water as they awaited their impending doom. You caught sight of the girl you'd been flirting with, not fifteen minutes ago. Between her pursed lips is the head of a tiny, screaming in desperation, quickly sucked down, soon visible only as a squirming bulge travelling down her throat. You can still recall how arousing that had been to you just half an hour ago, but now it just fills your veins with ice.
The vial you're in is added to a line of identical containers on a rack behind the bar, placed for easy access by the bartenders. You can remember coming in here many times and laughing as they beat futilely against the glass. Now you share their fate.
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June 3, 2023
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