title: The Object of His Desires aliases: [] tags: [FA] author: [Kyrm] id: [33651582] date: 星期六, 十月 15日 2022, 10:01:15 上午 modified: 星期六, 十月 15日 2022, 10:25:59 上午

[TOC]

The Object of His Desires

Author: Kyrm Source: The Object of His Desires [Commission]

The Object of His Desires

“Morning, Kath!”

“Ah, good morning!”

“Hi, Kathy.”

“Morning, Ms. Huang.”

“Katherine? Is that you?”

“Yes, Mr. Anders.”

“Real quick. Those files I gave you yesterday… I know I might have said I needed them done a week from now, but, ah… do you think you could have them reviewed by tomorrow? I know it was sort of last minute but—”

“Of course! I’ll, er… start as soon as I’m at my desk.”

“Attagirl.”

After ascending three flights of stairs and giving three floor’s worth of greetings, the office’s most well-liked intern allowed a bit of her usual pep and sunshine to taper off as she navigated to her cubicle and plopped down into her seat.

Even getting the day started at Paige Electronics could be exhausting, but she was happy to be here on practicum. It was a high honor; she was the only student at her college to be offered the role.

Not exactly the picture of workplace professionalism, Katherine Price—Kathy, more often than not—had gotten in on merit alone. She kept comfort paramount in an overlong blue tee with sleeves that went up past her wrists, coupled with baggy pants… not that she wore those kinds of clothes to cover up a beanpole build that had others mistaking her for a boy all her life or anything…

Now at the tail-end of her senior year in college, they didn’t make that mistake—not with her silky, shoulder-length brown hair to correct them, though it was currently bound up in a tight bun, her smallest nod towards a more work-oriented appearance.

Quietly humming to herself, she booted up her work desktop. It hummed back. “Alright, Kathy…” she murmured, cracking her knuckles. “Another day. Let’s do it.”

But before “it” could be done, a voice came from just beyond her cubicle: “Ah, Ms.

Price, settled in and already starting? If only our actual employees could do that.”

She turned her head, already knowing what she was about to get an eyeful of. He leaned against the left wall of her cubicle, right leg crossed over the left, a cup of coffee held by a single curled finger. Sleek and suave—he was every stereotype a panther might possess. His fine coat practically glowed under the ceiling lights. It was his suit that sold it; grey plaid, rather plain, but perfect for making his night-sky fur pop. And, of course, there was the fact that it was perfectly tailored to a built body that…

“Ms. Price?” Grant Evans repeated himself, and it was then, with a fierce blush that could have fried an egg, that Kathy realized she had been staring.

“Grant—ah, I mean…” She sat up straight, slamming her hands onto her desk a little harder than she should have. “Mr. Evans!”

“Caught you daydreaming?” He cocked his brow. God, even the casual press of his hand to her table oozed grace. She couldn’t help holding her breath as she watched him stretch his suit to its tailored limits with his every move, polished claw tips clacking against the tabletop.

Her gaze flitted from there up to those gleaming yellow cat eyes. Gentle, thankfully. Playful with her, ever since she had started working here. He was, she hoped, oblivious to her crush, and instead simply found her jumpiness amusing. “Yes, sorry, Mr. Evans, but!” She gestured to her desk. A mess of papers. Diagrams. Unnecessary workloads. “I decided to take on the project from Mr. Read, so now I’m—”

“Was this before or after you finished up those documents for Richard?”

“Oh, ah…”

“And those draft reviews for Alan Blaine?” He cocked a brow.

“That is…”

He chuckled—it was deep, measured laughter, controlled as the rest of him. Rather than reprimand her, he offered a gentle pat to her head. She winced as if she had been struck nonetheless. This little crush of hers was getting out of hand.

“You’re doing more in this office than people who have been working here for ten years.”

“W-well…” She straightened her hair where he had touched it. “I want to make a good impression, is all!”

“Well, you certainly have with me—and if I have anything to say about it, we’re going to get you a job here the second you graduate.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?”

He didn’t answer, instead giving her an expectant look.

Kathy cleared her throat. “Really, sir, I meant.” The panther may have taken a shine to her, but that didn’t stop him from having his own hang-ups. To those above his station, he was, of course, Grant, but those below him—that is, the vast majority of Paige Electronics—he was always, always Mr. Evans. Or, to make thing simpler, “sir.”

He was never rude about it, but certainly insistent, which was why Kathy blushed as she realized her faux pas.

Besides, she really didn’t mind calling him “sir.”

“Well, there have already been talks, it’s not like other higher-ups haven’t noticed how hard you work. I just… put my word in for one of our best and brightest.”

“B-best and brightest? Me, sir?”

He laughed more sincerely this time, it remained just as rich a sound. “Probably our most enthusiastic, too.”

Kathy smiled. She could at least agree with that one—she had a tendency to throw her full weight behind whatever projects arose. And, as Mr. Evans observed, everything else that came up in the interim.

It had paid off, it would seem.

“I have to go,” he said, offering her a gentler smile. “Perhaps we could continue this discussion tomorrow, before work. There’s a coffee place I usually stop in at and—” “Of course, Mr. Evans!” she interrupted before clapping a hand over her mouth. She cleared her throat. “That is, ah, the coffee place off Westwood?” Not that she had seen him going in there several times before, or anything.

“See you there.” And with that, he swiveled around and walked off.

He looked as good going as coming. Mr. Evans seemed to take the “form” in form-fitting very seriously, and she couldn’t help but allow her eyes to get acquainted with every swivel of sculpted, squeeze-worthy backside joined by the side-to-side swish of his tail.

“Coffee, huh?”

Kathy nearly shrieked. Instead, she settled for a spasming of all her limbs as she spun in her chair to see the head of the goose gal who worked the desk behind her.

“Oh, Jenny, you startled me.”

Jenny’s neck was long enough that, while standing she could hang it over the edge of her partition and have her head hover right next to Kathy—something the gossip had a tendency to do on the daily.

“Pretty sure anything could startle you when you’re busy boring a hole into Mr. Evans’—”

“I was just thinking about something,” Kathy hissed.

“Come on, girl, you humans have it the worst—you don’t think he can see every time you get a fever when he walks into the room?” Then, cocking a brow, she asked, “besides, isn’t he a little, ah, older than you?”

“Just a little over ten years.” Kathy said in a defensive voice. She uncomfortably shifted in her seat, staring into her lap; when someone pointed out that Mr. Evans was in his mid-thirties, it made her crush seem ridiculous.

Jenny giggled. “I don’t mean to talk you down or anything, I just don’t wanna see a sweet girl like you getting hurt.”

“Oh.” Kathy looked up and gave Jenny a more genuine smile. “Don’t worry about me, I know what I’m doing.”

“You sure? Aren’t, like, three of those projects you took on due tomorrow?”

Kathy laughed dismissively, as if that would dispel the dread gathering in the pit of her stomach. “What? C’mon, I’ll just stay an hour or two after work and finish up, no big deal.” Jenny shook her head. “Whatever you say, Miss Masochist.” With that, she returned her head to her own cubicle. “Just remember, there’s a world of sane workers waiting for you on the other side—once you’ve gotten out of your crunch hell.”

“It won’t be that bad.” Kathy was optimistic as ever, sure in her expertise. She was a college student, after all. She had crammed for quizzes, hammered out projects minutes before class. It just took a few hours, some coffee, and…

Eleven PM.

“Fucking finally,” Kathy hissed, rubbing at her bloodshot eyes. Last call at the office had been an hour ago—she had hidden under her desk until the lights went out. Now, only the harsh glare of the computer screen illuminated her room. An energy drink had helped her stay focused on her task, but it had also spiked her bloodstream with so much caffeine that her hands were shaking.

“At least it’s done.” She at last saved her work and shut her desktop down for the night. “I’ll just…” Standing up, she stretched while letting out a yawn. “Tell Jenny it only took me an extra hour if she asks.” Scratching her butt and grumbling to herself, she stumbled down the hall.

“Hope there’s some night shift guard to let me…” She stopped walking. “Out.” Mid-sentence, a sound had caught her attention: muffled voices from behind closed double doors. Judging from its magnetic locks, it would be impossible to get inside. She would have kept walking—it was none of her business, really—but those voices sounded heated, almost dangerously so.

Kathy looked around, making sure there was no one nearby before creeping up to the door and pressing an ear against it. She still couldn’t make out what was being said, but even when the sound was reduced to muffled mumbling, her eyes widened as she recognized one of those voices:

“Mr. Evans?” she whispered to herself. He sounded angry. So did whoever else was in

there.

But this was above her paygrade. Worse, if they saw her snooping after hours, she would probably get in trouble. She really ought to just—

Kathy bit her tongue to suppress a squeak. The door she figured was locked gave out against her weight. She stumbled to the side, hearing their voices much clearer.

“Listen, we’re going to get in huge trouble if we take it,” a man with a high, reedy voice scolded.

“We’ve come this far,” Mr. Evans spoke in his usual velvety manner, though chills ran up Kathy’s back as she heard the harshness underlying his tone. “We’d be idiots not to take the chance.”

“We could get arrested! Worse, considering what this thing can do… It’s not like Paige

Electronics is operating above-the-books with this project.”

Kathy took stock of her surroundings. The room she had fallen into was dark, lit only by the screens of computers lining the walls. More sat on desks in cramped quarters—no cubicles here. Those working in this room must have been in a concerted effort to do… something. The room was interrupted on the other side by two walls with glass windows and an opening at the middle that led out to an intersection of sterile, white-tiled hallways. Kathy could see shadows moving through the right window.

She could have just left. In retrospect, not doing exactly that would be the single most life-changing snap decision in her entire existence.

But, as they say—curiosity killed the cat.

“Listen, Kearns…”

“You listen!”

Kathy crawled across the floor, praying those sharp panther ears wouldn’t detect her movements. Could Mr. Evans be doing something illegal? In a company he tried so hard to rise to the top in?

She reached the right wall. Pressing her back to its mundane, floral-decaled wallpaper, she inched her way up until she could peek through the window.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t realized they were that close.

“Easy, doctor. There’s no undo button on that thing.”

Doctor Kearns appeared to be a narrow pole of a weasel clad in a lab coat. He held some sort of device in his shaking hand. All of its intricate wires and interlocking gears were exposed beneath an incomplete chassis of translucent plastic. The device had a trigger that the ferret’s twitching finger threatened to pull. A small, metal-plated dish completed the device—it was pointed towards Grant, whose hands were up, as if the thing in the ferret’s hand was some kind of gun.

“I get it. We shouldn’t tamper with this thing.” The panther was completely collected now. The usual Mr. Evans that Kathy knew and trusted. But something was off…

Above all, panthers were natural predators.

“Yeah,” Kearns said, steadily lowering the device. “Yeah. I… I mean, obviously I don’t want to use it on you. We’re still partners, right? And the effects—we don’t even know if they even work on people.”

“Right. Maybe we were a little hasty.”

“And we could always come back.”

“And we could always come back.”

Kearns turned his back to the panther.

“Watch out!” Kathy cried. She really shouldn’t have, but it had been like watching a horror movie in motion. She knew Mr. Evans was going to reach forward. She knew he was going to wrap his powerful hand around Kearns’ thin wrist and squeeze.

The ferret gasped, his surprised eyes darting to the equally-surprised human girl. Mr. Evans, though, he remained all business as he seized the device. Kathy had no idea what she could do to help, but she… she couldn’t just let him do this. Even if it was Mr. Evans, she knew something was horribly wrong.

As she rounded the corner, the ferret turned around to face his treacherous accomplice, who pointed the device straight at him… and pulled the trigger.

From the dish, a green light shot forward. Kathy shielded her eyes. It took her a few seconds before she could see again.

“What the?”

Kearns was gone. In his place, Grant Evens stalked forward. All of his beautiful, predatory grace had turned intimidating, especially with that cold expression on his face. Kathy took a few steps back, and when she realized the panther wasn’t looking at her, she followed his gaze to something squeaking down on the floor.

It was white and brown and scurrying about. The sight of it made Kathy let out a strangled cry. She stumbled further back, even as that tiny figure was racing towards her.

“Help!” it squeaked—he squeaked, his voice barely audible.

A toy of a man. Less than the length of one of her fingers. Kearns. Racing fast as his tiny legs could take him at a full sprint, and it still wasn’t enough to outpace the strides of Grant

Evans.

And with a single stomp of his foot, red exploded underneath brown dress shoes like a splattered ketchup packet.

Kathy couldn’t scream. She just covered her gaping mouth while staring down at the panther’s dress shoe, its treads stained red.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a severe voice.

Kathy looked up. Then further up. Mr. Evans was tall—and he threatened to be much taller, with that humming device in his hand now pointed straight at her.

She worked her jaw, trying to form words.

“Katherine Price,” he growled, pressing the device into her stomach. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

“I…”

“I knew it. No college student could be that competent. You’re a corporate spy, aren’t you? You came here to sabotage this entire operation.”

“What? No, no! I… I stayed after to do all of those projects that are due tomorrow.” Relief flooded through her as he lowered the weapon. “Projects…” he muttered to himself. “But you would’ve been brought out by security if you—”

“I hid!” she interrupted. “I hid under my desk when I heard last call, sir.”

“That wouldn’t have mattered on a normal night.” Grant paced, staring at the device in his hand, looking it over, as if in consideration. “Of course.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course this happens—the day we kill the camera feed someone decides to sneak in for some extra work… the only person in the entire building who isn’t an employee.”

“The magnetic locks.” She looked to the door. “That’s why they were disengaged. I wouldn’t have fallen into the room, otherwise.”

He sighed. “You are a smart one.”

“I’ll never tell anyone.” She was lying. She would rat Mr. Evans out the second she had a chance to dial 911. After that display, how could she not? “I’ll… I’ll leave the state. Anything! Just don’t…” She couldn’t help but stare at the trail of red he had left with his pacing, painting the floor with what was left of Doctor Kearns.

“Don’t…”

The panther sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Kathy, but there can’t be any witnesses.”

She turned to run, but it was too late. The ray fired. Green light replaced her view of the world. She fell to her knees and hugged herself as sudden cold overtook her body. Her teeth chattered; it felt like body heat was being expelled from her skin.

Then, the world resolved into view, and Kathy was forced to stare up from the perspective of an insect.

She couldn’t have been more than a meager three inches, not that she was estimating. The downsized human simply took in her surroundings with wide-eyed, slack-jawed terror; and almost all of that terror was dedicated to the titanic panther whose every footstep thundered against tile.

He lifted his foot up into the air. She stared at a worn tread that made up her entire sky. Her entire body shook. This was how she died? She could at least try to run. Hide. Scurry away like a bug and find help!

But she didn’t. Her legs were locked as she gaped at her end.

His dress shoe slammed down to meet linoleum in a deafening impact. Her ears rang. She went flying, then tumbling, then rolling to a stop facedown—breathless and taking deep breaths as she forced herself up on shaking hands. That constant ring lingered in her ears. Her skull buzzed after she had hit the side of her head somewhere during that roll.

But she was alive.

She turned to the titan, staring at the base of his shoe. Up its length and laces. Along suit pants then jacket. She craned her neck all the way up to his impassive face—and discovered he was staring back at her.

“Why did it have to be you?” he rumbled, shaking his head.

His great mass descended. Kathy shrieked, rolling onto her back. Unable to muster the strength to stand, she scooted backwards—but that distance was paltry compared to the panther’s reach.

He crouched, suit pants audibly creaking from the strain of his muscular legs, mountainous thighs spreading to either side of Kathy, leaving her in his immense shadow. Then, slowly, gently, as if trying and failing not to leave her even more horrified, he lowered the back of his hand to the floor. She stared at the dark flesh of his open palm.

“Climb on,” he said in a hushed voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She had no choice. Rising like a fawn, her weak legs gave out the first time. Then, after a deep breath, she rose again and hesitantly approached. The idea of disobeying didn’t occur to her. Not after that violent display with the late doctor—it was a scene that played on repeat the closer she got to his hand.

It was huge. His pointer finger alone was longer and wider than Kathy. Measured up, she would have only reached the second joint. The shrunken college girl had a lump in her throat, but she still managed to creep onto the fleshy surface. His hand reflexively twitched; all five fingers that so easily dwarfed her jerked in unison. She shielded her face, but when those crushing digits didn’t crash down on her, she finally peeked out from the cracks between her fingers.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated. But his promise rang hollow after what she had witnessed. “Don’t panic, but I’m going to pick you up, now.” As he stood while simultaneously pulling his hand up off the floor, Kathy shrieked, spread-eagle as she ascended. Then, everything went still. Warm breeze blew at her back.

“You’re safe,” he assured her. She rolled over, only to shriek again at the proximity of his head. His snout alone outstripped her entire torso. And those yellow eyes, much more massive than her head, fixed intently on her, reflecting Kathy’s panicked expression back. “I’m going to put you in my pocket, and we’re going to get out of here.”

There was no time to protest. She was slipped right into the confines of his chest pocket. His suit was tight—she must have been a visible outline against his toned chest. It was warm. Too warm. She started to sweat as he moved, but she was relieved to have that reprieve from his attention.

Okay, Kathy, she thought, trying to psyche herself out of a panic attack. You’ve been shrunken down to maybe three inches tall. Mr. Evans is a thief. A… a.. killer! And now, he’s taking you somewhere. But, hey, you’re not dead.

Not yet…

Well, maybe having time to think wasn’t the best of things. Mr. Evans had clearly deliberated on shrinking her, however. And with each step he took, something began to replace her fear, something now bubbling up inside of her. She didn’t want to die, but—like this?

Trapped in a murderer’s chest pocket? What future was there for her?

So, as two fingers pinched her sides and extracted her into the cool night air, even with the raw terror that came from dangling comparative hundreds of feet above concrete, she glared.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Alright?” Fingers curling to form white-knuckled fists, she set her jaw as a glare blossomed on her tiny face. It must have been the most unintimidating she had ever looked, but she couldn’t help herself: “You need to turn me back,” she squeaked. And she could hear that her voice was a squeak, but she persisted. “You need to use that… that thing and turn me back to my normal height right fucking now!”

“I understand you’re scared, but—”

“You’re a killer!” She actually managed to interrupt him, a testament to how loudly she shrilled at the giant. “Change me back, you bastard!” Kathy twisted and jerked, trying to escape his grasp even though it was the only thing keeping her from fatal freefall. Then, glowering at the close proximity of his snout, she kicked it.

He recoiled. Not in pain—there was nothing she could do to hurt him at this height, but he did look surprised. For a few seconds, at least. After that, wide-eyes narrowed to a glare, and all of Kathy’s rage was let out in an instant. His fingertips twitched. If he had squeezed a little harder, he would have crushed her, but he didn’t.

Nor did he let go and allow her to hurtle down onto the parking garage’s concrete, a fall that would have snapped her bones before he finished the job with a subsequent stomp that could reduce her to just another red stain.

The staggering number of ways she could die right then were being cruelly played out by her racing mind—the same one that had encouraged her to lash out at the giant moments ago.

Instead, his hard expression softened and he sighed. “I really do wish things hadn’t turned out this way, but since they have…” She was falling, somersaulting through the air, cold wind whipping by. The wind was knocked out of her as she landed on something softer than concrete:

it was a vast, black plain with a familiar scent.

As she stared up at a steering wheel and a monolithic gear stick in the distance, she realized she had been dropped onto the driver’s seat of Mr. Evans’ car. Turning from the sprawl of his leather seat, she looked up to see the car’s owner, standing by its open door, one hand on his hip, expression unreadable.

“I need you to understand the difference between us.”

He didn’t offer her time to wonder what that meant. The panther demonstrated with action, first presenting his back to her. Then came a great wall of grey fabric stretched to its limits. The panther was squatting, taking a seat—Kathy hadn’t even managed to scramble up to her feet before being bowled over by cat rump clad in suit pants.

The car purred to life.

Ironic. That one guilty sight she snuck whenever he walked away, and now she had more of his ass than she ever would have wanted. It was a living landmass that stretched out to either side of her. Despite the definition behind it, the left cheek that kept her helplessly pinned had a softness to it. A squeezable layer of fat stacked on top of defined muscle. Whatever silky smoothness his fur might have provided, it was unfortunately inaccessible to the downsized human. She instead had to endure the fine exterior of pants fabric: a coarse and chafing wall that ground up against her while Grant drove.

A bump in the road. A shift of his hips. He had to know what he was doing. Every movement he made was an unyielding press of his rear against her entire body. It felt like a heated mattress, soft but heavy. He never pressed down hard enough to hurt her, even if a single butt cheek had complete control over her body. Each shift of his body scraped her back against the leather seat while fabric dragged across her front.

Grant was hot—literally, in this case. She was baking down there, even more than she had been in his chest pocket. Worse, smothered as she was, Kathy could hardly breathe. Her only saving grace were those seemingly-intentional intervals where her colossal captor put more weight on his right cheek, easing a bit off the left. This created a crack between Grant’s butt and the leather seat, one so thin it was only perceptible to someone her height. That was her chance to breathe musty air tinged with the scent of warm leather.

But each time she had a chance to gasp for air was inevitably followed by another shift of his hips that tucked her away into the all-encompassing barrier of backside.

At every pothole or bumpy road, the bounce of Grant’s butt would be followed by a spike in pressure against her body that set her joints to popping, assuring Kathy of one thing: this car ride was where she would die. She was nothing more than an uncomfortable lump on a handsome panther’s car seat. A butt-print.

In the middle of accepting her awful fate, the car came to a halt. There came the muffled sound of its engine sputtering to a stop, followed by the car door opening. Then, as Grant swiveled in his seat, he put more weight on Kathy than ever before. His legs must have been kicked up—his entire center of mass was focused on his ass.

She heard the squeak of leather, the inaudible creak of too-tight suit pants that accentuated his physique, all while experiencing pressure that, while painless, completely plastered her to his cheek. An ounce more. One wrong sway of the hips. That’s all it would take to bring on the broken limbs—or an unsightly stain on the wealthy panther’s expensive car seat.

But the pressure began to lessen. Not just because he finally put his feet down, either. Kathy’s world was shifting; she was being pulled up off the confines of a leather seat warmed by its former occupant—occupants, technically, though Kathy left no meaningful mark except a hershaped imprint in the wrinkled divot where his cheek had been nestled.

Even as he stood, she remained stuck to his left cheek, and Grant didn’t seem interested in peeling her off. At least, not right away.

He took a few sashaying steps, and she had to endure each individual sway, reflexively gripping at his ass for support; even with her face buried in his butt, she knew being stuck here was better than falling.

Funny. Yesterday—hell, three hours ago—if someone had told Kathy that she would have a chance to grope Mr. Evans, her heart would have been in her throat.

Well, her heart was still in her throat, but now, it was because of the sheer terror from being at a bone-breaking height over the ground while existing as a butt tattoo for one of her former employers.

Two fingers tugged at her sides. Kathy found herself extracted, brought free from the confines of Grant’s backside.

He dangled her in front of his face. “I am sorry.” She wasn’t sure if he sounded it, and holding her so precariously in the air was a poor way of showing it. “I might have overreacted. My nerves were already on edge after everything that happened tonight. I—I’ll have to get used to this. I’ll try to be gentler, I promise.”

He laid Kathy out in his palm, facing her away from him while keeping her level with his stomach, which took on the role of a wall that she could recline against. All things considered, it was a gentlemanly—and, more importantly, safe—way to carry someone small.

Turned away from the panther, she now realized he had brought her to his house.

It sat atop a grassy hill with steps that climbed from the driveway before pivoting right and up a ways to the front door. Two stories. It wasn't a mansion, but it was certainly close. Wide with an inverted slope that started at the flat rooftop. Second-story windows ran from floor to ceiling, exposing bedrooms, what looked to be an indoor pool, a library—he had everything, really.

The impressive sight was somewhat soured considering the situation.

Grant seemed to realize this; a sigh made Kathy crane her neck up from her palm seat to the face of her somber-looking captor, who looked down at her. “If things had gone differently, I had intended on showing you around at your normal height.” Even after all he had done, he sounded apologetic. He looked so rueful—those dewy cat eyes could have tugged at her heart strings if they weren’t so huge.

This might be her chance, she realized. Leaning forward and stroking the thumb resting in front of her like a felled tree, she tried to appeal to his humanity:

“I really won't tell anyone, Mr. Evans, I promise. You can just turn me back to normal, okay?”

She wasn’t sure if he heard her—he was awfully high up, and she had spoken in a quiet voice. However, after that pregnant pause, he replied, “Even if I believed you would keep this between us, there’s nothing I could do. The device is experimental—just exiting its earliest stages of development. There is no way to grow someone back.”

Kathy exhaled, and anxiety made it impossible to regain that lost breath. She was lightheaded. If his palm wasn’t tilted she probably would have fallen right off.

“I...” She finally found her words. Or some of them, at least. “Grant, please, that can’t be possible, I—” But he stopped her there. Tightening his grip, she went from seated to squeezed in seconds, her head poking out while the rest of her body vanished into his fist.

He stalked towards his home, never loosening his fist. “Ms. Price…Kathy, I am going to do everything in my power to give you a comfortable life, that much I can promise you. But,” he raised his free hand’s pointer finger, “there is one thing I will not abide, and that is being disrespected.”

His low, growling tone had been intimidating at her normal height. Here, with his fist raised to his face, forcing her to feel his hot breath while staring into a handsome muzzle she had once wanted nothing more than to kiss, it was enough to make her whimper.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“What?” Her panicked mind scrambled to understand how she had offended the giant. At the sight of her confusion, his snarling ceased, crushing grip slackening. He laid her out once more in his palm, surprising her by using his thumb to gently caress her hair.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I’m being ridiculous. I can't imagine what it's like, looking up at me like that. You must be scared out of your mind.” Then, as she gave him a look with measured blankness, he revealed her mistake: “Mr. Evans,” he reminded. “Please, call me Mr. Evans.”

Was he joking? No. Kathy supposed if he could impose such a request on his employees, he could easily ask that—and pretty much anything else—of her.

Maybe that was why he had stolen the device in the first place? He was such a stickler for respect, what if he wanted to cut the world down to size?

But such lofty concerns were above her. Literally as much as figuratively. The only thing she had to worry about was the temperament of the panther who had her entire life in his hand.

So, when he gave her an expectant look, she was sure to say, loud and clear, though unable to mask the bald resentment on her face: “Yes, Mr. Evans.”

The panther surprised her, then. Kathy shrieked as his upturned palm ascended—rushing straight for his muzzle. But there was no gnash of those fangs that could have pulped her. Instead, there was pressure that built around her middle as she was pinned to his palm. A slight wetness tinged her shirt. Only after he retracted his snout did she realize he had kissed her.

His eyes widened, as if he just realized what he had done. He cleared his throat before mumbling, “I apologize for that, too. But I am hoping to make your life a pleasant one… In every way that I can.”

Despite everything, Kathy blushed. Was this some kind of sick joke? Now this happened? Now she groped his ass? Now he kissed her? After he had exposed himself as a thief and a killer before stripping her entire life away?

It wasn't fair.

Righteous indignation flared—that had been her first kiss, even! What more could he take from her tonight? But before she could say anything else that might get her into even more trouble, a sound caught her attention. The turning of a doorknob. She turned and discovered they were standing at his front door.

“Welcome, Ms. Price,” he said, pushing the door open, automatic lights humming to life, “to your new home.”

It somehow seemed bigger on the inside. Paintings were permanent fixtures on the walls. Not a trace of dust marked fine furniture of the smooth marble variety—and with her downsized stature, every little flaw should have been apparent; yet she still saw none.

Perhaps it was the stereotypical layout expected of a wealthy bachelor's house, but Kathy had to admit—it was perfectly suited to Grant's classy demeanor. Smooth jazz even started playing on background speakers.

The tour was short-lived. A trip to the kitchen ended with Kathy deposited onto a marble counter polished so thoroughly she could see her disheveled self in it. At last, terra firma— though it was apparent nothing in Kathy’s downsized existence could be permanently considered “firma.” The chiseled torso at the edge of the counter was a reminder of that fact.

“So, what?” Kathy spread her arms, glaring up at Grant. “I live here, now? What about my things? My friends? My family?”

He sighed, and it was a sigh from a man who seemed used to the act. The panther crouched, stooping until his head was level with the table’s edge. “There are some... details we have to hash out, but this is just your first night.”

“My first night as a pet,” she whimpered, looking down at her feet. “I can't believe I used to...” Her hands curled into fists. She was threatening tears.

That was when Grant’s claw tip insistently pushed into the gap between her chin and chest; with its blunt underside, he forced her to look back up at him. “Kathy,” he gave her a solemn look, “I told you, you shouldn't have been caught up in this. You're such a sweet girl. If I could make you forget tonight and send you home at your normal size, I would.”

She hated that she believed him. She hated that she felt some of that hate abandoning her. Impotent rage left a vacuum of cool despair with nothing but circumstance to blame—she even blamed herself. She shouldn’t have been there. She shouldn’t have investigated.

“But I told you, I am going to teach you to enjoy this.” He rose and turned towards the cupboards, pulling out piles of spices. Then, with surprising joviality that contrasted Kathy's despair, he added, “and we'll start with a welcome dinner!”

“A welcome dinner,” she spat. “You've got to be fucking kidding me.”

He didn’t seem to have heard her—or he had made a point of ignoring those words. He soon displayed a side of himself no one at work had ever seen. His mood picked up considerably in the ensuing moments. Grant hummed, a placid smile spreading across his muzzle as he started up the stovetop.

“Grant, you can't—”

Whump.

The second she had said his name, his long tail brushed across the countertop. A not-sogentle reminder of silken black fur walloped Kathy onto her back before flicking behind him.

“I'm sorry, did you say something?”

“N-no.” She eased herself up. Then, seeing his cocked brow, she hastily added, “No, Mr.

Evans, sir…”

“My mistake.” The panther seemed to have a mildly mischievous side, as the edges of his muzzle twitched. Kathy herself found little about the situation amusing. “You will have to learn to be vocal, I’m afraid. If you speak too quietly, your voice sounds very similar to the whine of a mosquito.” Leaning against the counter, he added, “and I would hate to mistake a girl sweet as yourself for an insect.”

After that, Kathy elected to stay quiet. It was a welcome reprieve, in fact. From the counter, she could watch Grant—Mr. Evans, she even corrected herself mentally, as if he might hear any thoughts to the contrary—while he demonstrated his cooking prowess.

It was better that his attention was focused on something else. She sat and watched, curled up so she could rest her chin on her knees. Trying not to think too hard on her predicament, she instead focused on the giant’s sinewy movements. On how, even at this height, he managed to remain graceful. Having kicked off his shoes, his socked feet were inaudible plodding against the smooth floor.

Begrudgingly, she had to admit: if there was someone who seemed, well, “equipped” to handle taking care of her, it would be Mr. Evans. Financially independent. Competent. Capable.

Handsome… She looked away, blushing how she used to whenever he came into the room.

What in the world was she thinking?

No. Kathy shook her head, pulling her hands into fists so tight her nails bit at her palms.

The resultant sting was her wakeup call. A reminder that this was going to be the rest of her life. She had gone from an intern with a promising future, over the moon about some stupid workplace crush being fulfilled to…

To this.

“I probably should have asked what you liked.”

Mr. Evans’ cooking session completed, he had transitioned them to a massive dining room. He sat straight-backed at the head of the table, looking proper as ever.

Kathy stood at the steaming heart of five plates overflowing with delicacies that made the stolen shrink ray seem like a viable, almost-appealing option to solving world hunger.

“But, I just made a bit of everything, instead.”

A bit was an understatement. Mouthwatering scents assaulted her from all directions, carried by steam that wrapped around her in a comfortable, sauna-like blanket.

But for how tempting this buffet was, her principles demanded that she cross her arms and glare up past seasoned meals so fanciful a lower-middle-class girl like herself couldn't even guess at the names, at the expectant chef.

“I'm not hungry,” was Kathy's flat proclamation. She sat down, sulking in spite of those tantalizing scents.

“You're definitely hungry,” was Mr. Evans’ equally flat reply. He impaled his steak and sliced off a paper-thin strip from a particularly juicy part. Having extracted it, he lowered the meat in front of Kathy. She could see herself reflected in the fork’s slightly-steamed-over silver. With a scrape of his steak knife, the scrap fit for a shrunken family of eight peeled off the fork and landed in front of her.

“A hunger strike will get you nowhere,” he spoke more sternly. Like a parent trying to get an obstinate child to eat vegetables. “You’ll be able to eat like this every day. I’ll prepare any meal you want.”

“And when you're at work every day? What’ll you do? Keep me in a cage in your bedroom and feed me pellets?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Already thinking about the future. Like I said, I'll figure everything out.” He sliced his own strip of meat and steadily chewed on it. She watched those fangs cleaving food apart; she couldn’t help but realize that meat was tougher than her own body, and he still ripped it apart without trying. After a loud gulp, he let out a satisfied sigh then grinned, baring somewhat bloody fangs—blood from the steak that tottered a line between rare and medium-rare.

“Dig in.”

At his order, her stomach growled. The strip of meat in front of her was big enough she could have slept under it like a blanket. The scent was intoxicating.

No use starving herself, right? A bite couldn’t hurt. Gristle wet her hands as she tugged the steak slice up. Kathy bit a chunk off and chewed. It only took her seconds to come to a conclusion. It was…

“Delicious,” she whispered. A good meal. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she had started chewing. This was so much better than another night of ramen.

And each mouthful was helping to take the edge off her predicament. All she had consumed that day was coffee, more coffee, a light lunch, and then a heavy dose of a caffeinerich energy-blended drink. She was soon inching over to a pile of rice at the edge of a plate.

There were no utensils at her height, but she didn't care.

“Mmm,” she sighed as she used both hands to munch on a single grain. “Now, if only I had some...”

“Wine?” Mr. Evans suggested. He had been watching the entire time. Now, the panther deposited a small saucer. “It's vintage. I opened it for just such an occasion.”

She opened her mouth, then quickly clamped her jaw shut. The food had put her in a better mood, and she had almost been ready to thank him. No, he owed her this—this and so much more. Kathy walked up to the saucer. Clutching at the plate’s edge and leaning forward, she started lapping up fine wine.

“Shit,” she hissed. “Why the fuck is everything so good?”

“Come again?”

The panther's reflection joined her own in the saucer of wine, dominating the backdrop. He had the small, self-satisfied smile of someone who knew he had done something right, but was too modest to say it himself.

If only the wine hadn't been red—seeing his reflection in it reminded her of the red she had seen on the tiled floor that night.

“Fuck you,” she said. It had bubbled out before she could even deliberate.

Kathy had sorely needed a meal, yes, but it wasn’t calming her down. If anything, it gave her the energy to once again rail against the man who had reduced her to an insect.

“Did you say something, Kathy?” Judging from the dangerous edge to his voice, he had heard her.

“I said... Fuck you, Grant!” Her heart raced; adrenaline had her in fight-or-flight mode. This wasn’t a war she could come close to wining, but she had to get it out of her system. “You ruined my fucking life!”

Shunk.

She stopped cold as Grant impaled a fork into the wooden table. Mr. Evans' massive, tensed fist gripped it.

“I think, Kathy, you have yet to fully grasp the joys of being small.”

He relinquished the fork, leaving it as a great monument in the table, and freeing his hand to pinch at Kathy’s sides with thumb and pointer finger.

“Every meal is a bounty. More than you could eat in an entire month, and it’s all food that would have cost your entire paycheck to consistently prepare.” He dangled her over the sea of meals.

“I will prepare meals like this for you every single day.” And to show her one of those meals, he dipped her down closer to a dish of pasta—and didn't stop dipping her.

She cried out as her entire front was slathered in tomato sauce; it coated her outfit, and she sputtered out mouthfuls of sauce.

Even after being pulled free, her arms were pinned to her sides, so she couldn't clear the sauce from her eyes. She had no idea where Mr. Evans was taking her until she felt a hot exhalation—she dangled in front of his mouth.

“If you have a favorite meal, I can prepare it. I'm something of a chef in my spare time.”

Warmth enveloped her front. Something smooth and wet covered her from head to toe; the sauce had been cleaned off, allowing Kathy to open her eyes and discover the immense pink surface that had grazed her body. Only when it retracted into Mr. Evans’ mouth did she realize it was his tongue.

He had licked the sauce off of her.

“Of course,” he continued, as if nothing had happened. He rested his chin against his knuckles while continuing to dangle her. “This isn't something I would do for just anyone.”

Wind whipped past Kathy as she fell. Water splashed around her. As she brought herself up and gasped for air, chilled awake by cool liquid, she quickly realized it wasn’t water at all.

Sweet and slightly sticky, she knew it had to be wine.

She was inside Mr. Evans’ wine glass.

“The truth is, dear…” The liquid sloshed as he raised his glass. It jostled her from side to side. She could never take hold of the slippery walls, and the glass was too low for her to climb out, too deep to touch the bottom.

“You're very fortunate.”

The liquid settled. She settled, treading wine as he suspended the glass right in front of his muzzle, exhalations fogging the rim of the glass. She couldn't see his eyes, but his lips were pulled back, teeth unveiled in a snarling grin. Hot breath that smelled of steak wafted over her— every exhalation made the wine ripple.

“Because I want to take care of you.”

Kathy found herself with a new guest in the glass. She shielded her face as his fingertip pressed against her, turning counterclockwise and dragging her along with it.

Even after he removed his finger, she was trapped in a slow-spinning whirlpool, its current carrying her.

“And though I understand your predicament, you have no choice except to get used to me.”

Her travail was far from over. His snout hovered at the edge of the glass.

“By the way, in case you forgot: it’s Mr. Evans.”

He tilted the glass. Kathy screamed, wine rushing past her and being sucked up into the panther's maw. She thought she would be able to resist the suctioning force, but her hands found no purchase in the soaked interior.

When her feet caught, he slurped her up like a noodle.

She tumbled inside the swampy, wine-soaked confines of the panther’s gigantic maw. Successive gulps echoed throughout, and she peered back from the perch of Grant's tongue, dim illumination from half-parted lips letting her make out the entrance to his gullet—an abyssal drain that guzzled all of the remaining wine.

She thought a hearty meal had made her fearless. Now, her entire body trembling atop the unsound pad of Mr. Evans’ tongue, she understood he had been going easy on her. Of course he had been—was she stupid? He could do whatever he wanted!

Well, she supposed that’s exactly what he was doing now.

“Pleasedon'tswallowpleasedon'tswallowpleasedon't...” She repeated her mantra with her eyes clenched shut, hands kneading the slimy surface.

An alarming clack forced her eyes open.

Even with his teeth having snapped together, his lips must have been pulled back in a bestial snarl, as threads of light still peeked through interlocking fangs, giving Kathy a panoramic view of her carnivorous prison, complete with a vista of fangs that seemed more like rock formations in a cavern. Saliva hung precariously in fist-sized globs before dripping down and further soaking Kathy. Matting down her clothes in spit.

Caught between lethal teeth and the certain death of being swallowed whole, she let out a terrified moan.

Another frightened moan followed as his tongue started to move. Disgusting as it was, she went facedown without hesitation, arms stretched to her sides, hugging at the wet, flexible muscle that had her at its mercy. It pressed her to the roof of Mr. Evans’ mouth, rolling her back and forth, forcing the bedraggled human to endure the throaty “mmm” of a man enjoying a good meal; the sound made his entire mouth vibrate, shaking her while she let out muffled cries.

He swiveled his tongue and Kathy somersaulted off, landing in a small basin of drool in the crevice underneath Mr. Evans' tongue. Any relief she might have felt being bucked off of vanished as she looked up and saw his tongue arched above her, a great serpent poised to strike.

It curled backwards before pushing towards her. Kathy shuddered as Mr. Evans’ tongue tip so easily overcame her, forcing her against the smooth backsides of his fangs, indiscriminately swishing her from one side of the mouth to the other.

It was hard for her to process that everything around her was part of him. This inexorable pink-red mass tormenting Kathy seemed more like some alien beast in a lair on some distant world than something mundane as a tongue.

Her final destination seemed to be the backsides of his front teeth—that was when Mr. Evans popped his maw open. He pushed her torso out with his tongue. She was so light that even with her back arching while pressed to the pointed tip of a fang, it did nothing to pierce her.

From his mouth, she dangled. The air-conditioned world beyond was cold. It was the equivalent of stepping out from a hot tub into a tundra.

Mr. Evans sat back, contentedly humming to himself, drumming his fingers along his stomach while keeping Kathy there, uncomfortably reclined against a single tooth.

Not wanting to go back inside, but also not wanting to be ejected, all she could do was remain still as humanly possible—either that or struggle and increase the odds of being gored by a stalagmite fang. As Mr. Evans’ tongue tip slid away and stopped providing her with support, she realized that was still very much a possibility.

Kathy whimpered—an act she was getting used to conjuring on reflex—as Mr. Evans clamped his jaw down. He must have had incredible self-control, because he didn’t bite down hard enough to harm her fragile body, though she could feel him locking her in place, pinching at her back and stomach.

She was being sucked on like a piece of candy, grinding Kathy back and forth against his fangs. Pressure built on her lower body, and she heard a tearing sound.

This time, Mr. Evans couldn’t avoid doing some damage. Fortunately for Kathy, it was to her wardrobe. His bottom tooth ripped a hole in the lower right thigh of her pants while the top fang snagged then tore at the hem of her shirt, going all the way up until a huge tear formed, stopping just below her chest.

If this kept up, he would shred her clothes apart. Not that Kathy was worried about that— she was more concerned that, if her clothes went, she would be the next thing to go. But he seemed to consider that fact, as she was then slurped back inside.

Lingering in the dark, clad in the last tattered remnants of the only clothes in the world that would fit her, Kathy noticed that Mr. Evans’ mouth had become dangerously still. She looked around, half-expecting him to show his predator side and swallow her whole. Indeed, the suctioning force that had entombed her was starting up again—this time, in reverse.

“Ptoo.”

She shot free like a missile. Kathy would have been jettisoned across the dining room table, but Mr. Evans had angled his chin downwards, so she instead went rolling down the slope of his chest. Tumbling along the length of his stomach. Bouncing when she hit the squishy surface of his crotch.

That would have followed with her falling onto the carpet, but his thighs were clamped together. Kathy landed in the crevice between his legs.

“I’m alive?” Everything was spinning. She rubbed her head, slowly sitting up and trying to blink the world back to its regular shape. Kathy shook her head to hurry the process along, and as she did, her shoulder-length hair spilled free from her an abused bun. Her locks unfurled in clumps, absolutely drenched with saliva, making her head feel ten pounds heavier.

“Oh, my,” Mr. Evans spoke, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re soaked to the bone.” She was quickly folded into his grasp once again; her protests were muffled as he buried her face—her entire front—against the chest of his suit jacket. He rubbed her up and down, as if buffing out a stain, carrying on until a somewhat-drier and gasping Kathy was laid out in his palm.

“Wh-why did you do that?” she whined.

“That, or putting you in my mouth?”

“The… both! Any of this. Grant…” His eyes narrowed. “S-sir, please. I don’t—I mean, I could have died in there. I thought you wanted to take care of me.”

The hurt in her voice seemed to get through to him. “Why, of course I want to take care of you, Ms. Price. It’s all I want.” He squinted down at her, nodding. “But you seem perfectly fine, though I did do a number on your clothes. Ah, well.” And with that, he brought the tip of his thumbclaw towards her—she pushed against it, but she had about as much luck doing that as she might wrestling with a truck.

Long and pointed, as the space between her and that jagged tip shrank, she went completely still. She was prey limp in the jaws—in this case, claws—of her predator.

With a surgeon's precision, that claw lanced the remnants of her torn top. It popped the connecting strap between her bra cups. He ignored her scandalized squeal as he worked lower.

“Oh, no,” she mumbled. “Grant, I mean, Mr. Evans, don’t… Let me keep my clothes, please.”

Schirr.

The gentle sigh of fabric shredding soon found her stripped bare. He ripped her clothes away like so much Kleenex, leaving colorful, drool-soaked scraps tatters scattered around her.

Somehow, she felt more vulnerable then than when he swished her about in his mouth. It was a breathless moment, staring up at him while he stared down at her: a nude sylph of a woman nestled in his palm. She could now feel every warm inch of his palm against her exposed flesh. A blush came on so fast she almost passed out.

With a snicker, he broke the silence by saying, “I have to admit, I didn’t expect the legs.”

“What?” She snapped back to reality, clapping her slender thighs together. Slapping an arm over a rather unimpressive chest. But she couldn’t cover her lower legs. Fine hairs marked them, hairs she was deeply embarrassed by. Of course, she could have simply shaved, but considering the number of people who had seen Kathy without clothes could be counted on her fingers—and were entirely comprised of relatives who took care of her when she was a child— she had never seen much reason to bother.

Now, his suppressed laughter left her mortified.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Grant cleared his throat, though his eyes still shone. “You’re beautiful.”

Earlier today, those words would have been a dream come true. They still managed to take her breath away. Blinking at him in disbelief, she asked, as if unable to process the word, “Beautiful?”

“Yes,” he said in that silken voice. “So perfectly petite.” She didn’t have a chance to resist. His fingers pinched at her arms, and she was forced into the air, dangled with her hands forcibly raised over her head. She yapped and kicked, but it was no use; her entire body was his to ogle. He could see those tiny breasts that had never quite escaped the “bud” phase. Her brown bush was bared. And, of course, he had a full view of those untrimmed legs that still somehow left her feeling humiliated, even though she shouldn’t have cared one bit what her kidnapper thought.

“Like a living doll.” He sounded fascinated. His eyes were wide as he turned her around, and she took in a sharp breath as a claw tip traced down her spine until it poked at her butt, sliding gently between both cheeks.

“Mr. Evans,” she called in a shaky voice. “What’re you doing?” She was turned around again, dangling in front of his muzzle.

“Oh, I’m just admiring the view. We’re both in very unique positions, aren’t we?” There was excitement in his voice, as if this was some big opportunity for her and not a cosmic punishment that she didn’t deserve. “I have a chance to see someone whose entire existence fits in the palm of my hand.” To make that literal, he placed her there.

“And for you, well, I can’t imagine what it’s like, seeing someone like me on that scale.”

With another gentle laugh, he looked away, ears folded down. “I must be terrifying.”

He was. But, in truth, there was more to it than that. He was majestic. He would have loved to hear Kathy’s private judgment that he wore his size extremely well, but she kept it to herself.

When she didn’t reply, he looked back at her. “You must be exhausted after all this. I know I am. I can give you the full tour of our house tomorrow. For now, I think it’s time I take you to bed.”

Bed. The first welcome suggestion Mr. Evans had offered since her shrinkage. She didn’t respond. She was bound by whatever his whims were. And right now, the weight of today was pressing down on her. He carried her up smooth wooden stairs that she wasn’t sure she could have even climbed on her own. It was dawning on her that those thoughts of escape she entertained were perhaps impossible. Everything was simply massive. His home was already huge, and that meant the world beyond—she didn’t even want to think about blades of grass looming high enough to obscure her view. Birds that could swoop down and snatch her up.

Those worries soon disappeared, however, replaced with the temptation of sleeping through this nightmare as Mr. Evans opened the door to reveal his grand bedroom.

Curtains automatically lowered at his arrival. A walk-in closet was half-open to the left. The four-poster bed itself sprawled, dominating the room; it was fit for at least five people. Its luxurious sheets had a lustrous sheen in the ambient lamplight. Kathy found herself being deposited on a nightstand, staring up at the panther, then freezing in place as she saw that he was already starting to unbutton his shirt.

Smirking down at his gaping audience of one, he took his sweet time. Kathy should have looked away, but this… after everything, she was giving herself this one. Each button unveiled another segment of the great wall of black that was his chiseled body—and though his formfitting attire really left nothing of his shape to the imagination, it was another experience entirely to actually see those defined pecs exposed. To be able to stare up at abs she could have climbed like a rock wall, all coated in those well-maintained strands of short black fur that remained smooth as silk even at her height.

Mr. Evans tossed his shirt aside, and his entire weight sank into the vast sea of soft bed next to Kathy. He rested his head against a pillow and turned to face her. He offered a soft smile before snatching her off the nightstand.

She would never get used to his manhandling. Vanishing into his grip and being transported across great distances at speeds that left her head spinning. She was unceremoniously dropped, left sprawled out stomach-down, as if she had just washed ashore in a strange land.

“I thought this might be a more comfortable arrangement.”

She felt his words. They rumbled from somewhere beneath her before escaping his muzzle. Kathy at last got up on her knees, and her analogy of a strange land only became stronger as she realized where she was.

“Th-this?” She swiveled her head around at the same erratic pace as a pigeon, mind reeling as she realized that she knelt on a single section of his six-pack.

“Oh, if you would prefer, I could maybe make you a bed out of a tissue box? Let you sleep in my sock drawer?”

“This is fine!” She had yet to look up from his abs—she couldn’t tear her eyes away from them.

What was she saying? This wasn't fine. He was still a murderer! Still the man who had irreversibly shrunken her.

“Still hot,” she whispered to herself in argument.

“You're blushing.”

If she hadn't been—that comment would have been all it took to turn her scarlet. She gnawed on her knuckle while still indulgently staring down at his abs.

A rumbling chuckle got her attention. The landscape of his sculpted stomach shook.

“I told you, I'm going to do anything it takes to make sure you enjoy your life with me.”

This time, she risked staring up the length of his body, her gaze sweeping past those midnight black abs that made for a flesh-warm surface hard as stone. Beyond them were broad pecs with a perky set of dark chocolate nipples.

Mr. Evans was on his back, fingers laced behind his handsome head, while he sported that smile he always wore so well—that told her he knew the effect he was having on her.

His vivid yellow eyes half-squinted, staring across the gulf of his incredible body, regarding the little human kneeling there in awe of him.

“And that includes full access to my body.” This nightmare scenario was steadily turning into a dark fantasy, but she couldn't just— “I'll never tell a soul.” He winked, tracing a finger down his chest. “Whatever you want me to do, it will stay between us.” He said that last part in a velvet whisper, just as his finger had cleared the space between them and started gently caressing her back. A single fingertip enveloped her butt and nudged her directly onto all fours.

She kneaded handfuls of his fur, her tired arms shaking in an attempt at supporting her. Kathy waged a war within herself. She had been kidnapped by this man. Stripped and sloshed about in his mouth like a snack. She couldn't just...

Just...

When he lifted his finger, she began crawling over his stomach. Embarrassed, mortified, and more than a little turned on, she kept her gaze to the “ground.” Its rise and fall reminded her that it was alive. That every inch of what she saw and admired was him.

Mr. Evans.

Her boss.

Her crush.

Former boss. Former crush. But if the latter was true, why was she so enamored with his body? Why did the cologne baked into his fur demand one deep inhalation after another?

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

She was overtop his pounding chest. Underneath, blood flowed through his heart like an underground river. It beat fast—faster than she would have thought.

Was he nervous?

She looked up. He seemed to have been watching her intently this entire time. Even if his heart thundered, he gave no other sign of nervousness.

“Every night, this is where you can sleep.” His voice was a throaty croon. Without the slightest exertion, he used his claw tip to flip her over, then pressed his finger against her exposed middle. She fought for only a few moments before giving in, taking deep breaths while he steadily stroked her.

“My entire body is yours to explore.” The panther's fingertip grazed her nipples; she bit her tongue to suppress a moan, hands quickly converting to shaking fists.

“I know you're attracted to me, Ms. Price.” He chuckled while slipping her into the embrace of his palm, using his thumb to steadily rub her down, forcing her to fidget and gnaw at her lip to fight from making sounds that would reveal just how right he was.

“You see, us panthers have excellent senses of smell.” He unfurled his thumb. Something wet and cold covered her. She opened her eyes, discovering that it was his snout, pinning her torso to his palm.

“And every time I come near you in the office...” His words were hot exhalations on her nethers. Kathy’s shaking legs betrayed her, the finest traces of arousal leaking out from between them.

Only her head remained free—free to stare past the bridge of his nose to two crossed yellow eyes, heavy-lidded as they stared back at her.

“I can almost taste how badly...” She spasmed as his tongue darted out and slathered her lower body.

“You...” His tongue tip alone pushed forward this time; it forced her legs apart and pressed into a slit it was far too huge to penetrate. All the same, she closed her eyes and whimpered, hugging at the sides of his snout.

“Want...” Her lower half was sucked inside his mouth. This time, it wasn't a power play; it was for her pleasure. To set her to thrashing in moments. She tried clamping her thighs together in a vain attempt at fighting off the ravishing she endured at his tongue tip.

And as fast as it started, it ended. Her slobber-soaked lower half was let free, and she landed on a palm that subsequently tilted to deposit her onto the field of black that was his chest. She laid there, breathing heavy as he finished his statement while she felt it rumbling out from his chest:

“Me.”

“Holy shit,” she sighed, burying her face into fur, unable to meet his stare. He didn't seem to mind, though, as he started massaging her back with that enormous claw tip. She shivered as it went lower. Hafting the cleft of her backside. Pushing between her thighs to pat pussy lips that currently radiated warmth.

“Wasn't it worth it?” he asked in his husky voice. “Your old life will be nothing compared to this.”

Those were the only words Mr. Evans could have said that would break his spell. Her eyes snapped open as if she had been doused in cold water. She grabbed at fistfuls of fur as she stood, hands to her hips—because covering herself seemed irrelevant, now.

“You think tongue-fucking me is going to make this better?”

Truth be told, it had. She was fighting her excitement, making it simmer down, replacing it with white hot anger as she advanced toward his muzzle.

“You can't just... just try to seduce me into enjoying this. You need to find some way to make this right!” Hugging herself, she stared down at her feet. He was still silent. “What I'm saying is, I'm not some object that you can...” She trailed off, glaring up at him. “Hey, are you even listening to me?”

He was looking at her, but he had a particular gleam in his eyes. They looked glassy, glazed-over. Self-consciousness flared beneath that gaze, as if he was devouring her with it; she covered up, one arm over her unimpressive chest and a hand for her crotch.

It suddenly occurred to Kathy that she had been yelling at a living mountain range.

“Cold feet now, Ms. Price? Where's that spunk I so—ahh—admire.” It was when he let out that groan, closing his eyes and baring grit fangs, that she understood.

She recognized that expression. It wasn't exactly what she had imagined it would look like, but it was close—the same expression she had pictured in guilty fantasies. Imagining his hands gripping her shoulders. Pinning her to the bed and—

To confirm her suspicions, she turned around. Kathy shot a hand over her mouth; it was getting hard to breathe, and not just because a faint scent of panther musk was starting to hit her nostrils.

It was the breathtaking view of his erection. Dark, like the rest of him. A veiny spire of erotic flesh, its shaft folded in his grip, foreskin peeled back to reveal a cockhead slicked with traces of precum that glistened in the light.

His movements were still controlled. It was amazing how so much flesh could move without making a sound, but he was a natural predator—in many ways, it would seem.

“I have a confession, Ms. Price.” He didn't stop touching himself. With his free hand, however, he forced Kathy facedown and started dragging her forward. Smoothing her down the length of his chest. Upon his stomach. Then he let her go, allowing the little human to stand up and behold a shaft thicker than a tree trunk, well over twice her own height.

“Though I stole company property with good intentions—revolutionary intentions, in fact—for the world...” He let go of his cock. Like a felled tree, it descended. Kathy leapt backwards, landing on her butt as his shaft slapped against his chest with an impact she felt. “I do have a few selfish motivations.”

God, she could feel the heat radiating off of it. And the scent... That stuff wasn't supposed to work on humans, but Kathy clamped her thighs together while she sat directly in front of his meaty cockhead that could have dominated an entire three-cushioned couch. Its heady musk was accompanied by a faint mugginess in the air.

She curled her legs towards her chest as Mr. Evans traced his fingertip from the base of his twitching beast up to its exposed underbelly. He went on to pinch his cockhead, causing the slit to dilate, beads of pre leaking out and matting down his fur.

“I'm going to enjoy you,” he growled. “And though I would prefer if you enjoyed yourself as well... I'm going to continue one way or the other.”

There was no getting out of it. What could she do, protest? She had been protesting—a lot of good that had done her.

Fight back? Bite him? Sure, that would go over well—even if he was true to his word in not wanting to ever bring any harm to her, Kathy had swatted bugs over less on simple reflex, and then she would end up just like Doctor Kearns.

Touch herself? That was the only viable option. Just give in to this sudden turn in life and enjoy the hunk of a panther she had been whisked away by. It was a tempting offer, but she couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Paralyzed by indecision, left with options she didn’t want to take, Mr. Evans came to the rescue, unburdening her of another one of those pesky problems that only normal-sized people had to deal with:

Choice.

She couldn’t fight his finger’s press. She couldn’t stop him from pushing her towards his tip. That’s what she told herself—that she had to have her face buried in the spongy flesh near his slit. And that she absolutely, without a doubt, had no choice but to bring her tongue out to taste the slight slivers of precum that caked his cockhead.

That was the start. Her first time with Mr. Evans. Her first time delivering kisses; kisses she wasn’t even wholly aware she was delivering. Something primal overtook her, that close to the biggest cock anyone had ever seen.

She didn’t even notice that he had let go of her. Nor that her arms were outstretched, hugging to either side of his juicy tip, groping at its yielding flesh and feeling it flare from her ministrations.

Then, as his dick twitched once—just once—it was like a great beast rearing up out of her grasp. When it slapped back down, she recoiled, breathless and humiliated as it dawned on her what she had been doing.

“Why did you stop?” He sounded disappointed. She glared back at him. That only earned her laughter. “Cold feet?”

“N-no,” she stammered.

“Don’t fret. I’ll take care of everything.”

In one swift motion, he married her to his shaft. She was too weak to stand, but she didn’t have to use her legs. Mr. Evans could easily support someone who weighed less than a pound; the curl of his thumb magnanimously kept her supported, fastening her tight to his throbbing pillar which he forced to point skywards.

She was privy to its every twitch. Every pulse of a vein. With only his thumb pressed against her, she didn’t have to endure a faceful of panther dick, but with how tightly he held her, she did have to dig her chin into it, and every time she opened her eyes, there it was: the daunting length of his shaft.

Her arms were spread to her sides. She could wrap them around the edges, but no further. When he tensed his thumb, she pressed her palms to the wall of cock meat and pushed away from it—to no avail, of course.

She wished he would just get this over with. He was staring at her, she knew it. He must have been appreciating the view of tiny, helpless Kathy, pinned to his eight-incher. Dwarfed by his eight-incher. Forced to inhale the scent of his eight-incher.

Turned on by his eight-incher.

It was like she was strapped in for a rollercoaster ride—and she didn’t know when it was going to start. The anticipation was fear or excitement. Maybe both.

Definitely both.

Grant Evans was a bastard. This—he was doing this against her will. It was wrong, it left Kathy feeling fundamentally violated on so many levels.

But he was so huge. So hot. And the longer she waited while huffing musk fumes that wafted from his cock, the more her deranged perversions won out.

Horny or horrified, it didn’t matter what she felt in the seconds that followed. Mr. Evans did this for his own pleasure; she was simply along for the ride. He stroked himself off. Slow.

Gentle. He brought his constricting hand up—and further up, skidding her front against his rigid flesh. Unwittingly teasing her already-stiff nipples. Pushing her face directly into the start of his glans.

He forced her up further. It was so soft—his tip reminded her of memory foam. With Grant’s weight behind her, even her tiny upper body could dimple the sensitive start of his erection.

He brought her all the way to the slit, bubbling with pre that leaked free and forced her to sputter.

Then, down she went—all the way to the base.

That was the rhythm Mr. Evans established. And, considering the distant groans each rotation elicited, it was one that satisfied him. Kathy, too, though she was struggling to admit it to herself. Her body was betraying her in every way possible. She was groping his dick; it would be no more than a tickle for him, but each rigid or squishy handful managed to turn her on even more.

And every time he let her linger at the very top, where she nearly got high off of his scent, she would nibble and lick—frustrated with herself, but having been so thoroughly teased it would have been an even more brutal punishment to not indulge her sensual side.

There were no snide comments. No judgments or teases. Mr. Evans was losing himself to the sensation of jerking himself off while using Kathy as a sex toy—and, really, that’s all she was. Some extra sensation rubbing up against his dick. Too small for him to even notice the added effort she put in. Too insignificant to detect the thrust of her hips as she humped at this immense pillar like she had gone feral.

Hitched breaths. Grunts. Gasps. They rolled like thunder, accompanying the increasing pace of panther cock being pounded by his furious fist. Kathy was not handled gently. She was an afterthought to Mr. Evans’ mounting lusts, but she didn’t care. Completely lubed in glistening threads of pre, she was more preoccupied by the liquid leaking from her own snatch.

Uncontrollable. Indisputable. Arousal that she didn’t want, but had to endure nonetheless. His cock was reaching a boiling point. Heating up with every tug. She was reaching a boiling point. His scent. The sensation—it at last forced piping moans out from her tiny throat. And then she was ripped free. The world felt much colder on Grant’s stomach, no cockflesh to warm her tiny body. No pre to bathe her. But laid out there, taking in ragged breaths, she couldn’t stop her hand from tracing down her slender stomach and reaching between her legs.

“Shit,” she whispered. Staring forward at the dick Mr. Evans vigorously pumped, she hunched over and fingered herself, praying he wouldn’t see. Hoping to whatever gods were out there that he wouldn’t know he had this effect on her.

“I knew you’d come around.”

Of course, with her little body in plain sight, those had been high hopes.

“Like I said, Ms. Price…” His voice shook, that usual steadiness giving way to arousal as he steadily lowered his cock towards her. “What happens here stays between us.” His cockhead now pointed straight at her, and as she watched him carry on his masturbation session, she found herself unable to stop her own. All of the might he possessed in a single finger could have crushed her ten times over, and five of those fingers worked with unrelenting passion at his dick. It was an irresistible sight.

She should have moved, at the very least. She knew she should have, because she knew what was coming—she knew he was cumming. And with one last, heaving sigh that rattled out from his stomach, he brought new meaning to the phrase “blew his load.”

It bowled her over. Sent her somersaulting backwards. It was thick and viscous and steeped in the rich aroma of panther musk that was now a palpable atmosphere all around her. It got in her mouth. Her vagina. It coated her entire body. Then the second load came. And another.

Each spurt sent her from sitting up to sprawling out—and she never stopped fingering herself. Kathy’s eyes were clenched shut. How had she fallen this far in a few hours? What had made her cave? It didn’t matter. Not then. Her senses were too scrambled. Her arousal at its peak, she fingered herself, forcing his seed inside of her. Kathy arched her back, letting out the shrillest of cries that her windpipes had ever managed to produce—and came.

She landed back in his seed with a pitiful plap, tiny chest rising and falling so fast it was a miracle the air even reached her lungs before being exhaled. It was such a thick, heavy load it was hard for her to move. Like slogging through a pool of molasses.

But that was okay, Kathy was content to bask, delirious from what had been the best finger-fuck of her whole life. A dopey smile persisted on her lips. All felt right with the world. “Are you finished, or should I give you a few moments?” His words tore the rug out from under her; bliss fled, muscled out by dread. She stared up from her puddle to see the bemused panther propping himself up on his bed, smirking down at the girl bathing in his cum. “Sorry to interrupt—it’s just that you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

Unsure what else to say, she told him, “I’m… I’m done.”

“Good,” he purred, extracting her from the puddle and bringing her to his snout. Gentle tongue laps washed seed out from every nook and cranny of her exposed body. The attentions of that tongue were almost enough to get her worked up again.

Settling into his bed, he found a new place to situate her. His hands were folded behind his head once again. Though she couldn’t see his face while sitting on his ceiling-pointed snout, her little legs dangling off the edge, she was certain he had a perpetual smirk on his face. Those I-told-you-so eyes twinkled with her reflection. A thoroughly bedraggled reflection, after she had been completely matted in seed and spit.

“I still can’t forgive you.” There was doubt in her voice as she said it. He had used her, but she had…

She had loved it.

“Consider it an ongoing project, my pet.”

“Pet?” she whined out the word.

Rather than reply, he returned Kathy to the sprawl of his muscular chest. This time, he didn’t look down to check up on her. “Lights out,” he said, and they actually turned off.

“Normally, I’d say we could shower off, but this time I’m positive I’ve run you ragged.”

The moment the lights had gone out, Kathy’s eyes had begun to grow heavy. It was hard not to consider the field of black before her a perfectly comfortable place to sleep.

“And after tonight, I think you’ve earned your rest. So, go ahead… sleep wherever you want.” Then, after a pause, he added, “I won’t judge if you go lower.” She heard the snicker that followed, and perhaps he felt the blush on her tiny body. Her legs would go no further, however. On Mr. Evans’ chest, above his heart, it was as good a place as any to collapse in exhaustion, the lullaby of his heartbeat slowing to steady pace.

“Goodnight, dear.”

Kathy murmured a reply, curling up, trying to think of herself as laying on the world’s largest bed—and not the world’s largest kidnapper.

“And for what it’s worth, I will find a way to make this right.”

He offered her one last gentle caress with his fingertip. She accepted, nestling deeper into his fine fur, inhaling the comforting scent of his cologne. Kathy was so relaxed she had to fight a smile from creeping up her lips.

And as she settled in for her first night as Grant Evans’ shrunken pet, there was a looming fear—one that loomed larger than the panther himself:

Staying mad was going to be harder than she thought.