Selma sat in the waiting room with a few other young women. They were all interviewing for the same job. Two weeks ago, she never would have dreamed of interviewing for such a position. But two weeks ago, she didn’t have a male model all her own. As a flutter of the old insecurity that used to define her reared its ugly head, she thought back to the day it had all begun.

~~~

She opened the dryer and hastily pulled the clothes and her other special item from inside. A heavy, rubbery flop suggested it wasn’t all clothing, but she hastily shuffled the contents of her laundry basket to ensure no one would see. Her mind was racing as she rushed to her apartment and dumped out the basket. She stuffed her clothes unceremoniously into the drawers and focused on her accidental acquisition. She unfurled and smoothed it on the bed with care once more. Feeling her fingers gliding across the smooth surface was maddening. It was warm, too. Still hot from the dryer in fact. And for the time being, it was hers.

The form was just as exquisite as it had been before. A male model, and adonis, who she had, in a panic, squashed down to two dimensions. Now that he’d been washed and dried, he looked even better. Somehow the exquisite, chiseled detail of his abs, biceps, and thighs seemed more defined. She reluctantly looked to his face. The part of her that remembered this was a person, and thus could never truly belong to her, feared that the expression would be one of horror, or anger. What she found, instead, was a look of supreme relaxation. It had changed since he’d been flattened, going from sleepy and confused to blissful and serene.

“You’re… You’re enjoying this…” she whispered.

Selma let her eyes slide down along his perfect body and gazed at his manhood. As before, it was the only part of him that was measurably thicker than the rest. With shaking fingers, she brushed a hand over it. The squished length twitched and pulsed ever so slightly at her touch. She bit her lip and tried to push aside the desire to climb back on top of the flattened form and grind herself to a fresh climax. At some point she would have to find a way to get him restored, even if they both seemed to like what had become of him. She crawled into bed, this time laying chastly beside him and running her hand over his chest.

“What am I going to do with you?” she wondered.

As she dreamily thought of what it would be like to sleep curled up with him, wrapped in him, she gradually realized something besides his thickness had changed.  When she’d first encountered him, he was appreciably taller than her. Now they were toe to toe and nose to nose.

“What… how did you…” Her eyes darted about for a moment. Then it dawned on her. “You shrunk in the wash.”

Her mind immediately surged with new thoughts. Thoughts she never dreamed she’d have. And as her imagination filled her head with these possibilities, she could feel her will power beginning to creak under the weight of it all.

She glanced to his face and found his eyes locked on hers. As if he could read her mind, he managed to slowly, purposefully, wink. The corner of his mouth curved in the tiniest hint of a smile.

Selma didn’t give her conscience a moment more to argue. She roughly wadded up his body, dumped it in the laundry basket, and rushed to the laundry room. In her haste, she didn’t even bother disguising the fleshy, balled up body. Into the washer it went again, and when it was through, into the dryer. With agonizing impatience she watched as her new toy squeakily flopped and squished against the dryer’s window. When the cycle was done, she pulled him out again and held him against her like a dress. He was smaller now, maybe a foot shorter than her. She almost squealed with glee as she immediately threw him back into the washer for another run.

It took four more loads and most of the night, but by the time he’d finally reached a point where he would shrink no more, her little decal of a man was less than a foot tall. Still perfectly proportioned and mouthwatering to look at, he was now small enough that she could hold him comfortably in her hand.

“All mine…” she whispered.

She closed her hand around him, rubbing her thumb lovingly over his groin. She shut her eyes and drank in the warmth, the subtle details she could still feel. She felt him quiver and shudder at her kneading. He was perfect. A beautiful man any woman would love to have. But she had him. He was hers.

~~~

She opened her eyes and looked around the waiting room once more. Casually, she slipped her hand into her purse and felt for the familiar, comforting smoothness of his body. She rubbed it like it was a lucky rabbit’s foot, but it wasn’t working. At least, not the way she hoped. To get the confidence she needed, she’d need to kick things up a notch.

Selma excused herself to the bathroom. After selecting a stall, she opened her purse and tugged him from inside. His tiny form blinked at her. His little face had become a bit more mobile, more expressive, as he’d gotten smaller, but never did he seem to have any expression other than comfort, contentment, and arousal. She flattened him on her palm and brought him to her lips. Pressing her lips to him, she gave him a firm kiss. She peeled him away, leaving him with the massive red lipstick mark perfectly marking where the kiss had landed. She then tugged the waistband of her skirt and panties out and dropped him inside. After a bit of jiggling to slide him into place, she pulled the panties tight against her and purred at the feeling of him pressed firmly against her womanhood.

When she returned to the waiting room, any hint of inferiority was gone. Sure, these were beautiful, capable people. But did they have a man happily pinned against them? Could they literally wrap a man around their finger? Carry him around? Wear him like an accessory? No. Because he was hers. She pressed her legs together and shifted in the seat to feel him slide against her.

He was hers.