I came home to the dorm. It had been a really tough week, but with it behind me I had the whole winter break with nothing pressing or anxiety inducing to fill it for once. Because of some transit problems, I wouldn’t be heading home for the week either. Just a few days of chilling with my roommate Vanda, who was in the same boat.

“Well, well, well,” said Vanda, the aforementioned roommate.

Though we were the same age, Vanda was a full head taller than me and she never let me forget it. She marched up to me, stepping close so she could properly tower over me.

“The little man is finally out of class,” She said with a snicker.

“Back off, beanpole.” I said, my tone matching the playfulness of her own.

Her body sported a nicer set of curves than someone more deserving of the nickname would have, and the fashionably goth outfits she wore did a fine job of highlighting that lovely figure, so “beanpole” didn’t really suit her. But there were only so many terms you could use to tease tall people.

I tossed my bag on the floor next to my desk. She sat on the bed opposite it and grinned at me. I took a seat and turned to her. For someone so into the goth aesthetic, she spent an awful lot of time smiling. She was far from the sullen or brooding person one might expect. But there was something different about this grin. It wasn’t an “I just thought of something funny” grin. It was a “he doesn’t know what I’m planning” grin.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked, feeling more than a little wary.

“I was just thinking about how nice it’ll be to have you to myself for a while. We’ve both been so busy, we never hang out anymore.”

I blushed and smirked a little. Despite her curious phrasing, I’d been thinking the same thing. One of the best parts of college had been meeting her. We weren’t a couple or anything–as pretty and cool as she was, she’d never date a guy like me–but we always had a lot of fun when we got to hang out.

“Wanna play a game?” she said, kicking her feet and leaning forward excitedly.

“What sort of game?” I asked.

“If I tell you, you might say no,” she said simply.

I rolled my eyes. “You want to play one of your weird seance games, don’t you?”

“In keeping with her goth aesthetic, I always joked about her being a witch. She never denied it.

“How about a bet, then? Flip a coin five times. If it comes up heads all five times, you agree to do whatever I want. If it comes up tails even once, we do whatever you want.”

“But what do you want to do?” I asked.

“I guess you have a one-in-thirty-two chance of finding out.”

“I gave her a measuring look. She winked. The little playful gesture was a precision attack on my good sense. When she was so cute, how could I refuse?

I dug a coin out of my pocket. The first flip came up heads.

“Good start!” she said.

Two more flips. Two more heads. I flipped the coin a fourth time.

“Heads!” she chirped, well before the coin landed, but she was right.

“One more,” I said. “It all comes down to this. A fifty-fifty chance.”

“I don’t know. I think the odds are more in my favor than that,” she said.

I flipped the coin.

“Heads!” she proclaimed, while it was still on its way up.

I didn’t have time to even consider commenting on how she’d jumped the gun, because the instant she said the word, the coin stopped in mid air, flipped to heads, and slapped down on my palm.

“Winner!” she said, raising her arms triumphantly.

“What the– How did you do that?” I said.

“Doesn’t matter, we had a deal, no takesy-backsies,” she said, hopping off the bed.

“I, um…” I stammered, a bit lost. “What are we going to do now?”

“We are going to do whatever I want. Hands up and hold still.”

She accompanied each command with a short, precise hand motion, and I did as I was told. That’s not to say I obeyed. What she asked for just happened.My arms shot up and my body locked in position. I was suddenly statue-still. She giggled gleefully and practically pranced up to me.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for months,” she said, rubbing her hands together.

She grabbed the edge of my shirt and slid it up and off. I felt my cheeks heat up with a blush as she tossed the shirt aside and stepped back for a moment, like an artist admiring her handiwork.

“Not bad,” she said, with an appreciative nod. “I especially like your cute, pudgy tummy.”

She practically pounced on me, sliding her black fingernails across my belly. I couldn’t even squirm as the tickly sensation drove me wild. I could just flare my nostrils, release a fluttery whimper, and blush across half my body.

“Look at you! Look at the goose bumps!” How about when I do this? Does this tickle?”

She wriggled her fingers in my armpits and against the back of my neck. Just when I thought the raw feeling of exposure and flustered embarrassment couldn’t get any more powerful, she ducked out of sight and unbuckled my belt. I whimpered again as I was stripped to my boxers, then I was reduced to squealing giggles as she teased her nails across my kneecaps and the backs of my knees.

When I was breathless and red from head to toe, she stood up and gave my butt a playful slap.

“How long have we been friends and you haven’t let me inspect your body properly?” she asked. “You almost make a girl feel unwelcome. Tell you what? Just so there’s no doubt…”

She backed away, out of my frozen field of view, and returned with something I couldn’t quite identify. She clicked something and ducked down again. I felt the chemical sting of a felt-tip marker on my belly. After a few tickly letters, she stood up and capped the marker.

“There,” she said. “Have a look.”

She motioned with her hands, flitting her fingers upward. I gently lifted into the air and rotated. When I stopped I was facing the mirror on the back of the door. My body was stuck in the same position, such that my fingers were brushing the ceiling, I was in nothing but my boxers, and she had scrawled “property of Vanda” in bold red letters on my belly.

“Doesn’t that feel better? Now there’s no question who you belong to.”

She gave me a playful boop on my nose and mused for a moment, making me simultaneously dread and anticipate what she’d come up with next. It didn’t take her long. She stepped in front of me and looked me straight in the eye.

“You know, when I’ve got you floating like this, we’re the same height. That simply won’t do.”

She raised her hand to chin-level, then slowly eased it down. I felt my feet touch the ground, then felt additional pressure and weight, like I’d strapped on a heavy backpack. She stepped up so that she was properly staring down at me. Slowly I felt the will to move my head return. I used that restored motion to glance up. She smirked. Then she placed her other hand atop the first and pressed them down, lowering them as if it took great force.

I grunted, a tight, aching pressure built through my body. It wasn’t painful, just profoundly intense… and I was getting shorter. I couldn’t move, my hands were still held high over my head, but I could feel my flesh and bones yielding like they were made of clay. I was reducing, Compacting. The raw intensity was making me quiver despite my unmoving body.

“Nnnnng…” I groaned, watching as inch after inch of my height was masked away, compacted into a trembling, hyper-sensitive tightness.

I sunk down lower, packed down tighter. Past waist level. Past knee level. I could feel my legs spreading, widening against the cool floor. I watched my arms start to compress out of the corners of my eyes, felt my head tipping upward and easing flatter. It felt like every nerve in my body had been concentrated into a single layer. I was practically humming with pent-up sensation. I stared straight up, barely as thick as the sole of her black boots.

“Hmmhmmhmm,” she chuckled. “Oh, that’s such a good look for you.”

She crouched down, smiling wide, like she’d found a brand new plaything. Which, I supposed, she did.

“You’re cute and pathetic as a disc. Just exactly the way I like it.”

“She reached out and pressed a fingertip to my flattened body.

“Mmmmh!” I squealed.

My body was so sensitive, the merest grazing slip of her fingertip felt like electricity.

“Aw… not forceful enough? I bet you’d like a nice, deep massage. This is the way they do it in exotic spas.”

“She stood and raised her boot. I quaked and whimpered as I realized what she was planning. Down came the boot, stepping on my face with all her weight. WIth her boot on my flattened mouth, even my mewling groans were muffled. I felt like my brain was burning with sensation. She leaned on one boot, grinding my flattened chest like she was putting out a cigarette. It was just short of pain, and well past pleasure. Just when I thought I couldn’t bear another moment, she stepped off and crouched down.

“You know… I’m having a wonderful time, but I realize this isn’t quite all about me. Maybe we should take a break. I just have to get you off the floor. You’re a little stuck.”

She turned, giving me a lovely, close view of her butt. Then, with a sudden *WHOOMP*, she plopped down on my face for an even closer view. The pressure was exquisite, my groaning moan muffled by her ass. The warm, soft flesh on my face was distracting enough that I almost didn’t feel the fingernails picking and pinching at my rounded, squished edge. She finally peeled me off the floor and slipped me out from under her ass. A few waving motions of her arms sent me flapping and flicking in the air in front of her, like she was trying to shake the dust out of an old towel. It was a unique–and distracting–experience to have my body curve and flop at her mercy. But with each flap and waggle, I felt the sensitivity of my body start to ease back to bearable levels.

After three or four flaps, she released me. I flipped through the air like a tossed pancake and, without warning, popped back to shape. I was still flipping through the air, but I could feel that I had my arms and legs back, and I could even move them (for all the good it did me.) My end-over-end tumbling through the air ended when I landed on something soft and warm. Before I could get my wits back and stop the room from spinning, I was gently dumped onto a cool, smooth surface.

For a precious few moments, I was human-shaped, able to move, and stationary. I used that time to climb to my feet and assess the whole manic situation, starting with myself. I was still in my boxers, I was still labeled “Property of Vanda,” and I looked dizzily at the ground at my feet. It had a familiar gray marble pattern. It looked almost like… the counter in the kitchenette. I heard something thumping above me and looked up to see Vanda. A lot of Vanda. I was standing on the counter, and assuming she was normal sized, that made me about 4 inches tall. She was rummaging through the cabinet. For a few precious moments I was too overcome by awe to react. Then, just as I was starting to think it might be a good idea to run and hide until I understood what was going on, an overturned juice glass clacked down over me, capturing me like a ladybug.

Her huge face grinned through the glass as she leaned close. Though the gleeful look was still on her face, there was a hint of uncertainty tempering it.

“So, short stuff, how are you liking it?” she said.

Impressively, I was able to sweep together enough of my frazzled brains to speak.

“How?” I muttered.

“Um… So you know how you always joke that I’m a witch?” She shrugged. “Joke’s over.”

“And… all of this?” I said, waving my hands in a broad attempt to encompass everything.

“Enjoying it?” she asked, wincing a bit as though afraid of the answer.

I had to stop and think, but for much less time than expected.

“... Kinda…” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Eeheehee!” she squealed. “I knew you’d be into it!”

“But I don’t understand. What’s it all about? Even I didn’t know I was into this sort of thing. What’s it all about for you?”

“I just… I just get a jolt out of having power over someone. But most people aren’t into it and, you know, when you’ve got magic powers there’s lines you learn not to cross. Without having a little restraint, us witches and the like could make life a pretty dangerous place. But then we became roommates. We started busting each other’s chops. I’d pick on you for being littler than me, and you didn’t get half as annoyed as most guys. I started to get this feeling. Like, now nice it would be to… have you. Like, I’ve kind of got a thing for you. But you weren’t making a move, so I figured you didn’t feel the same way. That didn’t mean we couldn't have some fun, though.”

I leaned my back against the juice glass, gazing through the side at her lovely face.

“I… kind of have a thing for you too.” I said. “I just didn’t think I had a chance, and I didn’t want to make things weird.”

She lifted the glass and plucked me up, setting me in the palm of her hand.

“I’d say things have gotten pretty weird. But that’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“I guess not.”

She smiled, a bit warmer and less manic than before.

“Well,” she breathed, pulling me close. “Break time’s over…”

She shut her eyes and leaned forward, lips puckered. I did the same. At my size, her dark, glossy lips practically engulfed my head. The kiss was warm, tender, and lovely… for about three seconds. Then came a sharp inhale through her nose, a finger to the back of my head to hold me in place, and–

*HUFFFFFFFF*

Her warm breath rushed into me. Immediately I could feel my tiny body inflating, stretching and creaking as my brief return to my proper shape and mobility was replaced by an aching, sensual stretch. It was like the disc crush, but even more intense, because not only was my skin growing more taut, the pressure was building inside me. A few more breaths and I was releasing a rubbery, hollow squeak with each motion. My face was stretched comically. My body was the classic teardrop balloon shape. Once she was satisfied with my inflation she deftly tied my lips and gave me a bop. My whole surface trembled with vibration that drove me wild with sensation. When I landed in her palm, she held me tight and squeaked her fingers across me, sustaining the mind-melting vibrations like she was playing a wine glass. Half-heard grunts and moans were muffled by my tied lips.

I lost track of how long she straddled the thrilling line between playing with me and torturing me. But the next stage in the game was marked by a snap of her fingers that caused my tied lips to unfasten. I darted backward, air rushing out, but she caught me and pulled me closer, locking lips with me once more and huffing breath into me again. This time, rather than expanding my round little body into an even more taut balloon, my features started to pop back to size, gradually inflating me like a life-size blow-up doll.

“W-wow… That was… an intense little game,” I said, gently drifting down to touch the floor.

For the first time since I’d been frozen in place, I felt like my normal self. I didn’t even feel inflated. I felt normal.

“I’m almost sad it’s over,” I said.

“She looked over her shoulder from where she was crouched, digging into the back of another cabinet.

“Oh, you think it’s over?” I said.

“You did restore me.”

“That’s just because when you’re full size, it’s more fun to do this!”

She whipped a bottle out of the cabinet and thrust it at me. I recognized it as the empty olive oil bottle that she’d told me she was saving for “a special occasion.” The bottle squeaked down over me, my head roughly compacting enough to squeak through the thin neck and plump up a bit once it was through. There wasn’t nearly enough room for my whole, full-size head, though. SO my face ended up mashed flat against the glass. I couldn’t manage more than an exquisitely agonized grunt as my body followed my head inch by inch. My arms and legs became mashed and entangled, squeaking inside the bottle and poking in every which way as a full size man was packed into something that had barely  held enough oil for a month of cooking.

By the time my toes popped inside, I felt like my whole body was being squished tight in a glassy vice.

She screwed on the cap and grinned through the glass at her handiwork, my whole body distorted and flattened against the glass in the tiny space.

“There… that’ll keep you nice and fresh. We’ve got a long week ahead of us, after all…”