She blinked her eyes open and glanced at the clock. Her alarm would go off in ten minutes. She sluggishly reached out to dismiss it. She was awake. Better to avoid waking up her husband. It was a shame. They so seldom got to spend any time together. She was a rather important executive who routinely had to leave town for weeks at a time, as she had to today. He was a gig worker, technically several gig workers. He really didn’t need to work a job, let alone three-to-five of them on any given day. She brought in more than enough money to cover their bills. But he was just old fashioned enough to not be content to be a trophy husband–and a trophy he was. She loved him for the total package–his heart, his personality, his mind–but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that this particular package had a very lovely wrapping. But he wanted to earn his own money, pull his weight. So rather than taking it easy, or even letting her buy him a ticket and joining her on her trip, he worked himself to the bone and they spent maybe one weekend a month in the same bed. She wanted more time with him. Wanted to be close to him. But she knew there was no keeping him from working without physically restraining him.

… Physically restraining him…

An idea came to mind. It was… odd, but she didn’t allow herself to dismiss it. It was a way to force him into joining her and maybe getting to be intimate a bit more than once per full-moon. And all it would take was a little finesse and a lot of pressure.

She pulled open the linen closet and quietly tugged the iron from inside. She plugged it in and fiddled with the dial. This would need to be very precisely calibrated. With the iron at just about the lowest setting, she ran a finger over the heavy metal plate and nodded. Barely hot at all. It would do just fine.

~~~

He teetered on the edge of sleep, in that half-dream state where you’re vaguely aware of what’s going on but can’t bring yourself to actually engage your brain or body sufficiently to do anything about it. Instead, sensations filtered into his consciousness slowly. Lovely, sensitizing pressure. Slow, smooth strokes. Warmth. He squirmed a bit at the pleasant slide along his arms, along his legs. Each slide produced a squirm, and each squirm was subtly less… squirmy. It wasn’t that the sensations were softer. Quite the opposite. Every sweep of the warm firmness over him felt a little more intense. A little deeper. A little more tingly. But each time it happened, he found he had less squirming he could do. His body just didn’t feel like it. Or maybe just couldn’t do it. Just as the back of his mind was fizzing and popping with enough confused thoughts to consider finally booting up and seeing what was going on, a titanic increase in raw sensation jolted him to full wakefulness. The sweeping smoothness had found its way to his groin. With a spike of sensation that came to the very brink of pain, followed by a near orgasmic wringing sensation along the length of his shaft, he opened his eyes and gasped.

Still sluggish from sleep, he struggled to figure out what was happening. His lovely wife was straddling him in the bed. She had their iron in hand, and was passing it in slow sweeps along his groin, a distant smile on her face as she admired her handiwork. He tried to raise a hand to nudge the iron away–much more of this and he was going to cum, and it seemed a waste to climax without taking advantage of his wife’s playful mood to pleasure her a bit too. But his attempt to move his arm only resulted in a gentle ripple of a peach-colored ribbon that it took him a few seconds to recognize as his own flattened limb. Indeed, his entire body, save his head, had been lovingly ironed until it was no thicker than the sheet he was sleeping on.

“H-honey…” he managed.

“Shh-shh-shh,” she murmured, slinking up along him, knees dimpling and crumpling his thighs and waist.

She raised the iron and, before he could protest any further, pressed it to his face. The same oddly pleasant warm pressure eased his face and skull thinner and thinner, slow and even sweeps and strokes of the iron stealing the last bit of depth he had. When she took the iron away, all he could do is stare at her excited, lustful expression as she set the iron aside.

“There. Now you can’t help but come along. And we don’t even need a spare ticket! Though, I will have to stuff you in my carry on… Unless…”

He quivered with sensation as she worked her fingers under his head and pulled him from the bed with a static-clingy SHRIP. Her fingers felt warm, and his flattened body was so sensitive he could feel her pulse and the texture of her finger prints. All she’d have to do to push him over the edge in this state was work his pliable form between her fingers for a few seconds. It didn’t even need to be an erogenous zone. His forehead was sensitive enough to make his heart race as she pinched it. With slow, careful motions she folded him this way and that, sending a startled quiver through him when tight fingers slid along him, forming a crease. His view soon vanished as his head was folded back, then back again, enfolding in his own body. She bundled him up, smaller and smaller. It was literally mind-bending, and he had no reasonable way of knowing what shape he’d ended up in. … But he did know what part of him was still exposed.

~~~

She held up her newly portable husband. It would have taken the average person a few seconds to figure out what exactly she was holding had they not seen her doing her work. He had been reduced to neat little rectangle of tight folds, every human feature carefully tucked away on the inside except for one. His cock, which was presently doing it’s very best to engorge itself despite its flattened state, was unfurled from the front of the rectangle. She deftly wrapped it around the outside of the bundle, earning a chaotic tremble of his flattened form as a reward, and then slyly tugged out the front of her panties. She carefully slid him down, his smooth, flat skin gliding against her slit, and let the panties snap shut, sealing him inside. She purred in delight as she gently stroked her panties, grinding him between the satin fabric and her own moistness.

“This is going to be a lovely flight…”