Stepdad, I Shrunk Myself

Chapter One: Paul's Gurgling Gut

By Graybeards

This story contains graphic depictions of sexual intercourse and strong language. Don't read this if you are under 18 years of age or it's not legal for you to do so. The characters are adults and purely fictional. Please don't share my work without my permission. I post stories on my Tumblr if you'd like to read my other work.

I turn off the hallway lights before pushing open the bedroom door. Paul is sound asleep, snoring like a lawnmower, and alone in bed. Mom married him while I was away at college, and it's been tense since I graduated. He doesn't like having me around, and I maintain the pretense that it's mutual. I feign a sneer whenever he struts around the house in nothing but a pair of ratty boxers that his round, black-haired gut hangs over.

But I can't stop thinking about him. I lie in bed all night, drifting between waking and dreaming, fantasizing about him. Not even the typical fantasies—weird stuff where's he a hundred feet tall with feet the size of cars. Dreams where I'm trapped in his shoe or squished against the fabric of a pair of briefs by his cock.

I creep into Paul's bedroom, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness with nothing but the glow of stars through the window. He's lying on his back, covers wrapped down about his waist in the center of the king size bed, with his thick, muscled arms up over his head and fingers interlocked behind his head. How can anyone sleep like that? I think to myself as I quietly admire the slow rise and fall of his burly chest.

I reach into the pocket of my pajamas and pull out a small bottle of swirling white liquid that seems to glow in the dark. This is insane, I scold myself, I can't believe I even wasted my money on this. It will never work. But still, I uncork the bottle and lift it to my lips as I stand beside the bed.

It tastes sweet, almost seductive, and it feels strangely warm. The warmth doesn't just slide down my throat, it blossoms outward and softly courses through my veins. The heat works through my arms, all the way down to my wiggling toes, and finally up into my brain.

The potion feels so relaxing that I nearly forget what it's meant to do. The floor begins racing up toward me and I barely manage to flail out my arms in time to catch myself on the edge of the bed, grasping the covers tightly as my head spins with a sudden, disorienting sensation.

My arms are burning with exertion to hold myself up by the comforter, and as my eyes refocus and I look down I realize why. Hanging several stories below my dangling feet is the wood floor I was just standing on, where a pile of my crumpled pajamas sits with an empty, glowing bottle atop it. I look up, see the edge close above me, and begin clawing my way up, my heart pounding with fear.

I breathe a sigh of relief when my hand finally curled over the edge and I pulled myself up onto the bed, lying on my back and panting with exhaustion. When I roll up to sit facing away from the edge, I gasp. It's like one of my dreams, but it's far too real. I stare out across the vast expanse of the bed at Paul, who is now the size of a skyscraper, and I suddenly recognize the booming background noise of his colossal snores.

My heart beats so hard my legs feel weak as I sit there. Exhaustion from the climb and terror of this new, massive world, but mostly, unbridled excitement to explore it. I pull myself up to my feet and start walking across the bed. I weigh so little at this size that the covers barely give beneath my feet. As I draw closer to Paul, the ground sinks forward and I find myself nearly falling face-first as I hastily walk up to the massive hill of the man's thigh under the blanket.

I roll my shoulders and stretch out my limber arms as I grab hold of the fabric and begin to climb. Anticipation fuels my ascent and I quickly find myself standing atop the warm tube of Paul's expansive leg. I walk carefully along it, dropping to my knees and grabbing handfuls of fabric when the massive man's leg shifts below me. To him, a slight twitch; to me, an earthquake. My mouth goes dry as I think of what would happen if he rolled over.

I see the edge of the blanket, and the swell of Paul's gargantuan gut, before me, but my attention is drawn to my right where there is a hint of a bulge in the fabric landscape. I grin with excitement and tumble forward with my first step as the stretched blanket sinks under my weight into his crotch. The smell of him is suddenly overwhelming, dizzying me with the musk emanating from his crotch, as I land on my ass beside the imprint of the base of his cock.

I eagerly rush forward and wrap my legs around the swell of Paul's manhood, leaning forward to press my chest against his warm, squishy flesh. My arms outstretched, I can barely reach the a third of the way around him with the tips of my fingers. I scoot along his shaft, pressing the thin blankets taut around him, until I'm astride the edge of his shaft with my hands pressing down into his squishy head.

As I sit there, bouncing up and down with a huge smile at this unnoticed exploration, my eyes go wide. I feel a pulse below me, and Paul's cock begins to feel warmer just before it thickens. I'm dragged along the covers as his shaft stretches down and tips forward over his balls until it lifts back up as he grows more rigid. I made him hard! I think.

But the whole bed shakes when he shifts with a booming snort. I look back over my shoulder just in time to see a massive, meaty hand lowering toward me. I jump forward at the last second before his palm, between his forefinger and thumb, crushes against the shaft right where I was sitting, but I don't land in the covers. I'm caught by his curled index finger and squeezed against his cock head. Trapped there, I feel a wetness seeping through the blankets as the sudden stink of Paul's precum fills my nostrils.

Quickly as it began, Paul's hand pulls away, but I am dragged up into the air atop his curled finger. I cling to it, screaming in my tiny voice, as the world swirls around me until it drops me and I manage to roll aside just before his colossal hand presses down into a forest of thick black hair. The ground below me gurgles and swells, making me sway where I sit, and I look around to realize I'm at the center of his huge gut.

Seated, the whole bottom half of my body is buried in his belly hair. But even after that near-death experience, I'm still grinning at the sound of my stepdad's stomach below me. I lifted myself up unsteadily and stand atop the center, his huge hands absently scratching beside me. I giddily slide under his palm in the haven of his expansive belly button. It's warm in there, and it reeks of him, but I figure it to be a safe haven. Even as Paul rubs his belly and mutters something in his sleep, I'm protected from his crushing palm.

I take a few deep breaths. The longer I spend this close to Paul, the less offensive the smell of him becomes. It almost seems intoxicating, like it's lowering my inhibitions as I explore his body.

I press my fingers into his massive skin, feeling his small pores in my tiny fingers. I cuddle up in my haven and savor the warmth of the man's noisy body all around me.

When Paul's hand finally lifts back down to his crotch, I slip up atop his belly again and look around. Across the vast expanse of his gut and chest, I see his handsome face blown up to the size of our house. I take my time, feeling the squish of his skin beneath my bare feet as I trudge through the forest of fur covering his body. I tumble forward through the hair as I come over the ridge of his gut and find myself leaning back against the base of it, at the beginning of his muscled chest.

His flesh is stronger, firmer as I go up the man's powerful chest, but it rises and falls heavily with every snoring breath. I chart a path between his built pectorals until I feel the bulging top center of his rib cage, his massive heart thumping beneath my feet like a beating drum. I vault over and land in the squishy pit of his jugular, carefully crawling along up to his Adam's apple when it suddenly recedes. I squeeze tight against his body as I hear him swallow in his sleep.

I carefully step up onto his Adam's apple and reach up to wrap my hands over the edge of his chin. Just as I lift myself up, his jaw shifts with me atop it, holding on for dear life until Paul settles back with his mouth open, snoring again.

His thick black stubble scrapes against my bare chest as I pull myself up and stand, awed again by the scale of my stepdad's gargantuan face. I'm careful, crawling along up as I feel his bottom teeth against my knees, through his lips. I inch along around his mouth, the odor of his breath filling my lungs as I gasp for the oxygen he's greedily sucking down. Still, I manage to make my way up to sit just above his upper lip, leaning back against his open nostrils.

How much longer can this potion last? I suddenly wonder. I should get over to the edge of the bed before it wears off. But just as I start to slide over toward his cheeks, Paul tilts his head forward ever so slightly. The sudden shift sends me tumbling forward toward his lip and over onto his warm tongue.

I gasp in terror as I try to stay still atop the massive muscle. He's stopped snoring and his head is titled forward. He must be nearly awake. His mouth is dry from the snoring, but still his tongue is slippery enough that I stare fearfully at the entrance to his throat.

But as I carefully slide down over the edge of his tongue and stand just behind his bottom teeth, I can't help but look around. I run my hands over the man's gargantuan tongue and walk along the row of impressive teeth. Paul has worked as a dentist for twenty years and it shows. Even in the dark with just a hint of light glimmering between his open lips, his chompers are pure white.

I stop and admire his huge right canine tooth, running my fingers over its tip and imagining the massive man tearing off a strip of steak with his powerful jaw. I stand there for so long that I don't even notice the change in Paul's breath. I don't even realize he's awake until he suddenly sucks in a huge breath and lets out an airy yawn. He smacks his dry lips and his tongue shoves me against his wolfish canine.

The world shifts around me as my stepdad lifts his head up and I flip over to hug against his canine between it and his bottom lip. I hold on in terror as gravity squishes me down against his lip and saliva starts flooding all around me, drenching me with a warm wetness. I cling to his tooth in a desperate bear hug as I'm shaken around with every booming step he takes as he trudges down the stairs.

There's a sucking sound and then a blinding light floods between Paul's parted lips, illuminating his mouth and making my jaw drop in awe of the unusual sight. His teeth glow like jewels. His massive, ruby tongue twitches. The roof of his mouth glistens with the wetness of his salivation. I hear a snap and turn my head at the last moment to see the round opening of a milk jug pressed against his lips. I hold on tight as a flood of the frigid white liquid pours down over me and down his tongue to slide down his throat with great, booming gulps.

It feels as if he's chugging forever before the flood stops as suddenly as it started, and Paul's body rumbles as he lets out a massive, deafening belch of fetid air that dizzies me against his tooth.

"Much better," he mutters, his colossal voice unrecognizable and deep in my seat in his jaw. He smacks his wet lips happily and I hear the fridge close as the lights go out. Just a little longer, I think to myself. He'll go back to bed and I'll get out of here.

I hold tight as he trudges back up the stairs with heavy footsteps, loud as wrecking balls. But he's still upright when he stops, I look over my shoulder but his lips are barely parted and it's dark. The mystery is solved when I hear a thunderous sound of liquid striking liquid as I catch the faint smell of his piss wafting through the air. When he finishes, he stays still for a moment and I feel his body jerking slightly as he mutters, "Fuck, I'm gonna have to find a cum dump if Beth takes this travel job."

I'm almost there, I promise myself, but as the world starts shifting around me again, the tip of Paul's tongue suddenly bludgeons against me. I hold tight, squeezing my slick chest to the enamel of his sharp tooth, but it hits me again, knocking me back. I manage to grab hold again before he sucks his teeth and gulps down all the loose saliva around me.

I'm buried in a pool of warm milk and half-digested steak in Paul's dark, reeking stomach, but despite it all his voice drew me to the point of orgasm. I pump my cock until I splattered an insignificant little load into the contents of the man's colossal gut. I hear his hand rubbing my prison as I stand there and let reality set in.

Just as an unthinkable terror is setting in, I feel something rain down on me. Liquid, but not cold like the milk. It's viscous and hot, and the smell is... unmistakable. Paul's load coats my head and chest. It seeps between my lips, the massive glob sneaking its way onto my tongue until I start shoveling it in and swallowing as much as I can.

His belch sucks the air out of the room and I find it harder and harder to breathe. My senses dull, but still I savor the taste of Paul's seed until my consciousness fades...

I wake with a start, gasping for air and grabbing around me. I grasp fistfuls of blankets and see my own bedroom around me. I'm drenched in nervous sweat instead of manly juices. I smack my lips and imagine the taste of Paul's cum, still so clear in my mind. Clearer than any dream I'd ever had before. I set my head back on the pillow and lay awake for hours until I finally drift back to sleep, obsessing over the bizarre dream.

Still, I wake early just after dawn. I pull on some shorts and a t-shirt, and I creep down the hallway. Paul is still in bed, snoring happily and soundly, so I go downstairs. I go into the living room and realize Paul's right, it's a mess. I pick up the scattered clothes, bring dishes to the sink, and throw out a bunch of random trash—all the refuse of a week of my mom being out of town.

It feels good to do something. It feels good to think of Paul noticing it. So I clean up the kitchen next, do dishes, put ingredients away in their proper places, and scrub the counters. I think of vacuuming but I don't want to wake Paul. I'm hungry anyway.

I'm not much of a cook, but I do my best. I cook up some ugly scrambled eggs and a bit of toast. Just as I'm about to sit down to eat it, I pause and look up the stairs. It's nearly 7:00 am. He'll wake soon. It would only be a few minutes more, I thought. I put the food under the heat lamp and set a couple of places at the kitchen counter. I pour two glasses of orange juice and start pacing when I hear those familiar, lumbering footsteps upstairs.

Paul stomps down the stairs in a familiar pair of boxers. His hairy belly is crusted with white and the raw smell of it makes me blush, and summons the memory of the taste in my dream. He raises an eyebrow when he sees me already awake.

I smile nervously and look in his general direction as I ask, "Do you want some breakfast?"

He grins and smacks his lips. "Well, this is a nice surprise," he says as he rubs his belly and notices the dried cum there. He chuckles as he takes the seat I've set and gulps down half the glass of orange juice.

I place his plate down in front of him and watch his face hopefully. "I hope you like it," I say as I refill his glass.

Paul forks up a big bite of eggs and chomps down on the toast, loudly gnashing it up in his mouth as I watch. He nods and grunts, "Not bad. I'll have to show you how to make 'em right."

I smile timidly and say, "That would be great."

He looks at the kitchen as he gobbles down another mouthful and speaks around it, "You cleaned up."

"You always tell me I should."

Paul stares at me with bulging cheeks and a knowing grin, though I can't quite figure what he knows. I stare at his Adam's apple and remember the dream as I watch it recede when he gulps down his food. He says, "Finally, the boy listens." He plops his fork down and balls his fists on the counter as he grunts, "Look, I put your clothes and that weird little bottle on your bed."

I turn beet red and wide-eyed as I mumble nonsensically.

"I don't know if you were sniffing my boxers or what," he goes on as he shovels another bite in his mouth, "but whatever you did, keep it up, as long as you also keep cooking and cleaning up around here. Sound good?"

I nod mutely as a thousand thoughts race through my head that could be summed up with merely, It was real?!? Just as he's finishing up his meal, I say, "I was going to do laundry today. Do you want me to...?"

Paul gulps down his glass of orange juice, letting it drip down his chin and onto his gut as I watch. He smiles at me and says, "Like I said, keep it up. I could get used to this." His smile morphs into a smirk and he guides my gaze down with his eyes. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and slowly lowers them to free his fat, half-hard cock. "You even got him a little excited." He steps out of the boxers and tosses them so they land on my face, suddenly filling my nostrils with the smell of him again. As he lumbers out of the room, cock swinging between his legs, he turns and says, "You don't have to wash the boxers if you don't want. Just have them ready for me when I get home."

As soon as Paul leaves, I don't even touch my food before I race upstairs and get on my laptop. I order a twelve-pack of those swirling white bottles with rush delivery.