Your girlfriend Constance found out you’ve been cheating—and she’s taken matters into her own hands.

You rise groggy and disoriented, buried beneath what feels like a mountain of fabric. At first, you assume you're in bed after a long night, but something feels off. That illusion shatters when a deafening voice booms above you, and the blanket is yanked away. Light floods in, and to your horror, you realize you’re lying not on your bed—but on the floor of your bedroom.

Towering over you is Constance, wearing a chilling grin. She looks enormous—because somehow, impossibly, you’ve been shrunken down to just a few inches tall.

Your mind reels, but you don’t have time to think. Constance kneels beside you, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You look kinda cute like this,” she teases, slowly raising her bare foot above your tiny body. You scramble backward, terrified, as she playfully hovers her sole above you, threatening to stomp. She’s clearly enjoying this—and your fear only fuels her delight.

She scoops you up and places you on the bed like a doll. Then comes the confession. “I know about your st*pid l*ttle affair,” she says coldly. The color drains from your face. So she knows. This is all because of that.

You try to plead with her, to apologize—but she cuts you off. “You're not in a position to make demands anymore,” she says, sliding her feet toward you. “Now get to work.” You stare in disbelief. Are you really about to spend your days as her tiny, humiliated foot servant?

After a while, she grabs you again and lifts you to her mouth. Her lips part in a mocking smile. “Remember what it was like to kiss me?” she asks. “Not anymore.” She opens wide and thrusts you inside. Her hot breath surrounds you as her tongue presses you against the roof of her mouth, rolling you back and forth while she moans with pleasure. She pulls you out, laughs, and shoves you back in again, savoring your helpless squirming.

Finally, she withdraws you, slick with saliva, and fixes you with a wicked gaze. “You know,” she muses, “maybe it’s best if I just get rid of you.”

She starts moving you toward her mouth again—slowly, deliberately. And something deep in your gut tells you: this time, she doesn’t plan to spit you back out.

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