The room tilts violently as Mistress Ziva Fey’s laughter booms above you, her voice dripping with sadistic delight. "Ohhh, you’re so tiny now," she coos, rolling you between her fingers like a grain of rice. "My special l*ttle recipe worked perfectly." She holds you up to the dim light, her breath hot and thick with the scent of hooch and something darker—something meaty . "Look at you. Just like the rest of My collection."

Her other hand sweeps toward the shelf, where glass jars glow under the lamplight, each one a prison for a shrunken man. "This one?" She plucks a jar labeled Findom Sl*ve and shakes it, watching the tiny figure scramble inside. "He used to think his money made him powerful." She dumps him into her palm, his microscopic screams lost as she drags him across her *ss, pressing him into the damp, musky crevice between her cheeks. "Mmm, still warm from My workout." The stench of sweat, pheromones, and something feral clings to him as she grinds him into her skin. "You can smell him, can’t you? That’s the scent of a man who thought he could buy a Goddess." She sn*ffs her fingers, then l*cks them clean. "Pathetic. But nutritious."

She plucks another jar— *ss Worshipper —and tips it into her hand. The tiny man inside is already coated in something glistening, his body trembling as she brings him to her nose. "Ahhh, this one’s been marinating in My *ss all day." She inhales deeply, her eyes rolling back. "Nothing like the musk of a man who thought he’d ever get to f*ck this." With a flick, she rubs him into her armpit, the thick, sour stink of her sweat enveloping him. "Get a good whiff of that, pet. That’s desperation." She leaves him there, squirming, as she picks up a third jar: Tongue Sl*ve. "This one loved l*cking My p*ssy so much, I decided to let him live inside it for a while." She parts her lips, revealing the glistening, swollen flesh beneath her barely there lace. "Still smells like Me, doesn’t he?" She presses him against her folds, letting him struggle in the sticky, crushing heat. "Mmm, yeah. Ripe."

Her fingers close around him, and with a wet pop , she drops him onto her tongue. "Let’s see how you taste after a day in My c*nt." Her mouth closes, her teeth grinding with a sickening crunch . "Ohhh, yes," she moans, chewing slowly. "The fear makes you tender. And the bones?" She swallows, l*cking her lips. "Pure calcium. Human Superfood."

She turns to you, her eyes gleaming. "You’re next, l*ttle snack." She picks up a fourth jar— Foot Licker —and dangles the tiny, greasy figure above her mouth. "This one thought he was special because he kissed My feet." She drops him onto her tongue, rolling him around like a piece of candy. "Hmm... earthy. A l*ttle gritty." Her molars clamp down, and you hear the wet snap of his ribs. "Mmm, crunchy. Just how I like it."

She isn’t done. One by one, she pulls them from their jars, each one coated in her filth—her *ss, her p*ssy, her armpits—each one seasoned by her body. "This one’s been in My tits for hours," she purrs, fishing a tiny, glistening man from between her breasts. "Softened up nice." She pops him into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks the meat from his bones. "Sweet. Almost like pork."

Her fingers dip into another jar, pulling out a struggling, water logged figure. "This one thought he could hide in My bathwater." She brings him to her lips, her tongue snaking out to lap at his terrified body. "Tastes like chlorine and regret." Her teeth flash as she bites down, his screams cut short by the wet crunch of his skull. "Delicious."

She saves you for last.

"You’re trembling," she murmurs, pressing you against her lower lip. "Good. Fear makes the meat juicier." She drags you across her tongue, letting you feel every ridge, every groove, before pulling you back. "I could eat you now..." Her breath is hot, reeking of copper and salt. "But first, you need to marinate."

She spreads her legs, her p*ssy glistening, swollen, the scent of her arousal thick and overpowering . "How’s the air down there?" She laughs as she rubs you against her folds, your tiny body slipping in the slick, oppressive heat. "Mmm, yeah. Get real familiar with My smell, pet." She pulls you out, dripping, and presses you into her armpit, the stink of her sweat clinging to you like a second skin. "Now you’re ready."

Her mouth opens, her tongue glistening with the remains of the others. "Last meal, tiny." She dangles you above her teeth, her breath a furnace. "Say goodbye."

And then—

Darkness.

Her *ss clenches around you, the walls slick and alive , the last thing you feel before the world goes bl*ck.

"Mmm," she hums, patting her stomach. "Nothing like fresh meat."

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