“So, honey…another three hundred followers today,” she said with deliberate nonchalance, having come home from the gym after a day at work, and starting to change, “Could you tell?”. As usual, she’d found him in the same set of clothes, not having left the bedroom all day. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? My Instagram is just taking off, it’s so cool…”
Tossing her workout shirt behind her, onto the bed, she turned to face her shrunken little fiancee in her sports bra, and tried to keep from smiling too broadly. “I mean - I’m sorry - there’s just so many of them now…like, more and more every day. And with each one…you’re still getting a little bit smaller, hm? Yeah…you definitely are….”
She watched him looking up at her, the awe on his face; it almost made her laugh. But she was getting used to this: men looking at her, telling her she was beautiful, asking how big she was, her bra size. They were so easy to play with, she was learning, men. And, Sam - her fiancee - he was the easiest of them all. He was shrinking, every time she got a new follower…shrinking, getting weaker. He seemed to be getting…dumber, too. Quieter, certainly, more passive. More submissive and…timid. He looked feeble, there below her,..was he trembling?
“So…I was thinking of taking more boob-shots, tonight, to post,” she continued, with matter-of-fact plainness, “maybe work on some of my old tags. Wanna help?” She advanced on him one step, tugging up on the straps of her bra. Her breasts, she marveled: they’re probably bigger than him. And, she smiled seeing him, as if thinking the same thing, back away from her, onto his elbows.
“Awwww…don’t be scared, sweetie,” she cooed, “I’m not going to crush you…” With that, she drew in a great, chest-filling breath, and added: “…but if I did, there’d be thousands of guys who’d be wishing they were you…"
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