Where does the shrinking fetish come from? Everyone is different in this and trust me, I’ve looked and looked for one common answer but there just isn’t one! So, I decided to ask an easier question instead, one for which the internet also had no answer. I looked inside myself. Where specifically did my shrinking fantasy come from?
I’ve read theories about domination, especially involving dominant women, that stem from overbearing mothers or some other unhealthy Freudian relationship that formed in childhood. That may be true for some, but I don’t see it as being that way for me.
My earliest memory of this comes from having my very lovely, single, early twenties first grade teacher (Miss Greene) read “Jack and the Beanstalk” to us in class. Jack trades a cow for some magic beans, it sprouts a stalk, he climbs it into the sky and meets a beautiful giant woman who protects him from her ogreish giant husband.
When I was young, I loved that story! I was fascinated with the giant wife. Having grown up without a father, I very much identified with being a bit afraid of adult men. Yet there was a certain fear attached to the giantess wife too. I imagined that story over and over in my head, what Jack must have seen at his size, what the giant house must have looked like, the scale and the immensity of it all.
I remember waking up one night, having had vivid dreams about being caught by the giantess wife, terrified at first, and then hidden and protected from her evil brute of a husband that wanted to “skin my bones” to make his bread. The magic beans of a fantasy had been planted in my early mind with that tale.
Being the product of a single parent, I was no stranger to caretakers. Most were frumpy elderly neighbors or relatives who looked after me while she was working, going to college, or going out on dates.
Then along came Elaine. Elaine was an adult, but different. I was about 8 or 9, she was a pretty girl, maybe 19 or 20. She was the closest babysitter to my age I would ever have. Elaine was mischievous, playful, outgoing and excitable, and did something very different than my previous babysitters, who simply sat around and watched TV while I would hide in my room and read (I was an early bookworm.) Elaine played games.
She taught me Life, Risk, Sorry, Monopoly, Chess, Parcheesi, anything she had in her house. I soaked them up like a game-sponge! I also had the worst pre-teen crush on her. She loomed over me, lovely and feminine and womanly, and paid attention to me, treated me like a small adult rather than a child. I distinctly remember her hands, especially with Monopoly — long decorated fingernails moving the tiny pieces around the board with eager delight.
I became fascinated with her touch. Recalling my Beanstalk dreams I would imagine what it would be like to be as tiny as a gamepiece, to have Elaine’s fingernails tug on me, to pick me up and toy with me in the same way.
Yet another weave in the tapestry of what would become a rich fantasy.
And then there were the teachers.
If there was ever a strong, overbearing, domme-like influence on my young fantasies it was my teachers. Each year would bring a new tall, towering, sexy influence on my growing mind and growing fantasies. As luck would have it, I had no male teachers until I was a young adult.
At some point, as I started growing older and taller, I started to get tired of the remark “look how tall you’re getting!” from everybody. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because I enjoyed that feeling of being small and protected, the seed for a shrinking fetish. My brain began to rebel against reality. I started imagining what it would be like to be tiny. To be at the feet of one of my high-heeled giantess teachers, looking up at her long, long lovely form.
And then came Ms. Katt. Ms. Katt was the teacher of a summer math and science class I took at a local college. She was a vision of heaven. Dark but wild eyes and smooth tan skin, young, with the kind of full bosomy breasts that any super-model would envy. And didn’t she know it! During that summer program she wore nothing but low-cut blouses, exposing and proudly displaying plenty of her amazingly ample tits.
She had a love for the game of Chess, and when she found out I did too, we played every afternoon after that class. Later, I would lie there in the dark at night, touching and stroking, enjoying the turgid sensation, imagining myself at the mercy of Ms. Katt, shrunk tiny like a pawn, being held in Her fingers, staring at that gigantic, ample, bosomy flesh, wishing to fall into that soft golden-skinned canyon, feeling her squeeze her tits and trap me, surround me, laughing… Something happened then. It was sudden and powerful. My cock was hard, harder than ever as I stroked it, and then suddenly, my breath caught, my body spasmed, I convulsed in ultimate pleasure.
From that moment on, that sensation of overwhelming sexiness, that feeling of Goddess worship, at being tiny, and helpless, and of cumming… well they would be forever inseparable to me. That’s how my shrinking fetish began.
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