Messing with Matt

Tiny people should know better than to complain to their owners

Just a short little tease story I wrote for my friend Matt. The trials and tribulations of being tiny and at the mercy of Dragonien

Matt’s Furaffinity

|| Old content, Originally posted January 28th, 2017 ||

Messing with Matt


“It’s too big” The canine grumbled under his breath, arms crossed in annoyance across his chest.


“Ken doll clothes were the smallest ones I could find at the toy store. I was trying to do something nice for you.” The deep thunder of the dragon’s voice rumbled from overhead.​​ “I thought you liked wearing suits and fancy clothes.”


“When they fit!” Matt protested, turning on his heel to glare up at the looming red dragon.


His glare seemed to lose a bit of its effect with the way he had to crane his head backwards so far, to the point he had to bend his upper body backwards a bit lest he get a cramp in his neck. Also the fact that the glare came from someone small enough to live in a toy Barbie’s dream vacation house did wonders to wither the glare’s intensity from formidable to laughable. Not that Matt really expected his glare or words to do much to Dragonien. He was annoyed, not stupid. He knew that he had about as much power over the dragon as a weather van did over a tornado, psychological or otherwise.


He also knew that the dragon damn well was doing this on purpose. The damn size-altering ray gun that the dragon had used to shrink him down to this insulting diminutive size was sitting right behind the dragon on the kitchen countertop. ​​ Hell, Dragonien had made a bit of a show of crushing several pieces of Matt’s living room furniture underfoot just to show off how the gun could shrink inanimate objects, before he had turned the device on Matt himself. So the fact that Matt at his pathetic 10 inch height, had to wear a suit clearly too big for him by a couple of magnitudes, couldn’t be interpreted as anything other than an intentional attempt to mess with him. It wouldn’t have taken the dragon half a second to give the suit a zap and shrink it down to a more fitting size. But instead, he had made a whole thing out of coercing the German shepard/husky mixed mutt to put on the​​ oversized suit, making him feel like someone had forced him to shop at the big and tall store against his will. The sleeves of the jacket hung down almost to the tips of his fingers and had to be rolled up in a tacky fashion, and the hems of the pants completely covered his feet and dragged across the ground whenever he would take a step forward. It was humiliating


He also knew that’s exactly what Dragonien wanted.


“Well if you’re going to complain so much about it…” the dragon rumbled, then trailed off before finishing his thought.


Immediately Matt’s ears flattened against his head as his fight/flight warning began screaming danger sirens in his head at that tone of voice. Before he had a chance to do so much as turn away from the looming dragon, he found himself smacked in the chest hard enough actually pick him up slightly off the top of the kitchen table he stood on.​​ 


Dragonien had just flicked him. The casual impact of that finger had been like being tackled full on by a linebacker, and as his feet left the ground, his held breath exploded from his mouth with a ragged gasp. The wooden tabletop was painfully hard as the little canine flopped back on his ass from the force of the impact. A second of ragged gasping was all he could manage around the surprise and brief lack of air before he was able to suck in a full breath past the now aching pain of what had to be a bruised rib or two.​​ That ache only got worse when he felt pressure added to it once more, as one of the dragon’s broad fingertips shoved against his chest and forced him down onto his back atop the table. The pressure wasn’t enough to keep him from drawing breath, but having a mini-fridge sized fingertip pushing down on your torso when a couple of ribs were bruised was anything but comfortable.​​ 


Suddenly the light coming from the overhead lamp was darkened, a shadow cast across the shrunken canine as Dragonien’s head leaned to tower directly above​​ him. The slightly boxy shaped muzzle lowered down until it was just above the finger holding Matt in place. As the dragon finished his thought from a moment ago, each word was like a blast of heated wind from a momentary opening of a blast furnace, thickly humid with the moisture of his saliva and still smelling faintly of some minty toothpaste or mouthwash.


“…Then I’ll just take it back from you.”


Dragonien’s words vibrated through the little canine like the roar of a diesel engine, sheer volume making Matt’s ears ring and the overwhelming base creating tangible vibrations that resonated in his joints. Though probably more terrifying to Matt than the sound of the dragons voice or the words that he had spoken was the view into that cavern of a mouth hovering directly overhead. The thick, pink muscle of tongue lining the bottom of Dragonien’s mouth that seemed to flex and slither around of its own volition, clearly prehensile to at least some degree. The sight of the polished, ivory​​ stalactites​​ and stalagmites of the dragon’s sharp, predatory fangs that sent primal, instinctive fear shuddering up and down Matt’s spine. And the sight of the dark void far in the back of the muzzle that was the entrance to his throat, like some kind of all-encompassing black hole ready to swallow up anything that got too close into total darkness


The finger holding Matt down moved away as abruptly as it had pressed itself upon him. Before the canine could sit himself back up, however, it was replaced by something much more dangerous. The curved ivory point of the dragon’s index finger claw pushed against the hem of his still untucked jacket and dress shirt. Matt’s whole body went stock still and he felt the blood drain from his face as overwhelming fear forced him into total motionlessness. He could feel the blunted back end of that claw sliding its way across his belly and chest, easily as thick as a soda can to him. As the claw slid higher, it started to angle up slightly, causing the shirt and jacket to ride up along with it and leave the lower half of his torso exposed to the cool kitchen air. When the​​ claw tip​​ finally stopped, Matt’s muzzle had raised slightly, as the razor sharp point of the claw pressed ever so gently against the base of the tiny canine’s chin.​​ 


Matt could feel how sharp the end of that claw was, the same way you can feel the sharpness of a knife tip as it presses against your flesh while withholding just barely enough pressure to keep it from breaking the skin. He knew that a single twitch from Dragonien’s finger would be enough to skewer it straight through his chin and he’d be done for in an instant. He may as well have had a butcher’s knife to his throat. Some tiny, insignificant part of Matt’s brain was actually impressed by the show of fine dexterous motor control the dragon was maintaining to keep his finger from twitching or shifting in such a precarious situation. That part of his brain though, was completely drowned beneath every other part of Matt’s mind screaming in terror, impotent rage, hopelessness, and panicked confusion.​​ 


The dragon’s muzzle twisted into a wicked grin as it hovered over the terrified, trapped canine. Fangs gleamed in the low light as his head leaned in a tiny fraction closer. And then, suddenly, the finger jerked upwards and Matt’s vision went black.


It took a few seconds for Matt to realize that the darkness of his vision wasn’t because he was dead, or had any kind of serious injury done to him. Even when he realized what was actually happening it took a few more moments for him to regain enough control his body to will his eyes to stop clenching shut as if somehow refusing to see what was happening would prevent it from taking effect. When Matt’s eyes had readjusted to the shadowy light that was able to slip in where Dragonien’s head loomed, he saw that he was still, in fact, alive. The only thing that had changed was the cold draft of air he now felt across his chest.


Looking down, he could see the ruined remains of his doll suit’s upper portion. Buttons had been ripped off of the fabric, and the sewn together bits had simply been shredded apart by the sharper inner-curve of the dragon’s claw. For a brief, absurd moment, Matt felt a pang of indecency and self-consciousness. The little canine had to make a conscious​​ effort not​​ gather up the now ripped up bits of doll clothes to hold over his chest to retain some modesty.​​ 


As if Dragonien somehow knew what thought had just ran through Matt’s head, the mutt could see the dragon’s grin grow wider and seem to add a twinge of perverse amusement to its expression. It was both infuriating and terrifying at times to Matt how easily the dragon seemed to be able to manipulate both his actions, instinctual responses and even his thoughts at times with the terrible little ‘games’ he would play with Matt and others that found themselves at his mercy.​​ 


Mat started to try and sit up, muzzle opening to speak but quickly found himself coughing and gasping in lingering pain as he fell back flat once more onto the table. The adrenaline was subsiding a bit and his still bruised torso suddenly made an active effort to remind Matt that it was still there, and still bruised. When he finally had caught his breath enough to speak, his voice came out a bit raspy and forced.


“You… you’re an asshole, you know that?” Matt growled, wincing a bit as he forcibly propped his upper body up with one arm.


Dragonien, for his part, didn’t immediately respond. Though his grin grew that much more devious and playful, rather than speaking a reply he instead started reaching his index finger out towards Matt once more. A brief thought flashed through Matt’s mind that made him feel horribly insignificant, was that all of this that had happened to him in the last few minutes had been done with a single one of the Dragon’s fingers. Matt had to make another forceful conscious effort not to let his eyes clench closed again, and instead watched the finger approach. He felt obligated to offer whatever tiny bit of resistance and defiance that he could, even if it would go unnoticed by all but himself.​​ 


That defiance washed out of Matt like the air out of a deflating balloon, even going as far as the little canine letting out a nervous and undignified squeak of surprise when the dragon’s claw tip hooked into the waistband of Matt’s pants.​​ 


“Now let’s do the pants…” Dragonien rumbled, licking hungrily over his lips in anticipation.

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