Mark woke up in a sweat. A rough object bit into his side. Rolling over, he examined the cause of his fitful sleep; a hollow tube made of rawhide. A chew toy for Duke, his co-renter's dog. Mark groaned, he had given it to the Labrador Retriever before he retired. The mischievous black dog had sneaked into his room and dropped it into his bed during the night. Mark picked up the dog's rawhide toy, soaked from his own sweat. He debated staying in bed for the day. Being a Saturday, Mark had no graduate classes.
Jim Hallinger, his fellow house renter, had left for scheduled exams at the University.
Odd, Mark didn't feel a dog muzzle poking into his face for the cold nose, morning wake up call. Mark looked out the window into the empty, fenced backyard. Where was that dog?
Jim had bought the half-grown Labrador Retriever on impulse; thinking a Black Lab would make a good guard dog. He was disappointed to learn Duke's temperament turned towards retrieving and being a pet rather than a guard animal. Jim's work schedule as a physics professor left him little time for training. Mark became caretaker for the half-grown pup. Under Mark's care, the dog grew in size and playfulness; weighing in at 50 kilos. Although Duke looked to Jim as the head master, Mark became the dog's best friend. Mark enjoyed his friendship with the animal. He'd spend the time after graduate school, walking Duke and practicing the Zen grace of retrieving a thrown ball. A smoothly coordinated ballet of fetch between man and dog. After a long day at graduate school, Mark liked nothing better than petting Duke and accepting the dog's affectionate licks. Soft canine tongue gently caressing his face and lips. Occasionally the contented dog would lazily suckle on Mark's fingers. The dog liked the taste and reminder of his puppyhood.
Mark hurriedly dressed and walked down the hallway. He noticed the front door was ajar. Damn it! Jim had left for the University in a hurry and forgot to shut the door! Duke must have bolted outside. Mark dropped the rawhide toy. The rawhide chew toy clattered to the floor near the front door. He grabbed a leash and ran outside, closing the door behind him.
A while later, Mark led Duke home on the leash. He marched the smug, black Labrador Retriever into the backyard. Mark tied a thin clothesline to Duke's collar and the other end to a tree to keep him out of the house. Mark did not want Duke running through the dog door and disturbing him while he changed the batteries in Jim's experiment. Duke whined pitifully.
"Duke! Stay! I'll bring you breakfast. Sit!"
Mark returned to the house. Duke sat down and patiently waited. He wagged his tail when Mark returned with a water bowl and a bowl of Purina Dog Chow. He set the bowls down and left Duke to eagerly consume his breakfast. The back door shut, shaking the small, installed dog door nearby, it's hinged flap swung back and forth.
Striding into the kitchen and den, Mark picked up a clip board. Jim left instructions for the day regarding the 'experiment'. Change the batteries in the CPU controlling the Ur-Field generator. The battery backed RAM contained sequencing information vital for next week's experiments. He stared into the den and the closed, locked door leading to the study.
Unlocking the study door, he wondered why he had agreed to help Jim steal (no, borrow) the equipment lurking in the study.
The study had become an impromptu testing lab for Jim's Ur-Field generator. Jim had invested years putting the theory of Ur-Fields and it's effect on living tissue into an applied science. After painstakingly building a working generator, he confirmed he could shrink living organisms. He'd financed the project by hiding expenditures in the University's Fusion research budget. The similarities between the generator and Tokomac components made concealment easier. Government cutbacks in Fusion power research halted Jim's financial gerrymandering. Jim vowed to secretly continue testing. With Mark's help, they'd disassembled and smuggled the generator parts out of a storage facility into the house they shared near the University.
Mark turned on the generator. He set the device in power down mode. Enough power for the CPU, but deactivating the generator. Mark stood in back of the generator, fumbling with the lid covering the battery. Damn battery cover, he muttered. It was installed backwards. He shifted his position, He now stood in front of the generator. All the rubbing and scrapping generated static electricity. Built as a prototype, the plastic and electronic components were not properly grounded against static charge buildup. A faint spark triggered a hiccup inside the generator CPU. A loud hum pierced the air from the energized Ur-field generator.
Mark smelled ozone. He looked up just as a blue ionized beam hit him. The room tumbled about like a carnival Tilt-O-Whirl ride. Bolts of course cloth arose around him and swallowed up his vision and perspective. Mark fell, tumbling through a deep dank well. Regaining conscience, Mark found himself in a darken cave of woven cloth. Mark pushed and pulled through a smelly cave of clothing. He hadn't bothered to take a bath this morning. A narrow lighted passage guided him to the outside world. Mark poked his head outside of a pile of gigantic clothes and surveyed the enormous domain stretching before him. The study walls and ceiling soared to office tower heights. Naked, he picked his way over the small hill of clothing. He stubbed his foot against a metal plate, his belt buckle. Judging by his belt buckle, he must be about four inches in height! The world as seen in mouse dimensions.
"That tears it!", swore Mark, "This is what I get for letting Jim bring his work home! I should have stayed in bed!"
He examined and patted himself down, everything seemed to be attached correctly. Having no clothes on was the least of his difficulties. He sighed in relief. You are one lucky bugger. The generator could have easily disintegrated him into dust. Well, he thought to himself, what's the world's first shrunken human going to do? Mark calmly line up his options. First thing, check the generator, see if you can still run it. Mark looked up at the Ur-Field generator, now 20 times larger than a few minutes ago. A turret shaped object soaring above on a skyscraper tripod. He could see the control panel. The tripod legs? Mark pondered, he had rock climbed last summer, those metal legs had ridges on the outside. He trudged towards the tripod skyscraper.
After a half hour of puffing and shinnying up one of the tripod legs, Mark pushed and edged his way up the textured cliff walls of the Ur-field generator. He rested, it was like climbing El-Dorado canyon, without ropes. And without clothes, Mark shivered a bit. Sitting underneath the huge control panel, he saw the power indicator light was dead. Tried as he might, the tiny man could not budge the power switch. He wouldn't be able to reactivate the generator and restore himself. Plan A was a wash, Plan B; wait for Jim, he should return by three PM. There'd remain the small (but large to Mark) problem of getting Jim's attention.
Mark started the long descent down the tripod legs. He eventually made it to the study floor. Except for an hour and a half of exercise, a wasted trip.
Mark took in his surroundings. The hardwood varnished floor looked like a shallow pond filled with frozen yellow ice with ridges and dust balls stretching across the horizon. Mark started the hike towards the study door. Reaching the den, he found himself before a vast plain of short carpet. He picked his way through the thick, prairie grass of carpet, inching his way past warehouse sized furniture. He looked upwards at a looming black glass box, the television. Standing in front of a now enormous paisley colored sofa, he saw a huge black object sticking out from underneath. The television remote control. Hmmm, thought Mark, how about Plan C? Watch TV until Jim gets home.
CLUNK, SLAP, SLAP! The amplified noise came from the kitchen, startling Mark. What was that? No, don't let it be the dog door, Mark muttered. Looking down the vast den, he saw a mammoth black shape. The dog!
The big, playful dog bounced around the room. Mark saw a piece of cord, a hand span in length, tied to Duke's collar. Duke must have chewed his line off and decided to follow Mark into the house. The vast animal galloped out the den towards the bedrooms. No doubt looking for him. Mark breathed a sigh of relief. Better hope Duke takes a nap in one of the bedrooms. He wondered how he'd handle a titanic dog.
Abruptly the black dog trotted back into the Den. The canine giant padded by the tiny man standing by the sofa; not seeing him at all. Stay still, Mark thought to himself, retrievers key in on movement. He watched the huge animal, seemingly over 45 feet in height, pause at the study entrance. Duke sniffed the air, head cocked, obviously puzzled at the ionized smell from the generator and the fresh scent of his human friend. Mark looked up Duke's now gigantic hindquarters, well-proportioned furry body, panting muzzle and enormous red tongue. The dog hesitated at the Study threshold. Mark suddenly realized a rambunctious Duke playing in the Study could inflict all sorts of damage to the equipment. Yikes! Get that dog out of the Study before he chews up the wiring! Forgetting his size, Mark trotted towards the standing dog from behind.
Whoops! Never approach from behind. Duke stepped backwards. The dog planted two car-sized rear paws just in front of Mark. Mark looked upwards. The dog's immense back legs started to fold. Duke's vast rear end descended to the floor. Mark leaped to the side. Duke sat down on the carpet, the dog's colossal hips crashed to the floor, just missing Mark. Mark sprinted away from the leviathan-sized rump. A prodigious dog head swiveled back, eyeing movement. The titanic dog whirled around and lowered his snout.
Mark ran smack into Duke's cold, wet nose. The two froze.
Duke sniffed the tiny animal, scrolled nostrils flared as Duke inhaled. Warm dog breath wrapping around Mark's naked body.
Mark slowly spoke in a loud voice, "Easy Duke, easy boy, it's me...Mark."
He reached out and began to scratch the dog's muzzle. Please be friendly Duke. "Good boy, Duke. I'm here, be calm."
Duke raised his enormous head slightly, the dog gently whined. He recognized the tiny animal as his friend Mark. Never to ponder the why's of Mark's diminutive size, Duke put out his gigantic front paws, lowered his enormous haunches and reclined on his tummy. A relieved Mark found himself standing between the dog's tree-trunk front legs just underneath the snout. Mark continued to scratch the muzzle, the dog half closed his eyelids.
Keep him relaxed, Mark thought, no need to startle him. He walked by Duke's left foreleg, running his hand under the stiff furry ceiling of Duke's black muzzle. Here goes, Mark thought, he climbed up on top of Duke's ebony, wrist joint. "Good boy, Duke, relax, gonna give you a scratch", Mark called out.
Duke lowered his head between his legs. Soon Mark found himself rubbing the area behind Duke's left eye. The dog opened his mouth, upper jowls relaxed, tongue splayed and panting in ecstasy. He always loved being stroked this way. Laboring away at the wall sized region of fur behind the dog's eye, Mark thought, it's not every day you get to play with a dog of gargantuan proportions. He was finding this quite enjoyable. The situation was tailor made from that old children's book, Clifford the big Red dog. Except this black Lab was about 20 times life-sized.
The heavy scent of Duke's waxy hide filled the air. Mark felt gusts of dog breath, coming from lungs bigger than industrial bellows, flow around him. Good thing he didn't mind it. At his tiny size, it was rather overpowering! Mark continued to rub Duke's head, he slid farther down the ebony foreleg, moving his paint brush strokes down the dog's head towards the cheek. Duke sighed, amplified vocal cords rumbling with pleasure, he loved being tickled there. Mark tugged on warty, black lips. He found himself staring into the half opened cave-like mouth. Carnassal teeth, as large as knife-edged boulders. A splayed, quivering tongue surging like a river; draped over lower canine fangs. The pink and black pigmented ridges of the dog's palate. Mark was finding immense layout of Duke's mouth quite educational. A contented Duke draped his tongue off to the side of his mouth. Mark felt the quaking, massive tongue brush against his legs.
Duke soaked up the caresses and attention from his tiny friend. Usually now would be the time for the dog to gently suckle Mark's fingers, except Mark was finger-sized and sitting on his foreleg. No problem, the dog raised his tongue.
Like a living conveyer belt, the tremendous canine tongue, slid under Mark, lifted him up and sideways. Mark fell, he found himself on top of the tongue near the front of the dog's mouth. He grabbed onto an upper fang. Stone hard, slicing teeth surrounded him like a half closed cage. Stinking dog breath, thicker than fog. Oh crap, Mark realized, the dog liked to suckle his fingers. Only he was now finger-sized!
Mark nervously called out, his mouse size voice squeaking, "Duke, don't bite, relax...boy, relax."
Never had dog breath seemed so strong. Duke kept his mouth relaxed and open. The dog was pleased with himself, he enjoyed suckling and gently nibbling his friend's fingers as a game. With his finger-sized human friend in his half-closed mouth, he enjoyed the feel and textured essence of Mark's body and scent. Small rivulets of canine saliva flowed down his cheeks. The tongue rose up and down like a carnival ride. Mark slid off the slippery tongue, he fell on scissors sharp molars. Mark yelped at the sharp painful jab from the row of slicing teeth.
Duke stopped and carefully opened his jaws wider. He gently scooped Mark off the sharp row of carnassal molars and back into the mouth. Mark rolled face down onto the soft floor of the canine tongue. Feet facing towards the front. The tongue rose upward, pressing Mark against the roof of the dog's mouth. Mark felt his back dig into the saw tooth ridges of the hard palate. The slick tongue slid underneath and then back, ratcheting Mark back and forth in the hot cave of Duke's mouth. Facing head first inside the mammoth cave-like mouth, Mark could see the dog's glistening throat. Duke's gale blasts of breathing lifted upward a huge fluttering flap, giving Mark a clear view of the deep, black chasm of a canine maw.
Duke be careful, don't hiccup, Mark thought, or he might find himself on a toboggan ride into the playful dog's belly.
A contented Duke lazily suckled and held his tiny human friend within his mouth. The gentle dog intended to be careful and release Mark. But the animal didn't realize his own canine reactive instincts.
The tongue slid underneath and pushed Mark towards the front of Duke's mouth. Mark relaxed a bit. After a bit of this, Duke would gently spit him out and let him go. The dog continued to gently move Mark back and forth in his mouth. Pools of drool collected in the center trench of the tongue. The dog's tart, slippery loops of saliva had a strange, calming effect. A spittle coated Mark couldn't help but notice how the tongue; heaving, twitching and vibrating, felt strangely stimulating. As the tongue's soft pebble surface stroked him, Mark wriggled in pleasure from the full body massage of Duke's sliding tongue; gliding over every bump on his body. He felt an erection develop and pushed his inflamed cock deep into the hot, slick tongue. Wrapped in canine saliva, and immersed in esthetic hot, sensations, Mark couldn't stop, he came on the dog's tongue; Cum spurting in bursts.
Electrified at tasting the diminutive bit of salty cum, Duke instinctively yanked his tongue deep into his mouth and gulped.
Inside, the hot cave, Mark felt the slippery tongue surge below him. The sudden motion bolted him into the depths. He felt the hard palate give way to a soft roof. Mark's face jammed against the pink, mucus coated ceiling in the back of the dog's mouth. Alarmed, he realized the dog could reflexively swallow him. He tried to wrap his arms around the sides of the dog's tongue as it surged towards the front of the cavernous mouth. But his arms were too slick with slime. NO! He slid inexorably, headfirst, down a very slippery slope.
His thrashing triggered automatic gullet reflexes. It all happened very quickly, but to Mark, it seemed like time slowed down a thousand-fold.
"HELP! The Dog's going to eat me!!" Mark screamed.
Barely 4 inches tall, and stuck in the back of a canine's mouth. No one else was in the house to hear him or rescue him. Duke couldn't stop now if he wanted to. Mark became an unwitting participant in vertebrate ingestion.
The piston-like tongue smoothly pushed the tiny man into a darkened craw; his back sliding against the slick soft palate. Nothing to grab on to. The tongue finished it's chore, dog jaws closed, creating darkness. Throat walls stretched around Mark's saliva drenched body. As time slowed to a crawl, he felt relentless throat walls draw him in, muscles gripping his body firmly; preparing for the final part of the reflex that would propel him via one direction. Dictated by canine anatomy.
The animal gullet that had patiently waited for its payload pulsed smoothly and powerfully; unmerciful in its speed and insistence. Mark felt himself slide over the stiff flap which blocked off the windpipe. He thrashed about, trying to grip anything, despite the futility. He plunged into a velvet smooth funnel. Slippery folds of tissue constricted around Mark, squeezing him down a hot, slimy, elastic tube.
He wriggled in the tight hold of embracing walls, comforted by the rhythmically contracting feel of it. The slippery esophagus propelled him into the animal's body as it had guided meals of dog food before. The resilient passageway curved, peristaltic waves now pushed him along horizontally. He could feel and hear a loud thumping noise; Duke's heart. After what seemed like an eternity, he plowed into a closed entrance, muscles squeezed him through a tight ring, briefly winding him. With a squishy PLOP!, Mark tumbled into the dog's stomach.
Mark felt his way around a dark, hot, humid chamber. He crawled through an ankle deep pool of rank muck, from the breakfast Duke had eaten in the backyard a few hours ago. Not much left of it at all. Mark propped himself against the folds and ridges of the stomach, slick with mucous and strangely soft. The ridges began discharging a thick film of liquid, acids and enzymes. He could feel the stomach juices starting to burn him. An empty belly, but quite prepared for an additional snack. He heard rumblings and gurgling noises through the walls of the room-sized tummy. The last liquid remnants of Purina Dog Chow, recently pumped from the very spot where he now sat; being absorbed by a sinuous network of canine intestinal plumbing. How soon before he'd be joining the dog chow?
A sudden heaving motion pressed Mark to the belly wall, the darkened chamber swayed to a graceful rhythm of a trotting dog.
Duke, pleased at feeling Mark's essence inside him, padded into the front atrium. Spying the rawhide bone, he pounced on it. Gripping the rawhide toy between his paws, Duke rolled over onto his back. He started to chew the rawhide treat. Mouth filled with saliva, the dog swallowed.
Mark's darken world somersaulted, he slid around, trying to keep his balance. He heard a loud, squishy noise nearby, a thick wad of saliva slapped into him. He felt the stomach valve squish shut. Right next to him! The stomach hatch was within reach! Mark knew he had one chance to escape. Or become a permanent addition to the surrounding dog flesh. Mark felt the ridged folds give way to a slick ring shape. Yes! He could crawl out of the carnivore belly; wriggle up Duke's gullet and force the dog to puke him up.
He plunged his arms deep into the slippery hatch. He felt the closed passage yielding a bit. Push harder, dogs are supposed to have weak stomach valves. The sphincter valve sensed the presence of edible food trying to escape, it automatically tensed and forced his arms out. He tried again, not even force his hands could be forced in. Mark beat his arms uselessly against the tightly closed ring of muscle.
Duke rolled over and stood up.
The dizzying motion threw Mark backwards into the mire. Stomach walls began contracting and relaxing in the motion of peristalsis. Rivulets of digestive enzymes and acids flowed around him, slowly dissolving his flesh. The muscular chamber churned him about, he even stopped trying to resist the surf-like motion. A languid, dull hazy feeling descended over him.
He thought of the moments of satisfying emotional companionship the dog had unselfishly provided. Mark wished he could offer more than his pitifully tiny amount of flesh to the dog's well-being. Mark drifted into unconsciousness, thinking if he had to expire in this manner; absorbed and incorporated into his beloved canine friend; twas'nt a bad way to go.
When Jim returned home that afternoon, he found Duke asleep in the Den. Awakened, Duke eagerly nuzzled his master. Jim untied the foot-long length of cord from the dog's collar. When he looked up he noticed the opened Study door. He walked into the Study; the half disturbed generator and the empty pile of clothes. Jim cringed, the malfunctioning generator had disintegrated Mark into dust. There was nothing he could do. Jim quietly gathered Mark's belongings. Tomorrow, he'd create a believable excuse to account for Mark's disappearance and discretely close out his affairs. Jim noticed Duke was unaffected by Mark's absence. Weird, thought Jim, the dog had always been worried and depressed when Mark had left on business trips.
That night, when Jim was asleep, Duke quietly curled up on his favorite rug. He could now smell his own scent infused with Mark's essence. Mark, the human companion who'd spent so much time with him. He had departed, yet somehow the dog knew his friend was still with him. Duke closed his eyes. Behind the animal's eyes, dog thoughts held Mark's memory in a safe repository. In canine dreams, he romped through odor trails and meadows with Mark and catching with Zen grace, the perfect thrown ball.
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