Author's Note

I think a wise person once said something to the extent of "Pr0n is almost always essentially offensive."

This story promises to be a take-no-prisoners romp through the fetishization of stuff/people/ideas that in real life should be given far more pause, space, and respect.

If you've found the contents so far to be borderline offensive, then I've got great news for you. It gets worse.

As for the incurable cringe factor, well...

...you're on your own.

A Dream...?

“Flaaaaash?”

He could recognize it as Cherish's voice. There was a light knocking on the closed door to the room he was in, and her sweet musical voice continued.

“Flash... it's nothing we haven't seen before, sweetie.”

Fannie's voice joined in, vibrating through the metal frame. “Yeah. Fae of a wing flitter together, dude.”

Melody: “But seriously, though, you've got a Cinchcorp cage??? Isn't three nullifiers going overboard, bud?”

The other two feminine voices hissed at her.

“Melody!”

“For Goddess' sake! You're not helping!”

“For the love of valk milk! It's friggin' overkill!”

“... … ...well, you're not wrong...”

“Flashie...” It was Cherish. “...I really don't know what's happening to you, but you don't have to be alone right now. Won't you let us in? We'll give you space. Just... j-just throw on a shirt and shorts if need be!”

“Yeah! What she said! Not sure it's super safe to leave you alone while you're freaking out, dude!”

“Please, just—” Flash clenched his teeth, backing away from the door and bumping into the door. He wobbled, then hugged himself with a slight shiver. There really wasn't any point in talking sense to the participants of a dream. Nevertheless... “I... I-I'm not going to hurt myself or nothing. This is all so crazy and freaky and—” A shuddering breath. “I just need some time.” A gulp. “Alone. To process.”

Silence.

Cherish's voice rang, and Flash swore he could taste the vanilla flavors of her pink pouting lips through the door. “Well... if you're sure about that, Flashie, then we'll honor it. But please... come out and talk to us as soon as you can. We need to know that you're alright, honey.”

“Yeah...” Melody added. “Don't be a stranger, pal. Even if you are acting like a total stranger...”

“Melody...”

“Well, do you have any idea what's going on?”

“No, but that's not the point—come over here. You too, Cherish...”

As the three ladies went off to “huddle”... or whatever...

...Flash was left alone in the spartan monochromatic room. Alone with his very naked butt and his very naked tummy...

...and his very caged cock. If one could call it such. Back in the “waking” world, Flash was about—an average specimen of masculinity. He sported around four and a half to five inches on a hot summer's evening. It wasn't something he was too terribly proud of, but it mattered little—seeing as how he had nobody that he ever shared his mundane Freudian lure with.

But here—and now—he had to venture to guess that he was relatively microscopic in size. This wasn't... entirely a “downgrade” for Flash. At least not in his mind. A long life of fetishizing individuals (both real and fictitious, but mostly fictitious) with considerably smaller endowments than himself had led him to the point where he admired small packages. Like... on every level, it was aesthetically pleasing—to the point that Flash had often imagined himself in the vicarious position of being the “limp femboi bottom” whom he drooled to. This was all complete fantasy, of course.

Until... now?

“Hooooo boyo...” He nervously reached a hand down—until his trembling fingers hovered next to his micro-member, further dwarfing it in comparison. “What crimes have you committed, tiny friend?”

The confidence in his words were betrayed by a noticeable shiver running up and down his lithe body. He gently tap-tap-tapped the translucent gray “cage” that was encasing him. It felt tight—but not quite so painful. He imagined that, given enough time, he could get used to it being there. In the past, Flash had considered the idea of ordering a chastity device of sorts. But it made very little sense for a man who had fully embraced his wizard-y fate of permanent virginity. Plus, there was always the fear of losing the key that was needed to unlock his most precious of preciousnesses.

As he observed the device, he realized that there... simply was no locking mechanism whatsoever. At least—not that he could discern. That means there was no feasible way of unlocking it. This was disconcerting. So was the fact that there was no open slit at the head of the constricting device. That meant if he had to take a piss, he'd only marinate his own genitalia in gross middle-aged pee-juice.

Flash blinked.

He realized that he didn't feel the need to pee. Which was strange... considering that—according to the so-called “Fountain” of friends beyond the door—he had been stuck unconscious in bed for nearly two days. Then again, if this was all a dream, then urinating totally wasn't necessary. That'd explain the lack of a toilet in his bathroom.

Flash looked at himself... then looked at himself closer... then looked at himself some more. Pretty soon, he was being over like a gymnast, and while he was surprised at how far his lithe joints allowed him to go...

Dammit...

Gnawing his lip, he padded around the room and crawled up into the bed. His body shuddered at the soft caress of the plush dark comforter against his stupidly beautiful figure. The man's heart started racing, and a perspiring level of reality descended upon him as he looked down at his own flat chest, his slender limbs, his spotless skin. A million hours of a million nights of his life were spent perving at videos, fanart, and literotica concerning a visual moment such as this... only now he was living it. He was it.

And yet, for as much as it sent his pulse quickening... there was no arousal. None that he could tell. The chastity device didn't “tighten up” or feel any more constricting. It was as if Flash was only aroused... on the inside. Or something fruity like that. He decided not to dwell on it too much. For putting too much thought on the moment—he suspected—might end the dream right then and there, and he was suddenly in the mood to explore a bit more.

And explore he did, reaching down and feeling around his lower thighs... his groin... the skin above and below the translucent cage. He wasn't certain why it didn't dawn on him until now, but he was absolutely bereft of pubic hair. In fact, there wasn't a single fucking follicle of body hair on him. Not that he could tell. Running fingers (now free of the stupid lycra) over his flesh sent shivers dancing across his spine. He felt like he was caressing a peach or an apple or a pear or some other tasty analogy—albeit stretched all across his body. His heart beat faster and faster, for somehow this moment was far more heavenly than he had ever imagined in all his years of dreaming about actually making out with a deliciously sweet femboi—

“Aaa-aaahhh!!!” Flash yelped, curling up instantly as if a knife had been stabbed into him. He shuddered and shook all over, eyes wide and temple beading with sweat.

There was a flurry of girlish footsteps at the door, followed by a delicate-but-worried knock.

“Flash?” It was Fannie. Or maybe it was Melody. One or the other—neither of them sounded as heavenly as Cherish. “Are you okay in there?”

“I... uh...” Only now was Flash starting to calm down. He stretched his golden body out across the bed, relaxing his toes. “...I f-found my nipple!” he blurted in breathless honesty.

“... … ...good luck with the other one, assuming it's still there!” And the footsteps dwindled.

Definitely not Cherish.

Flash gulped, looking down at his offending chest. He brought a finger up and gently... gently pressed it against a single diamond-hard aerole. The contact made was light as a feather, and it yet it felt like a glass chalice as being shattered inside his heart and pumped through every vein.

“Mmmm-mmmmm!” He curled his toes and fingers again, shaking all over. “O-okay...” A sniffle, and he wiped hot tears dry from the corners of his eyes. “...note taken.”

He sat up for a moment, running his hands down over his own body. He repeated this motion more and more, slower each time. He timed his breaths with it—shuddering at how high pitched the melodic exhales sounded. If Flash concentrated—not that he had to try that hard—he could even produce tiny little squeaks of blissful self-discovery, and such audible samples sounded none too terribly much unlike voice actress lines that he had happened to memorize from a bevvy of hentai overdubs. At one point, he closed his moist eyes, relishing in the firm warm slide of his palms down his sides, over his hips, and over his smooth hairless legs. Another stifled whimper, and he raaaaaaan those same delicate hands back up, rivering across his chest and forming a “cupping” motion beneath invisible breasts. And while there were none there—and a good portion of him was happy for it—Flash could nevertheless feel a sensitive layer of tissue just beneath those two offensively fragile nipples. Enough of a level to be played with... to be worshipped... adored...

All of this should have been intensely arousing—and it was—but Flash was overwhelmed with something else instead. The need to cry. It rose out of him like a faucet, and he reopened his misty eyes with a quivering smile. In reality, he should have been frustrated. Just minutes ago, he was bawling like an idiot before the three “fae.” Back in his other vision, he was sobbing in the arms of a Shadowbolt. And here and now—as he so happened to be living out a viscerally girlish fantasy—he was on the verge of tears again? It was outright pathetic. Where were those tears when he was alone and drowning in pizza and porn beneath a grimy apartment ceiling?

Still—at the moment—all he could feel was... right. This was somehow just... right. It was the most leeway a dream had ever taken him. The tears ran hot and heavy, but he wasn't about to complain.

“Oh gosh...” He whimpered, and again that invisible woman's voice joined him. Cascading off the bed. He fell back too—bouncing with a slight giggle. Her giggles. He hiccuped on a sob. Her giggles. Flash hugged himself, overcome with numbing waves of unforeseen bliss. “Paint me like one of your French girls,” he said. She said. It was perfect, and he covered his tear-stained face while laughing up a storm. “Hee-hee-hee—Someday my pr-prince will come!”

It occurred to the nearly-hyperventilating soul that he could vocalize something orgasmic and somehow not sound like a hairy walrus gargling on phlegm. But before he could so much as give that a try—he calmed down slightly... and remembered the stiffness in his posterior.

A phrase came to mind: “nullification device.”

Flash breathed and breathed and breathed. At last, he calmed down. At least, he calmed down enough for what would come next. What should come next.

Turning to his side, he snaked a hand down and—with remarkable ease—fingered the space between his buttcheeks. Halfway through the venture, he couldn't help but let loose a breathy gasp.

“Holy fuck... I gotta see this ass in a mirror...”

Nevertheless, he reached further... deeper... until he struck something solid. A nub? A handle? Whatever it looked like, it was no doubt the outer end of the plug. He fished his fingers around until he sorted out the shape of the exterior piece. He gently began to tug. Then more firmly. Then something akin to a half-yank.

It refused to budge. It was as if some immutable sliver of silicone had been stapled into him. He was afraid of pulling any harder, and he mulled over the hideous thought of... asking one of the girls outside to help him.

It was around that time that Flash heard a repetitive chirping noise—cold and electronic. It shook him out of the moment and he sat up in bed with a girlish gasp. His legs curled up as he clutched a blanket over his chest and navel like a spotlit damsel.

His eyes frantically searched the room for the source of the noise as it repeated like an alarm. At last, he saw a pulse of red light issuing from one of many black screens looming in the corner.

The computer.

Flash raised an eyebrow.

Was it an alarm? If so, who had set it?

Nervous, he slid off the bed and bird-stepped nakedly towards it. With an effeminate grunt, he pushed a large office chair out of the way and stood before the device. He squinted at the keyboard... for he couldn't locate any keys. The seemingly matte-black monitors weren't offering much information either. There was simply a blood-red pulse of light emanating in the center, accompanied by a repeated tone.

“... … ...it's not a bomb going off, I hope.” Flash gulped. “Cuz that'd be a lame way to end a dream.”

The alarm stopped.

A pause.

Then—an odd number of seconds later—the noise resumed. The red light blinked in the same spot that it did last time.

Curious, Flash did the next dumbest thing and... reached his hand towards it.

He was just millimeters from grazing the light source when—

BLIPPP!

All of the monitors came alive, and a holographic fountain of words levitated in the very center—right above a luminescent array of projected keys.

“Guhhhh!” he yelped, wriggling sissily in place. He nearly took a step back when...

...his nervous eyes caught sight of a few words. There were messages—several of them stacked on top of one another—dating back by the hour and on the hour:

“Subject Thirty-Three. Report in.”

“This is Dr. Flare. It's urgent that you respond ASAP.”

“Subject Thirty-Three, I have tried every contact you have listed at Cinchcorp. Why aren't you responding?”

“Subject Thirty-Three, this is Dr. Flare. All bioscans show up positive on the remote instruments. I know you're alive and well. Nullification devices don't work on the dead. Now message me back. Post haste. This is important.”

“Flash. This is Sunny Flare. Please respond.”

“Flash, our lives are on the like.”

“Wait, you're awake? Dammit, readings say that you collapsed the plugsuit. I know you're out and about! Answer me!”

“Please respond.”

“Flash, respond.”

Then...

Finally...

“For fucking Queen Sparkle's sake just reach your sissy hand into the floating message thingy and jab your thumb into the 'reply' icon.”

“Oh shit.” Flash winced. “Uhmmmm...” With a nervous squeak, he thrust his hand forward into the message. Hovering icons appeared, and he swung his digits through the appropriate part of the hologram.

A melodic blip...

...and an eight-foot-tall Shadowbolt giantess was suddenly standing in his room. She immediately tossed away a tablet and notebook and leered over the little manlet with her strong hands against her massive hips.

“What the fuck took you so damned long, asshole?!?”

“Gaaaaaiee!” Flash flailed, spun about with a flash of his curvaceous butt cheeks, and ran like a monkey to the far end of the room. Once out of direct line of sight on his naked body, he cowered behind the bed, shaking and peeking over the mattress at the amazon...

...who was as translucent as a silk lampshade. The computer was somehow broadcasting a live hologram of the scientist, who—no doubt—was a million whale dicks away in some nebulous underground laboratory where middle-aged men spontaneously woke up in the bodies of dream twinks.

“Huh...” She struck a contemplative pose, squinting down at the cowering person. “That didn't take very long.” The holographic woman rubbed a holographic chin with holographic fingers. “Getting used to yourself, I see.”

“I...” Flash gulped, rising up slowly behind the bed. “I-I would rather you not stare at me like that, please...”

“Why not?” The voice came from behind. The hologram had shifted in a blink, and now she was staring down at his squatting figure—buttocks and all. “You actually think I'll spot something new that I haven't observed before?”

“Sonuva—!” Flash rolled over the bed, crossing his legs in futility. “Ooof!” After falling on the other side, he whipped a hand up, grabbed the loose blanket, and used the thing to cover his trembling figure. “Why is everyone saying that to me?!”

The projected giantess stepped through the bed, towards him. “So you've had a girl-chat with the Fountain?”

“Uhhhhh...” Flash gulped, clutching the blanket to his petite self. “...kinda?”

She leered over him, practically snarling with holographic fangs. “What did you tell them, huh?! Out with it!”

“Wh-wh-wh-what—” Flash leaned forty-five degrees away from her, full of shivers. “What can I tell them?! I don't know anything!”

“You know damned well that my colleagues and I fucked up the other day,” Sunny Flare said. “I'm no fool!” She nodded her head towards the closed bedroom door. “I know at least two of those pansy asses have close contacts within Queen Sparkle's court. If word gets around, the scientific community will bounce the news of our failure back to Cinchcorp! Then the Magistrate will have my throat!” She crowded over him, the holographic bands intensifying. “So how about it?! Huh?! How much did you spill?!?

Flash squeaked. A whimper, and tears sprung from his eyes. Again.

“... … ...” Sunny Flare rolled her digital eyes. “Fucking leaking flowers of the universe, unite...” A groan. “Alright fine. Crybaby. Hold tight.” She reached out beyond the projection, keying a pattern into an unseen console. With a flicker of light, she shrunk by three feet. At last, she was level with the quivering Flash Sentry. “There...” She shrugged dramatically with a plastic smile. “Is that better? Is that less intimidating?”

Flash sniffled, wiping his cheek dry. “Kinda... y-yeah...”

“Fuck me...” The smaller Sunny Flare paced around Flash, forcing him to cover himself tighter with the blanket. “How could I ever have gotten you mixed up with Subject Thirty-Three? You're like... polar fuckin' opposites. No wonder he chose your dimension to make a landing. Maybe there's some sort of... 'opposites attract' rule that facilitates successful spatial displacement.”

“Who...” Flash gulped. “Who are we talking about, exactly?” He couldn't shake the fact that—in having to shrink down to his current size—this adult Sunny Flare was somehow shorter than the one he remember back from Crystal Prep. Both of them were. Was he still actually thirty-seven years old? “Who is Subject Thirty-Three?” he continued asking.

Sunny Flare came to a luminescent stop. Sighing, she folded her arms over her uniformed chest. “Subject Thirty-Three is you. This universe's you. He is a long-time registered employee of Cinchcorp, much like myself. Together, he and I—and my two imbecilic lab partners—were working on coss-dimensional teleportation. Progress was slow—but it had much promise for amazing accomplishments. Subject Thirty-Three is—for lack of a better term—a prodigy at spatial displacement sorcery. So much so that... as it would seem... he pulled the wool over my eyes.” She sighed and facepalmed momentarily. “...still can't fuckin' believe it. What a selfish asshole.” She slowly looked up again. “...you'd think he would leave some kind of an explanation too—” Sunny Flare froze in mid-speech, blinking. “Hey!”

“... … ...” Flash's head was lowered, his eyes locked on the giant holographic member hanging between her legs, nestled tightly in a thick black sheath.

“HEY!” Sunny Flare enlarged just enough to leer over him again. “Piddle-pants! Do you want to know the fuckin' truth or don't you?!?”

“I... I-I'm so sorry...” Flash leaned back, but his eyes darted to her groin yet again. “It's just that... it's just that it's so... so—”

“It's so mine and none of your damned business!” She snarled, pacing angrily through him—making the manlet shudder. “That means both eyes and hands off! For Goddess' sake, boi! Don't you know simple etiquette around null valkyries?”

“No... I-I don't...!” He twirled to follow sight of her, clutching the blanket closer to his fair body. “I don't know anything! I'm sorry, but... every little thing here is like a goddamn land mine of shock and surprise! Like... just a moment ago I nearly exploded from touching my own nipple!” He sniffled, wiping his eyes again. “And I k-keep on friggin' crying like a little b-bitch and there're cages and plugs and leashes gripping me all over like undercover priests at an expensive BDSM orgy and—”

“Okay, I get it! I get it!” Sunny Flare barked, spinning around to face him. “You're through the looking-glass and full of buttplugs. It's weird, I know. But my job is on the line here and—”

“And my life isn't?” Flash asked.

“... … ...”

“I... I can't help but think...” Flash shuddered, his tiny toes curling into the carpet beneath him. “With each passing minute... with each tear I shed and each jolt my body feels from touching myself...” A prolonged shudder. “... … ...that this isn't really a dream...” His puppy eyes gazed up at her. “Is it?”

Silence.

Sunny Flare casually sunk back down to his size and rested a holographic hand on his shoulder. To Flash's surprise, it made contact—light and tingly—but definite contact where the projection brightly intensified.

“No. This is no dream, Mr. Sentry.”

Flash looked at her hand on her shoulder.

“Concentrated photonic energy.” She smirked lightly. “The first manatech innovation that put Cinchcorp on the map. It landed us this place here on the GSS Equestria. Subject Thirty-Three and I told each other time and time again that once we were through with the dimension jump experiments, we'd work on creating completely self-reliant photo-solid environments. For a while there, I had the first portion of my life set out in front of me. But now...” She clenched her teeth, leaning back and enlarging into a holographic giantess again. “He's gone. He betrayed me, my colleagues, and the company without warning. And after thinking long and hard about it, I think I finally understand why.”

Flash leaned forward, lips pursed. “Wh-why is that...?”

“He always hated what he had here. His lot in life. But you?” Sunny Flare's eyes narrowed. “...I think he saw something in you that he envied. That he wanted. So—when he made this latest jump—he took your place... and never came back.”

“And... and I...?” Flash stammered.

“You're now him. His body. His home. His possessions. And—if Sugarcoat's readings are correct...” Sunny Flare sighed and gestured. “An unbridled upgrade in manaflux... which I can't explain. Nor do I particularly want to. We're just... fucked every which way now.” She facepalmed again. “Still can't believe that he frickin' went through with it.”

But Flash was busy gazing into monochromatic space. He knew that he should have been terrified by this. Existentially mortified, even. But... every way he looked at it...

...he felt a rosiness slowly rising within his center.

“So... if only Subject Thirty-Three could make that jump...”

“He's got your body... and you've got his.” Sunny Flare looked at him with her arms folded. “Cross Dimensional cultural exchange. La-dee-fucking-da.” Her holographic nostrils flared. “The way things look, sissy, you're stuck here.”

A tear ran down Flash's face. And yet...

...his heart had just skipped a beat. Felicitously.

He felt Sunny Flare's projected eyes on him. The silence was disconcerting, so he covered for... whatever he was feeling.

And he looked up at her with a vulnerable expression.

“Don't I deserve to know what 'here' is?”

“... … ...” Sunny Flare sighed. She looked at her watch, over her shoulder at something beyond the holographic broadcast, then back down at the petite figure. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose you do.”