Gromet's PlazaGiantess Stories


by Polythene WrappedMe

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© Copyright 2020 - Polythene WrappedMe - Used by permission

Storycodes: FM; Solo-M; F/m; erotic; mast; machine; milled; escape; accident; cons; XX


"I have never been out with a shapeshifter," cried my girlfriend Wendy with glee. "Is it true that you can grow your cock to whatever size a girl wants?"

"Yes..." I replied, "for the right girl, that is. I could even grow two cocks, and fill you back and front, at the same time, if that is what you like," I chuckled.

Wendy thought she had won the jackpot finding me. Shapeshifters were an endangered species, rarer than hen's teeth, apparently. Needless to say, Wendy's sex life improved beyond measure. But I wanted something more kinky, to tick all my boxes. As well as changing my size, from shrinking down, to getting bigger, I could also transform into objects, and I always wanted to be treated like an object by the woman I was with.

Wendy, although 27 years old, lived with her mum, Terri, a divorced woman in her early 60s. Terri's husband had left her for a younger woman; I sensed that Terri's flirting with me was, in part, because she desired to get one back on her ex.

What better, to get a young man, and one like no other, to fulfil her wildest dreams?

Part 1

Terri owned a Peter Pugger clay mill, and taught pottery at evening classes, which were attended by her female friends. Before one such pottery lesson, I had managed to climb naked on top of the motor housing for the clay pug mill, and shrink down to a fraction of an inch tall, to lay there masturbating, whilst feeling the rhythmic throb of the motor, as it swirled all the pottery clay, milled it, ready for the ladies to use.

I had seen Terri do this many times, and I had even fantasied about falling inside the machine, being milled with clay, and then extruded out, stuck inside some massive clay sausage, for the students to use.

Obviously I would need to survive in the absence of air, and lucky for shapeshifters, this was a magical characteristic that few people knew we were capable of. However, how to avoid being made into something with the clay, and baked in a kiln afterwards; that was an outcome that would be certain death, even to a person of my abilities.

So here I was, lying on my stomach, on top of the motor housing, waiting for the pottery lesson to begin, and for Terri to turn the machine on, to send vibrations to my miniature body, like riding a vibrator...

Soon the ladies arrived for their lesson, and sat down at their desks, chatting to one another. I just hoped that being so small, no one could see me, as I rubbed my cock, in anticipation of the lesson.

Terri arrived and started the lesson. As usual, this involved milling and pugging a load of pottery clay for the lesson. Terri turned on the Peter Pugger clay mill, and started to fill the mixing chamber up with grey pottery clay, to be mixed by the machine. The machine could hold a lot of clay, but on this occasion, with extra students at today's lesson, Terri overfilled the hopper, and was unable to close the lid to the mixing chamber. So Terri removed some clay, and to my horror went and carried it to the machine's motor housing, on top of which, I was laying naked and masturbating. I tried to move out the way, but the mound of soft wet clay came down on top of me, squashing me flat, into the clay.

Terri turned the pug mill to mix, and the mixing blades whirled inside. Then she stopped the machine again, and open the lid to the mixing chamber. This had caused a vacant pocket inside the pug mill, large enough to accept the extra clay, and the tiny occupant stuck to its outside.

I felt the machine start and then be stopped, and could guess what would happen next. Terri picked up the clay, and I, and it, were thrown inside the mixing chamber. Terri then closed the lid, plunging me into total darkness.

It was customary for Terri to mix each batch of clay for several minutes, before turning the switch on the machine's controls from "mix" to "pug." This reversed the direction of the mixing blades, and forced the clay out through an auger, that pushed and squeezed the clay out through a small nozzle. Terri would then return the extruded clay to the mixing chamber a second time, and the process repeated. Terri wanted the clay to be finely milled for her students, only this clay contained a special ingredient. Me.

I was churned inside the machine, that obediently obeyed all its commands, regardless of its contents. The time being mixed felt like a torture of eternal length. All the while, her students were chatting, and in ignorant bliss of what was actually happening to me, while they amused themselves.

The machine was stopped, and the pugging commenced. I felt myself squeezed and stretched with the clay as I was forced out of the machine. But if I had any notion of being free, my ordeal was far from over. Terri picked up the clay roll that contained me, and simply inserted me back inside to the mixer once more.

Then a second squeezing out of the machine occurred, but Terri noticed me, and rescued me, before the students could make something out of me, and send me to a fiery death to be baked in a kiln.

Afterwards, Terri had a good laugh at my expensive. "What were you doing inside my pug mill? Did you fall in? OMG, I must have mixed and pugged you twice without realising it. That was very dangerous. It was a good job I spotted you," she rambled.

Indeed so. The question was: Had she seen me masturbating on the machine's housing and thought she would teach me a lesson?


Continues in


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