You are faced with overwhelming power, and so you accept your helplessness. Simply put, there is no way you could ever hope to outmaneuver or outfight the dog... but maybe, just maybe, you might be able to survive if you play dead. You turn to stare at the gigantic canine's muzzle as he peers down at you and wave at him, trying to force out a response from him, anything to give you a pretext for your apparent death. The dog responds by hopping up and backing away from you, then delivering a powerful swipe that sends you tumbling over onto your back.
The dog immediately rushes for you and peers down at your tiny form, his hot doggy breath overwhelming you as he pants in and out, tongue hanging low. Apparently satisfied with your predicament, Dr Wright squats down and pats her dog. "Remember to eat Chewchew up when you're done with him. He's good for you!" And with that, the woman leaves, powerful THUDs sounding out as she leaves the room, her socked feet pounding out earthquakes as she stomps off.
And now you're left alone. Alone with the dog. It's time to play dead like your life depends on it... because it probably does. You lie there on your back, looking up at the ominous doggy face looming over you. The dog's maw snaps shut and soon his nose descends into view directly above you, the dog's eyes fixated on your tiny form. As the dog sniffs, he lets loose a powerful snort without even meaning too, and the resulting rush of air from his noise sends you tumbling back across the wooden floor. You do your best to maintain the charade as your body slides to a halt.
Seeing you move, and perhaps not realizing or caring why you moved, the dog is seized by the thrill of the hunt. He springs forward, bolting towards you in a flurry of stomps, and proceeds to snap his maw around your lower body, dragging a vicious gash across your right leg and breaking breaking your ankle in the process, then flings you high into the air. In a sight that would be adorable to a neutral viewer, the dog tilts his head up to look at you , watching as your body spins and spins as it descends, then spins and spins as it descends. The moment you land, he brings his head down towards you , sniffing at your body frantically. Sensing no movement, he proceeds to ram his muzzle against you, forcefully knocking you back.
You let out a pained cry as you hit your back on the floor. Milo immediately notices this. It would appear as if you're doing a lousy job at outsmarting this dog. As the dog resumes his curious sniffs of your tiny form, you feel not unlike how a criminal being discovered by an ace investigator might feel. You get the feeling you'd prefer life in solitary to whatever punishment Milo is about to dole out for you.
The dog licks at you once more, covering your body in another layer of dog slobber as he brutally drags you across the floor. His massive tongue focuses on your leg, as he savors the flavor of your bloodied wound. It is all you can do to try to resume the charade and stifle your cries of pain. Eventually the licks stop, but the punishment is far from over. Bored of your flavor, the dog instead opts to lift his muzzle up, bring up one of his forepaws, and smash it down onto your body. The dog lowers his muzzle and growls a low, satisfied growl as he feels your tiny form twitching beneath him.
What follows is an overwhelming, almost indescribable pain as the canine puts your body through a stress test. At this point, there's no hiding the fact that you're alive. Your survival instinct kicks in and you proceed to squirm and struggle beneath the dog's enormous leathery pawpad. The little tarrier's cute leathery pad mashes you hard against the unrelenting wooden floor, ominous crunches reverberating beneath his pawpad as he presses harder and harder. Eventually the dog lifts up his pawpad, your body briefly sticking to the underside before crumbling off of it and landing before his muzzle. You do your best to play dead once more.
Dr. Wright stripped out of her work outfit, looking at herself in the mirror as she contemplated the events leading up to this point. The close call at the lab, the trip back home, Milo's potty emergency, and Experiment 015's new assignment as a chewtoy for his dog, as well as his adorable new name. Chewchew... as she thought, she also gazed at her feminine figure and her floral bra and panties. She ran a finger against her crotch, finding just the slightest bit of pleasure thinking about the power she had over the shrunken man. But then she corrected herself. She should be careful about mixing work with pleasure.
The empowered lab-woman threw on a silken nightgown, grabbed a laser pointer, and headed over to the kitchen. She poured out some red wine for herself and happily took a sip before heading back to the living room to watch her dog's playtime...and to catch up on her favorite miniseries.
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Milo was having the time of his life. Chewchew might be small, but it is the best toy this dog has ever had. What was most appealing about the tiny toy was its behavior. It would remain almost completely still if undisturbed...but the moment he exerted any amount of force on it, the thing would spring to life. It had all the fight in it that a bug might have... but none of that fight was dedicated to running away. Milo was given free reign to set up whatever pounces or chomps or stomps he wanted. And whenever he needed it to move, he could just nudge it or snort on it or whack it. What's more, his chewy was surprisingly durable as well. He felt a tad guilty that he was enjoying this little toy so much when his owner wants him to eat it, but he's sure working on wearing it down until it's ready to be eaten. A shame the delicious applesauce flavor had worn off...
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The dog puts you through the wringer. You are smashed underpaw again and again. Batted along the floor. The dog flails you with forces that should snap your neck, yet don't. But your body cannot last forever. Despite the durability supplements, you are gradually worn down by his play. Lacerations and even punctures line and dot your body from the myriad of clawings , nibblings, and chompings. You are plagued by constant bouts of vertigo. The air smells so damn heavily of dog you would vomit if you weren't on an empty belly.
It is in this context that the godlike doctor returns. Finally giving up your play dead routine, you slowly, weakly crawl for the doctor and raise your hand up in a plea for mercy. The woman looms high above you, an even more imposing figure than the dog . Dr. Wright sits upon the couch, one leg folded over the other, wineglass in one hand, TV remote in the other. She gazes down at you with a smirk, setting the remote down and waving at you condescendingly. She is a feminine figure of almost unfathomably power. If Milo is an unstoppable beast, she is a god. And as you catch a glimpse at her floral panties, not quite covered by her nightgown, you find yourself wondering if this act of gazing at her clothing is an act of blasphemy.
Milo's descending paw snaps you out of your deluded groveling and whips you right back into the world of dogs and dogtoys. The canine whimpers and whines and begs, something the dog is quick to pick up on. "What's the matter? Did Chewchew get away? Oh, no.. it looks like he didn't. Then what do you want you silly thing. Oh... more applesauce? of course~" The dog yips happily as the doctor approaches, spoon and sauce cup in hand, and proceeds to swirl you in the yellow sweet treat once more. She slaps you down onto the floor and watches as the dog begins ravenously licking at you. She alternates between watching the TV and watching the dog play with you , marveling at your improved durability. She keeps the cup in hand in case he needs more.
With your body once more covered in applesauce, the dog seems to have lost interest in aggressively playing with you, and is instead interested in sampling your flavor. He lies down, sweeps you into his maw, and proceeds to slosh you around and pass you between his fangs. After a few bites he spits you out ,sandwiches you between his paws, and begins nipping at your upper body quite enthusiastically. The dog happily yips as he nibbles on you, no doubt enjoying the mix of juice, flesh, and blood.
Having exhausted his supply of applesauce once more, the dog yips again. Dr. Wright chuckles before once more sloshing you about in the now nearly empty applesauce tub. Fortunately for her, you are clearly close to death's door. She won't be needing a second cup. She slams you down onto the wooden floor again, allowing Milo to resume his progress on your body.
The dog is now ready to devour you. Perhaps if you had not squandered every bone and muscle in your body in an attempt to convince the dog you were dead, you might actually be able to escape. Too late for that. You've played dead for long enough. Now Milo is going to help you die for real. Unable to crush you under his paws, the dog instead manages to twist and chew on you until your body cracks in half at the waist. And then the dog proceeds to gobble you down entirely. Dr. Wright applauds as you disappear into his maw and pass down into his belly, and she quickly proceeds to pick the dog up and let him lie on her lap.
Dr. Wright returned home from another day of work. Much to her dismay, again the dog was begging for a chance to take a dump. Will her kids never learn? She sighed and grumbles before realizing the dog's prior meal. She gleefully let the dog out and followed behind him, sitting down on the porch and watching as he squatted down. The dog unloaded another formidable, squishy dark brown shit upon the lawn, this one a touch firmer than the last. To think the dog could produce such large turds twice in a row! Eager to investigate, the woman poked a stick at the turd, revealing a worn down ant-sized skull.
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