Mel had always had the urge to ride the big bikes. To just hop on that large throbbing machine. Feel it roar and rumble beneath her crotch. The vibrations echoing through her entire body. It left Mel almost orgasmic. The first time she ever rode one, a friends borrowed Hogg, she came back wet and more than a little out of breath.

A year later she teamed up with a large burly man and she rode on the back of his bike everywhere. She never tired of it. She never wanted to stop.

Several years after that she decided that she finally had to have her own mechanical sex toy, so she convinced her burly man to let her buy her own bike. A big one. She liked 'em big.

As soon as she swung her heavy black boots over the saddle of the Hogg she felt something change. Something, significant. She felt to small to ride such a large bike. But she ignored such a feeling, and kicked her inner wimp out of the picture and brought that baby to roaring life. Vroom! Vroom! She kicked up a considerable amount of dust and left some rubber on the asphalt as she rode that Hogg out of the parking lot. Free and excited.

Mel rode that bike almost fifty miles before she turned around and returned to the dealership. All along her trip she had these strange feelings of not being large enough. Of not being old enough to ride such a grown-up and serious machine. She was too caught up in the experience of the wind blowing her long blonde hair straight back, the purr of the engine and the wonderful feeling between her legs that she did not realize that slowly she was shrinking. At first it was slow. Then it went faster. She was twenty years old again, down from age twenty-two. Then eighteen. Fifteen, twelve, eight, her hands barely holding the handlebars, seven, six, five, she turns into the dealership the bike wobbling, four, three 1/2, three, Melanie can't hold onto the bike anymore and falls to the pavement the bike falls after her, two 1/2 she continues to regress, 24 months and the shrinking stops. As does Melanie. She comes to a rolling crying stop, a few feet from the big burly guy she used to date. The salesman gasped. All the burly guy can say is "Holy F****!"

All little Melanie can do is lay on the pavement on her back, kick her tiny feet out of her too large black boots, and cry and cry and cry over the bruises to her small body and to her once "Kickass" ego. And cry and cry and cry some more over the unwelcome wetness now filling her diapers.


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