Scully's Shrunken Stripper - Act I (Patron Reward) (Patreon)

[The following story was written as a reward for a patron. Thank you so much for your support!

The following is an X Files fanfiction, featuring Dana Scully interacting with a ~five inch-tall woman. Contains themes of shrinking; implied abduction; gentle; nudity; breasts; feet/footwear.]

Police chatter itched from the radios. Red and blue flashed off the shallow puddles left by an early morning rain. Yellow tape was plastered over the strip club’s exits, guarded by officers that allowed only permitted individuals into the crime scene. Another car drove up the gravel road, its headlights cutting through the fog as it parked opposite of the Silverling Gentlemen’s Club. A sheriff readily approached the latest to be brought on to the investigation, uncertain if he should be relieved or worried that the FBI was getting involved in what should have been an ordinary missing persons case – if it were not the fifth person that week to vanish without a trace.

The cold air had no effect on her as she exited the car and met with the sheriff. Her FBI badge, drawn smoothly from the pocket of her tan trenchcoat, was waved for him to see as she urged onward to the club’s main doors. “Special Agent Scully,” she sternly introduced herself. “I was debriefed on the way here. Can you take me to the bouncer involved in the incident, please?”

Husk, Indiana. The city limits for a town made mostly of cornfields and pine trees. Another example of uneventful Americana, tragically struck by the inexplicable – a situation Scully found increasingly typical ever since being assigned to the X Files. In a place where the most exciting crimes were billboard graffiti artists, it was unprecedented for four people to go missing – all women, having disappeared without warning or reason, vanishing from indiscreet locations. Credit had to be given to Mulder, for it was on his call that Scully flew out to the Hoosier state to be stationed for a fifth incident. Mulder would have been there with her as usual had he not been entangled in a separate string of conspiracies; Scully would be working alone, and without his otherworldly theories, she had only her logic and deductive skills to make sense of what plagued another innocent Everytown.

Whereas her partner would suggest alien abductions or psychic teleportation as the cause, Scully reviewed the incidents with a down-to-earth perspective. As she waited for arrangements to be made for questioning, she studied the outside of Silverling, namely where a host of half-dressed women stood at a corner, draped in towels to ease their shivering – shivering from the autumn air, or due to the high tension. Scully had to pry her eyes off the dancer’s bodies to recenter herself on the case. She could offer all her sympathies to the women, but within her hypothesis of a serial kidnapper at large, it was likely luck alone that they had not been the one to go missing.

“I heard her shout, Is that a gun? I stopped and just a second later, she’s screaming in there.” The bouncer pointed down the hall of private rooms, painting a picture with his finger of what had happened some hours ago. “So I start bangin’ on the door, Open up! Open up! I’m pushing on the door, but then the guy charges out, he knocks me over. I hit my head on the wall, yelled for help – that’s as much as I got involved, ma’am. He ran out the fire exit over there.”

Notes were zipped into Scully’s notebook as the scene was remembered. Other staff members confirmed the chain of events – the bouncer yelling, being shoved to the floor – which established many of the details of a conventional kidnapping. The problem, however, was too glaring for Scully to ignore: “And where was the dancer?”

The bouncer hesitated. “...I didn’t see her. I chased after the guy outside, but he was gone. And when I came back, Cici was nowhere around either.”

“You never witnessed Cici leave that private room?” Scully asked, and the bouncer shook his head. “Did you ever see her go in the room?”

“Cici went in with a man, that’s for sure,” the bouncer confirmed, “but no part of her came out that I saw. Hell, all her clothes are still there!”

Scully sighed quietly; Someone would surely notice a naked woman running around, she thought troublingly. Passing through officers and investigators, she walked down the hall with the bouncer behind her, up to where a private room’s door was propped open. There was little to look over in the small space: a lounge sofa, a one-person stage and pole, and an overpriced mini-bar. The room appeared ready to rent out, at least by Silverling’s shabby standards. The most outstanding detail was that nothing seemed out of place, no signs that there had been a struggle as would have been assumed. Even the bundle of clothes on the floor fit the context of a private strip dance; according to the other dancers, the tube top, skirt, and platform heels were exactly what Cici had been wearing that shift.

“We’ve dusted for prints and are getting those analyzed,” the sheriff added from the doorframe. “The room is yours to look at, Agent Scully. In the meantime, I’ve got men combing the cornfields looking for our culprit, but we’re talking about a lot of corn…”

Almost nothing could be determined of the alleged kidnapping based on what was witnessed. A caucasian man in his 30s or 40s, middling height and weight – the image of almost any Indianian that attended strip clubs. Scully naturally wanted to cultivate a profile of who the police were looking for, but as she was left alone in the private room to commit her own investigation, her theories drew from what was known of the missing persons. But there were no substantial connections between the victims, other than that they were women – Scully wondered what made each individual special, and thus what made Cici a target.

Cici Starlight – real name Cecilia Ramirez – had been dancing at Silverling’s for two years. A short list of information had been given to Scully, but with virtually no criminal or medical history, Cici was hard to describe beyond a stereotype. Born and raised in New Jersey, she took her talents as a stripper to the midwest after a falling-out with her abusive father. The twenty-two year-old’s story essentially ended there: never seen with a boyfriend, never caught talking about family, Cici lived a quiet life with just barely any reputation as a small town stripper. Were her talents special enough to lure a serial kidnapper? Or was it more misfortune for an unlucky dancer?

One detail from the crime scene could not be shaken from Scully’s attention. To put herself in the position of the culprit, she sat herself on the lounge chair and hunched onto her knees; she blinked, imagining the room as it should have been hours ago, just before the incident. The mood lighting, the music, the smoky air – the entertainment that would have been playing in front of her. She had a single printed picture of Cici that she held out in front of herself, aimed at the pole as if putting that image onto the stage. Only as brief as one breath, Scully enjoyed a private thought of being Cici’s client, an excitingly warm idea of being captivated under her dance; not just a distraction, she justified that perspective as a means to find a clue, taking into consideration the potential positions of the culprit right before the abduction. There was that one detail again, laying on the floor: all of Cici’s clothes, lumped in a pile around neon platform heels.

There couldn’t have been much of a performance, she thought, shifting forward out of the seat. She knelt next to the clothes mound, pulling on a plastic glove so she could gently maneuver each article. These clothes weren’t stripped out of – they dropped right to the ground, Scully concluded, all at once, as if her body… disappeared without them.

A phenomenal theory, but Scully sought a logical explanation. Every witness was positive that only the culprit left the room; there were no other exits, not even a window or a closet to hide inside. As Scully checked all four corners, there seemed to be only that one path in or out at all – except for one possibility in the wall behind the sofa. An air vent with an ornate-style grate, a slot less than a foot wide and half as tall. Of course, it would be impossible for any adult to even get their head through, but chills spilled down Scully’s neck, for she had become all too familiar with threats that crept through tight places.

She hoped it would be a waste of time to turn around on her haunches and move the sofa aside, but before she even did that, there was a glimpse of movement– in the corner, behind the sofa’s rear leg. Scully flinched, but when she untensed, nothing was there – not anymore. But what she saw for just that moment, something maybe five inches tall, shone clear in her memory as she focused: “... Cici?”

Scurrying scratches could be heard of something entering the vent. Scully swiftly acted and shoved the sofa out of her way; there was something in the grate! A creature was caught in an ornate loop of its pattern – unmistakably human legs flailed madly, plightful squeaks echoed back out of the vent. It was a nude woman trying to escape, but trapped by her waist; her wild writhing, however, would slip her free if Scully stayed stalled.

“Hey! A-Ah…” Scully, unsure what to say, leaned closer with her hands ready – but hesitating – to spring forward. The woman, well presumed to be Cici, shrieked from fright and strained harder to pull herself unstuck. Scully had her moment, to easily reach in and grab one of the kicking legs. That moment lingered, and then it passed; though her hand hovered close, Scully did not even try to grab the little woman, letting her fall face-first into the otherside.

Cici scrambled, first to her knees and then her feet, stumbling fast until she had nowhere left to stumble. The vent stopped short before jetting upwards into a tunnel of dust; Cici pressed herself against that dead-end, her hands itching up the wall in a plea to climb it. She breathed rapid and desperate, feeling the hand hunting for her, all too aware it would be easy for the grate to be undone and for herself to be fished out, like the pathetic thing she had become. “No, no…!” she whined – but when she turned around, expecting to fight a giant’s grasp, she found nothing on her tail. Her panting persisted, but with her back against the wall, she only saw Scully’s face waiting outside the vent. Big, peering eyes shifted around the grate’s pattern, wanting to see her, but no further was she being pursued – for now.

“Get! Away!” Cici demanded. Her volume made Scully blink, or perhaps it was the sheer sharpness of her tiny-sized pitch. Cici shook her head and pressed flatter away, despite how cold the metal was on her naked back. “Stop, stop…!”

Scully mouthed words, but did not speak aloud. If the dumbfounding sight before her was more real than a subconscious illusion, then the victim was in fact found – afraid and traumatized by some diminishing transformation, impeccably vulnerable on the floor of a bigger world. Of course she would act so skittishly; Scully strongly empathized with her, most so when she felt the rumble of heavy footsteps groaning from the hallway. At the door then were the sheriff and bouncer, two large men filling the doorframe, checking in on the special agent after they heard a noise. Scully dismissed them from where she was crouched, and once they were away, she flicked the door closed. Her muscles curled with tension as she turned back to the vent; with less oppressive energies nearby, she hoped the belittled dancer might be more trusting.

“...Cecilia. It’s just me in here,” Scully began, slowly and softly, her face leveled low with the vent but at a skeptical distance. Cast under shadows, Cici’s shape could barely be distinguished, her chest rising fast with frantic breaths. “My name is Dana Scully, I’m here to help you–”

“No! No way!” Cici stammered. “I-I saw all them officers! You’re gonna hand me off to ‘em! No way I’m doing that…!”

“Cici, you can trust me,” Scully insisted. “I’m not with the police – I’m FBI. You’ve got every reason to be afraid, Cici, but you have to come out–”

“N-No! I won’t–!”

“I can help you! I’m a doctor that specializes in phenomenal conditions, s-such as your… shrunken state,” Scully stuttered, applying the initial diagnosis she had been fretting to actually use. She paused, sensing a thin connection between her and Cici, that her words were reaching the victim. “I know that you must feel vulnerable, but if you come with me, you won’t be handed-off. I promise you’ll be under my protection and mine alone – one woman to another.” She shifted closer to the grate, looking more closely for the woman within and how she would react; “If you trust me, you can come out. Only when you’re ready.”

Though it meant making deals outside Bureau regulations, Scully understood that any less of a promise would not have been convincing enough. The victim’s troubled history with men was obviously a factor to consider, and true to her beliefs, Scully prioritized the protection of innocents. She played patient, settling where she was crouched, waiting anxiously outside the vent for a decision to be made, a decision she would only allow Cici to make for herself.

The naked body shivered slowly out into the light; she stayed away from the grate, but between her and Scully’s eye-opened expression was only inches of space. Unshrouded from the darkness, Cici took another step closer, timidly analyzing the special agent – a giant on her haunches, bigger than both Indiana’s barns and New Jersey’s buildings. Though Scully appeared marvelously looming just outside the vent, Cici judged the character keenly, for her life very much depended on it.

“... You’re pretty for a fed,” Cici scoffed, a good sign of her humor having still survived. “... But you sure do like to stare like a cop, huh?”

Scully, who had been lured forward with positive progression, blinked bashfully before inching backwards on her knees. Her staring was observational, the agent argued with herself, but even that was uncertain; regardless as to exactly why, she had many reasons for studying the tiny woman so intricately, some more distracting than others.

“You did come out on your own accord,” Scully mentioned, superseding Cici’s teasing. “Isn’t that right? Just a moment ago – you want to trust me, don’t you, Cici?”

“Y-Yeah, ‘course… just…” Cici nearly shivered back into her dead-end, but she instead stepped forward, grabbing the grate like the bars of a jail cell, her nudity pressing through the pattern. “You. Just you. Okay?” Pitiful at first, she then soured into a fierce glare; “Because I ain’t stupid! I know what folks would’s do to me…! We get out of Silverling’s just me and you, alright, Doc?”

Scully glanced back at the private room’s door, still closed behind her. After a nervous swallow, she laid a hand out flat in front of the vent, providing a platform for Cici to climb onto. “Me and you.”

Scully exited expeditiously from the crime scene, passing down orders and tasks to the sheriff and his officers along the way out of the strip club. Her evaluation was finished, but not without remarks from her peers, impressed by her apparent quickness of a thorough investigation; beneath her cool exterior, however, was a secret pushed next to her racing heart. She hated to sneak something out from under the authorities, but the unorthodox circumstance called for an unorthodox method. While sliding past pairs of cops, Scully kept her hand and a manilla folder shielding her chest – guarding her coat’s inner pocket, where a shrunken stripper was being smuggled.

Cici agreed to the plan, at first, but after being zipped closed in the pocket, she immediately itched with discomfort. Her five-inch scale rustled tirelessly in the fabric sack, twisting for balance once the world began shuddering and swaying to the rhythm of the special agent’s hustled departure. Sealed in the pocket with Cici was the FBI badge depicting Scully’s grayscale face, the first of several similarly sized parcels that took up precious space. Cici knew to be quiet without having been told, but she impatiently wrestled with her environment.

“--Hah! M-Mm…” Scully gasped and clutched at her chest, just as she stepped out of the strip club. She stared hard forward, hunched with red-colored embarrassment; her hidden passenger twisted ticklishly in her pocket, a position pressed too close against Scully’s bust to go unacknowledged. But with suspicious eyes all around her, she could only huff in disdain, pretending to have hiccups for the sheriff’s sake.

At first, Cici was unaware of what effect her writhing would have, but the jostle that followed – Scully’s subtle adjustment of her shirt and bra, a signal for the stripper to stop – revealed to her what lowly power she had over the agent, if just in that instant. The temptation was too much: scared as she was, she had a miraculous opportunity to fondle a breast bigger than her whole self, even if it were through some layers of clothes. A habit of acting out when she could play coy took over her as she giddily embraced the vague globe of Scully’s boob, her arms sprawling around the shape and texture of her bra before embracing that much of it in a luscious squeeze.

Scully giggled when she meant to growl. Though far enough away from Silverling’s that she was surely unsupervised, she maintained her distant disposition throughout the dancer’s ploy. She bit her lip frustratedly, getting into her car and shutting the door fast – then, she grasped her trenchcoat and whipped it open, gasping as she beamed at the inner pocket and its passenger. She had no words, but posed an expression that asked everything at once.

“...What?” Cici asked, her eyes filled with acted innocence. “Maybe you try getting comfortable in someone’s pocket! It’s not so easy.”

Scully sighed and looked away, scanning outside the windows before starting the car. “Good thing I didn’t put you any closer to my holster,” she mumbled, though amused by the idea of a tiny woman setting off her firearm. After driving up the dirt road and away from Silverling’s, Scully stopped and looked back into her pocket. “Now then, it’s just us – just like you asked for. Can you tell me now what happened last night?”

Cici drew a long breath in as she contemplated the question. Preferring to be held rather than pocketed, she carefully lifted herself out and into Scully’s hand, a platform that positioned her between the agent and the steering wheel. She slumped into the shape of the palm, proving weak still after so much stress; Cici barely had a shiver for modesty, only curling her legs closed while leaving the rest of herself bare and exposed. She took that time to get her story straight, but also to study Scully back, yet wary of what any giant could do to her – regardless of their gender.

“...I got attacked. By a guy – a customer,” Cici explained, reliving the seconds of that night. “Never saw him before, but he requested me by name for a private dance.”

“Is that unusual?” Scully asked.

“For me? No! I’m pretty popular,” Cici laughed, “so I get guys all the time wanting the Hottest in Hoosier County. I’ve lived here for two years and I still don’t know what the hell a hoosier is.”

Scully noted the dissatisfaction in Cici’s tone – clearly a woman that wanted more than what she had going for herself. “You moved here from New Jersey, correct?” she questioned further. “Could your attacker have been someone who knew you then?”

“Jersey had nothin’ for me but hard times,” Cici sighed. “If someone was looking for me, then that’s the most anyone there has wanted me. Nah, this guy knew what he wanted, same thing as everyone else.” Laid on her back, she made a show of brushing up her breasts and allowing them to bounce back into rest; Scully inferred well enough, yet Cici insisted on an extra squeeze for the special agent. “We got into the room, and when the door closed and I turned, I swore he was gonna kill me – he had a gun!”

“A pistol?”

“I guess? Next thing that happened, there was a bright light, a really cold breeze… Suddenly I’m fighting to get out from under my clothes. I didn’t know what the hell was happening, but when I heard men outside, I hid in that vent…”

“Were you afraid your attacker was still near…?”

“No…” Cici sat forward and hugged her knees close, perching her nose between them. “I figured he must’ve ran, but, I don’t trust men. Any of ‘em.”

“Not even your own security?”

“Definitely not,” Cici scoffed, “those guys are lookin’ at us more than they’re lookin’ out for us. Besides, even the nicest guys become animals around a good-looking girl. I know how they’d be treating me right now…” She faced her gaze into Scully’s and smiled, caressing her hand up one of the fingers that held her. “...You’re not like those animals, right?”

Scully hesitated to answer – cautious to reply, but also choked by the question itself. She found herself unlocking her stare from Cici’s body, gently depositing the dancer into an empty cup holder so that she could drive with both hands. “...I understand where you’re coming from,” Scully said, choosing a safe answer as she merged onto the highway. “Trust is an issue I’ve struggled a lot with. I hope, however, that you do actually trust me, Cici. You’re not the first woman to disappear like this, and the longer I go without the whole truth, the more likely other women will remain in danger.”

“...There’s others?!” Cici was horrified. “Wh-What’s this nutjob doing…?!”

“I believe he is… taking them,” Scully solemnly stated, focused hard on the road ahead. “Perhaps acquiring a collection of shrunken victims. After succeeding a few times on strangers, he may have turned his priorities to… mm, more desirable targets.”

“He’s going after hot girls,” Cici simplified. She huffed, “The world ain’t ever easy for us.”

“Fortunately, things didn’t go as he planned last night,” Scully added. “With your help, there’s a real chance of stopping him before he does… this to anyone else.”

“My help, huh?” Cici wondered about that as she leaned on the cup holder’s rim. “I don’t know how much I can help out.”

“Well, there’s a lot of questions you can possibly answer. You can give us a description of the attacker to start with, and we can study your condition–”

“We? What happened to just us, Doc?” Cici turned sour on a dime, surprising Scully with her infamously short fuse. “Let me rephrase what I said: I don’t know much I want to help. I’m sorry for all the other Barbies out there but I’m not giving myself up to be some government guinea pig!”

“Cici, th-that isn’t what we’d–” Scully glanced away from the road when she noticed the dancer lifting herself up and out of the holder, stradling the side as she kicked her legs over one at a time. “Hey! Don’t move– you’ll get hurt!”

“Tch. You’re sounding more and more like a regular cop.” With minimal caution, Cici stood up on the center console, surfing with the greater motion of the vehicle. Scully thought to handle her back down into safety, but her fingers merely flinched on the steering wheel, resistant to reaching down and grabbing a totally naked woman. Cici, however, behaved boldly by approaching the radio display and playing with the knobs – literally pushing Scully’s buttons, proving that she could be a handful even at a handful size. “You suits like to act so big and cool~ but I know how easy it is to piss one of you off.”

Scully groaned as she kept one hand on the wheel while the other went to Cici. Half-blind, she softly swatted at Cici to dissuade her from the radio, but failed to stop her from turning on the sound. Music suddenly shot from the speakers, continuing mid-song off the loaded cassette tape – a blast of noise, because Cici had maxed out the volume. Spooked as she was, Scully scrambled to turn it off, while also driving and also fending off Cici. She hissed for her to stop, looking down for only a second– long enough that a truck merged in front of her.

The brakes were slammed before any collision could occur, but the stop was fast and sudden. Scully felt herself pushed hard against the steering wheel, her breath tightly held until the car was safely stopped. A honk then sped past her from behind, another driver swerving past her; Scully sighed and centered herself, but not without quickly flicking off the music. A stern scolding was ready to be used against the nuisance responsible, but when she looked around the console, Cici was gone.

“...Cici?! Oh god…” Scully was instantly tense as she searched the floor of her car, traffic whizzing by every few seconds. “Cecilia– there you are…” She found the dancer at her feet, scurrying between the pedals after having fallen there from the stop. Down there, she could have been overlooked under Scully’s heels; the sole of one was grabbed onto by Cici’s tiny hands, used to support herself after the stumble. Through that grip, Scully ascertained how weak the shrunken woman had become, so small that her resistance was almost unnoticeable. “Miss Ramirez! For your own sake, calm down! Y-Your condition may endanger you more than either of us realize right now–”

“Then come and get me~!” Cici laughed, peeking past the toe of the agent’s shoe. A giggle spun further confusion onto Scully, not expecting such giddy, erratic behavior. “Or am I too fast for the FBI?” Her taunting worked in rushing Scully to reach low after her. Cici danced around the strained grab, skipping to Scully’s other foot before it curled away from her. The chase enthralled her, sparking up with life as she reacted to the huge motions, jumped with excitement whenever she sensed a flare of emotion after her; though she knew she would be caught eventually, Cici had as much fun as she could making mischief, exploding into laughter when an unbuckled Scully finally scooped her off the car floor.

“That’s enough of that,” Scully said, terse with the naked woman in her grasp – a fact that thawed her glacial attitude, flushed with red and unable to look at Cici directly. Catching onto this, Cici struggled less, becoming soft and manageable – desirable. “What am I going to do with you?” Scully asked, glancing at the traffic around her. “Because I have half a mind to put you in the glove compartment.”

“No~ Not that~” Cici whined with the eyes of a puppy. “I’ll behave! I just don’t want to be treated like some thing, Doc~ How about we compromise?”

“Alright, well, where do you want to be?” Scully scanned around for places, but unless Cici could convincingly pose as a dashboard hula dancer, there were few creative choices the agent could think of.

“...You’ve got plenty of room in that seat,” Cici mentioned, leaning her chest more into the hand that bound her. “Can’t I sit on your lap? I’m sure it’s warmer there than in a cup holder.” She immediately detected Scully’s doubt; “I promise I won’t be a problem~ You can punish me if I act up again, okay?”

An energy overcame Scully, a spice of temptation that made her want to squeeze the doll-like woman as a warning – but she only bit her lip, resisting that carnal desire, instead loosening her grip almost entirely. Succumbing to Cici’s suggestion, she carefully seated the stripper on her thighs, watching her as she adjusted to the texture of her pants and the firmness of her legs. Indeed, Cici seemingly took her time with getting comfortable, her bare features slipping and caressing the shape of Scully’s lap until she was laid out comfortably on her back, gazing up at the flustered expression looming over her. Her smile told when she was settled, and so Scully was back on the road – all the while keenly aware that a deluxe stripper was sitting naked on her lap.

“Hey,” Cici chimed once they were back to speed, “where are you takin’ me, anyway? Your place~?”

“...A police lab,” Scully answered, with a swift addendum, “a private one.”

“Private? For sure?” Cici stared straight up at Scully, rolled over so that her body was very viewable – her legs spread enticingly, her breasts swaying from every bump in the road.

Distracted for a full second, Scully finally replied, “Just you and me.” It then happened naturally like an instinct: a hand moved from the steering wheel to where Cici sat, combing her with a tender pet before shakily returning. Scully subdued any increasing thoughts of lust, but Cici embraced that exact tension, writhing in delight of how she could have such an effect over a stern, serious special agent.

The victim, Cecilia Ramirez, has undergone a transformation that has yet to be scientifically explained: an ordinary, healthy woman – normally five-foot-five – shrunken to an approximate… five inches tall. Scully made a mental map of the details she had accrued, piecing together information so that proper profiles could be prepared; despite affirming that many clues, the fact about shrunken people still stumped her, no matter how she made sense of it. The apparatus for such a  drastic, instantaneous change is reportedly due to an unknown weapon utilized by an unassuming perpetrator, though it should be utterly impossible for human beings to be… shrunk. A variety of known conditions can cause abnormal shrinkage of distinct body parts or areas… but other than her changed proportions, Cici has proven remarkably alive – for a victim that should be realistically traumatized, she somehow remains… perky.

A tickle between Scully’s legs ran a shiver up her spine, but she found Cici merely tossing in a slumber, cozied in the crevice of her two legs. While at a traffic light, she admired the sleeping figure for longer than she meant; …Whether this personality is unusual for the subject has not been determined.