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Author's Chapter Notes:

Welcome to part three!  If you’re reading this after having read the first two parts, again, thanks.  If you haven’t, you should be able to follow what's happening pretty easily, but I encourage you to check those out.  You can find both on my account page.

Additionally, to all who sent me messages requesting this story, I appreciate the support, and hope you like what you see.

So, without further ado, enjoy!

You open your eyes to the pitch black of your muggy abode, the only sound coming from your own slow breathing as you wake up.  Without even sitting up or blinking, you run your hands along your body, gripping your fingers around your purplish, bruised side.  This last weekend hasn’t been entirely bad, and you almost made it through without a major injury.  Weekends are always worst.  That’s when Carly isn’t in class all day, and instead has most of her time free.  And she happens to enjoy spending a lot of that free time with you.  Luckily for you, though, it’s a Monday, meaning you have time to recuperate.  Until she gets back from classes, that is.

You’re reasonably certain, though, that the rib isn’t broken.  Most likely, it would be a lot more painful if that was the case.  But then again, you realize you’ve built up one of the highest pain tolerances of probably anyone your age.  You imagine you could step onto a battlefield with a gun, get your legs blown off, and just grimace.  Likely an exaggeration, you note humorously to yourself.  Not only would the agony be a lot worse, but if your rib actually was broken, there’s a high likelihood you wouldn’t even be able to stand up, let alone not have any of your vital organs punctured.  It’s a God-spanked miracle that nothing like that has ever happened to you in the last five years since you shrank down to just under three inches tall and essentially became The Incredible Human Hamster.  Or at least, that’s pretty much what you are to your sister.  With one minor difference: hamsters tend to have access to much more fresh air and sunlight when sitting in their cage.  You, on the other hand, while still quite human (you think?) are currently laying inside your sister’s sock drawer in an old, ratty dresser in her college dorm room, with the smallest slit of light coming in at the top where your sister leaves the drawer cracked open enough so that you don’t suffocate, your body tucked halfway into a woolen tube sock for use as a sleeping bag.  It’s the same one you always use, because it’s the softest and thickest to help protect against the cold.  Your sister is aware of this, and as she never likes wearing such thick socks, she’s kept it for your own benefit to sleep in in the drawer.  It’s not much, but it’s at least a gesture: some glimmer of what some might consider “kindness.”  And you don’t tend to see much of that particular word in your skyscraper-sized sibling.

As you continue rubbing at your throbbing and battered rib, you absent-mindedly reflect on the last five years of your total imprisonment by Carly, your 19-year-old “little” sister.  It all truly had been kick-started just a week before the terrible, fateful day.  Your sister, just 14 at the time, had befriended a rebellious guy her age that she had been forbidden to see again by your parents.  She did it anyway while they weren’t home, though, and you took the liberty of snapping a photo to use as leverage over your sister, forcing her to do all your work and chores for a full week just to avoid you squealing on her.  And she did it, albeit begrudgingly.

It truly was one of the most satisfying weeks of your life.  You and your sister have always had a very rough relationship; however, Carly’s pretty face and sweet words are all she really ever needs to get her way or convince anyone of anything that comes out of that mouth of hers, and she tended to use this to lord over you.  Despite being just under three years younger than you, Carly has always been, to an extent, the dominant one in your decidedly antagonistic relationship.  She’s crafty and conniving enough to get you to do just about anything.  Your parents, two of the strictest people on the planet, can’t stand cursing or acting out of any kind, and you utilized both.  Knowing full well how much trouble you’d get in (both you and your sister), she always found ways to use this to her advantage.  Tossing food all over you.  Getting you to do her homework for her.  Forcing you to smell her feet just to humiliate you.  Tying you down while asleep and getting her friend to stick her butt all over your face.  These were just the tip of the iceberg, and it all pointed to the simple truth that you were firmly wrapped around your sister’s finger (unfortunately, now you are quite literally wrapped around her finger on many occasions). 

Finally with a piece of blackmail of your own to use at the time in the form of the photo, you got your sister to do a grueling amount of work for you in the yard, until something you still can’t quite explain to this day happened.  You were splashed by chemicals in a school lab one day.  You were struck by a bolt of lightning in a thunderstorm while you were idiotically sticking a long, metal object into the air.  And then you shrank down to the size of a small mouse.  Seeking sanctuary in your house, your enormous sister managed to find you.  At first seeming like she was going to help you, the bratty and controlling young girl realized just how unique an opportunity this was.  And with you ranting like a madman at her hesitance to call for help, not only did she refuse to find you any aid, she forced you into the most painful, humiliating, and terrifying nightmare of your now-pitiful existence.  Torturing you, verbally abusing you, taunting your inability to get her back in any meaningful way, the spiteful Carly had at first offered the chance to get help if you simply followed her directions and tried to learn a few life “lessons” about treating people (namely herself and her friends) with a bit more respect.  And at the end of it all, when you had given your devotion to your sister in so many sickening ways you don’t care or dare to count them, she laughed in your hopeful face, telling you that not only would you not be receiving help of any kind, she planned to keep you like a pet.  And she has.  For the past five years.

Five.  Years.

But it’s different now.  In the first few days of your shrunken life, when the chance of help and escape still loomed, you had actually found the strength to fight back against most of your sister’s insane demands.  Not that you ever were able to affect the decisions, because your sister did whatever the hell she felt like doing with you no matter your response, but you had fought, both physically and (perhaps more importantly) mentally.  That was what mattered.  Your will had been strong enough in the face of this gigantic, evil goddess of a sibling that you had refused to break.  That is, until she told you of her plan to keep you like a caged guinea pig for the rest of your life.  That was the final breaking point: the straw that broke the camel’s back.  From then on, you became a rather docile creature.  You no longer tried to fight anything your sister did to you.  You acted obediently, without a clear thought of rebellion against her.  And over these five years, you’ve watched a steady change take place.  Your sister was a cruel and veritable witch during your early days, her desire to dominate a human being so all-consuming that she did just about anything that popped into her mind to you without a second thought.  And you have a feeling that much of your own pathetic resistance fueled the fire, showing her just how in control she was.  She made you her personal bitch, and there wasn’t a thing you could do about it.

Now, though, five years later, your sister halfway through her freshmen year of college, you have to admit to yourself: your life is technically better than it was around four years ago.  As your will had been utterly broken in just a matter of days as your sister’s little naked pet, you’d guess she didn’t find it as fun subjugating you.  Not by any stretch of the imagination that she doesn’t do this anymore, or still enjoy it immensely; you’re still a little human toy to Carly, and she has never shown any signs of wanting to grow you back to size, nor any sign that’s she’s become bored of you.  The difference now is the relative complacency your relationship has achieved.  You don’t resist anything, and Carly repays you in certain ways, such as by beating you up a little less, or not threatening to kill you every other day. 

Pleasant little rewards such as those. 

Having been in this position for five years, you’ve learned how Carly’s game works.  Go along with everything, and your life doesn’t have to be a never-ending train wreck of pain.  Not that you don’t have pain, you note grimly, as you wince again upon another touch of your ribs.  But at the very least, it’s not constant.  Plus, there’s the added bonus that she hasn’t killed you yet.  You figure you shouldn’t discount the continuation of life as a good thing.

                Your moment is broken up by the loud clapping sound of flesh against wood.  You look to your side to see four long, gigantic fingers squeezing against the drawer lid and pulling out.  Your entire tube sock-filled world shifts around and the blinding lights of the dorm room fill your eyes as you stare upward into the massive face of Carly as she beams down at you.

                Her smooth and silky dirty blond hair is tied up in a ponytail behind her head.  Her deep blue eyes gleam as they stare hungrily down at you, her perfectly straight white teeth glistening with a similar sheen.  Her tanned skin is a particularly potent shade of peachy, light golden brown today; you’d bet she’s spent some time in the sun this afternoon.  As you look up at her, her tight purple shirt billowing subtly in the breeze of the AC like a flag to you, you see her shoulder shifting as her hand rises up, her long fingers curling expectantly as it nears you.  Her hands are particular oddities, being impressively large for a girl.  Carly’s fingers aren’t even spindly or bony; her hands themselves are average in form, but they’re simply massive.  This has always been good for Carly, as she’s one of the top players on the college’s freshmen girl’s basketball team partially because she can palm a basketball easily in those gargantuan things, coupled with the fact that she’s just shy of six feet tall.  It also happens to be good for use in her controlling of you, because no matter what you’re doing, it simply takes a quick wrap around from those soft, smooth, muscular fingers of hers, squeezing you against her spacious and fleshy palm to completely immobilize you.

                And that’s exactly what she does.  You watch, unmoving, serene, and uncaring as your little sister curls your nude body up inside her warm fist and plucks you easily and weightlessly from the tube sock bag.  Wind hits your face as you are whipped up into the air and planted at a close range in front of Carly’s face, her hot breath steaming against your eyes, your dick clenched lightly in the crevice between her fingers.

                “Hey there, little bro,” she says in a melodic, whispered voice.  “Did you miss me?”

                “Yes.”

                “Really?  That’s so sweet of you.  How much?”

                “A lot.”

                “A LOT a lot, or just a lot?” she teases.

                “A lot, a lot,” you state simply.  These are the accepted responses, and half a decade of experience has taught you that strictly sticking to them is always the best option.

                “Well, I’m glad,” she says, giving you a slight extra squeeze of what is probably meant to indicate some level of affection.  Her lips curl up into a larger smile, and she chuckles at you, sending out an extra puff of warm exhaled breath.  It smells fruity, like partially digested strawberries.  Not too good, but it easily beats the way Carly’s rancid breath smells when she first wakes up (and you’ve become well acquainted enough with this particular scent to count your blessings when another is present).  “Because I missed you too.  Today was such a looooong day, oh my God…” she mumbles, walking towards her bed and plopping down onto it in a cross-legged position, still gripping you firmly.  “Professor Talbot… I don’t know what I’m going to do about his class.  He just goes ON, and ON, and ON… I was practically falling asleep.  And I almost did, too.  But know why I didn’t?”

                “Why?”

                “You, little bro,” she says, wrinkling her nose cutely.

                “Me?”

                “That’s right, you.  I was sitting there, about to conk out on my desk, and then I just started thinking about you.  I just couldn’t WAIT to come back and see you.  You know you’re my favorite part of today, right, Jack?”

                “I am?” you squeak in a low voice, just going with the flow.

                “Well, it’s not like you had much competition from Talbot, but yeah.”

                “Umm…” you mumble.  “Uh… okay?”

                “Oh God, it’s so cute when you say things like.  Do it again.”

                “What do I say?”

                “Oh, I don’t know…” she croons gently, shifting her grip around you absentmindedly and letting some air rush over your back before she smushes you back into her warm hand flesh.  “Say: “You’re a really pretty girl, Carly.”  That’s what I want you to say.”

                “Okay.  You’re a really pretty girl, Carly,” you say, not using much inflection but saying it in the same voice so as to just get this over with.

                “GOD, it just gets me every time when you say that…” she giggles girlishly, rippling her fingers around you.  “That’s what I need in class when I’m falling asleep.  Just you to say cute little things to me like that in my ear, and I’d make it through.  If only you were a little smaller, bro…” she says, squinting at you in thought.

                “Huh?”

“Oh, don’t freak out, I don’t really mean it, but it could be fun… I mean, if you were only like an inch tall.  I could put you in like an ear bud, you know?  And then you could just say that to me all… day… long…” she drawls dreamily, evidently very pleased with this particular idea.  “Over and over… and over… and over again.  Maybe you could sing a couple songs, too.”

                “I…”

                “Relax.  I know your singing sucks,” she says slyly.  “But it’s okay.  You don’t have to sing for me.  I don’t want to have some weird little pop singer in my ear.  I just want you.  My little brother.  My sweet, sweet little brother.”

                “Uh-huh.”

                “And you like it too, don’t you?”

                “What?”

                “Don’t be so cute like that, Jack.  You like it too.  You know it.  I mean… c’mon, your life is like a luxury hotel or something!” 

You would firmly beg to differ.  But you of course don’t do it verbally.

“Food, water, a soft bed…” she says, eying the dresser drawer.  “Your big sissy to take care of your EVERY need.  And all you have to do is be cute for her.  I don’t think that’s too terrible, do you?”

                “No.”

                “Cool,” she grins, bringing her other hand up to you.  She extends her pointer finger and begins stroking it over your hair.  “Your hair feels really soft today.  I like it when it feels like that.”

                “Yeah.”

                “It’s really messy, though.  Maybe you need a bath again.  What do you think?”

                “Um…”

                “Oh, you know what?  I don’t think I have time.  I’ve gotta meet Nikki in a little bit.  We’ve got a huge project to work on for dumb old Professor Talbot’s class.  Ugh,” she groans irritably.  She sighs at you.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to get your hopes up or anything about that bath.”

                Yeah, you think sarcastically.  You were REALLY looking forward to that.  Would have been a lot of fun.  Just like normally. 

Good grief.

                “Believe ME, I would MUCH rather spend my time with you, cutie,” she says sweetly.  You watch as her fingertip finds its way to her lips.  She pokes it just inside, then removes it with a soft pop, the very tip glistening with a miniature glob of her saliva.  “I’m sorry.  This is going to have to do for now…” she says, gently pressing down on your hair.  A warm dribble of the spit forms on your hair, and she begins rubbing vigorously at it, working it in like shampoo and matting your hair with the sticky droplet.

“There, that’s much better for now,” she opines.  “Go on, keep going.  Work it in a little better, like it’s conditioner or something.”

You shrug, forcing your fingers into the gooey mess your hair has become and mussing it around in the warm goop.  She ceases the gentle stroking of your hair and squeezes you again.  This time, her finger flesh presses into your bruised rib and you can’t help but flinch.  “What’s wrong?  Did I do something?”

                “It’s nothing, it’s just my side,” you answer simply.  She opens her hand to examine you, allowing you to flop limply into a spread-eagled position in her cupped palm while she pressed her fingertip against your bruise.  You wince again.

                “Oh, I’m sorry about that, little bro,” she says, but you know perfectly well she’s not really at all.  “I guess our games get a little rough sometimes, huh?  Well, look at it on the bright side: you’ve got your own teensy little battle wound now, bro.  To show off to all those little girlfriends you have,” she jokes, knowing full well you’ve had no meaningful human contact in quite a while.

                 “I’m off.  If we don’t get to work on this thing soon, I’m gonna fail this course.  And if I have to sit through another semester with this dude droning at me like the guy from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, I’m going to lose it,” she says, as her hand descends back into the dresser drawer.  Her soft fingers release their grip on you and you roll back onto the sock.  “Just sit tight.  We’re gonna stop for some food, so I’ll grab you some for later.  I’ll be back before you know it, and then maybe we’ll have some fun,” she says, winking again.  “Bye-bye, little bro.”  The drawer pushes inward, leaving you in almost pitch blackness save for the little line of light left by the opening so you can breathe.  You shrug, not really giving a damn about what she might mean by fun.  Frankly, you’re just pleased to have another moment alone with your thoughts.  You slide your legs back inside the tube sock, scratching at your hair, which is now itchy with Carly’s drying saliva, and settle in for a quick nap, although you’ve got a bad feeling that no amount of sleep could prepare you for whatever it is that’s in store for you.

Chapter End Notes:

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