Harland remained the same diminished height after two strange days had passed.

Ms. Barlow had proven to be quite the eccentric. His initial favorable impression of her shifted quickly. She was fervent in tending to her gardens, going out for hours at a time and working her crops. She would harvest what was ready and show it to Harland, explaining every minute detail about not only each type of crop but how her way of growing it was the best. She seemed to hold little interest in the fact that her farming woman's odor might be offensive to him, even going so far as to joke that she would have let him sleep next to her in the bed if there was enough fresh air to survive the night. It was clear that she viewed Harland a some type of novelty, and he could not get the disturbing image out of his mind of a deranged little girl with a new doll.

She would read to him the most droll of histories for hours. She would lecture him for even longer hours about the proper way to reform Nassau and return it to English control. It quickly became clear to Harland that her intellect was vastly out of his depth and that they held absolutely nothing in common, particularly with regard to their viewpoints about Nassau's future. She had rescued him for some reason, but her loathing of pirates could not be disguised. He did not like the woman. By the second day he had begun to tune out almost all of what she said as he waited for the effects of the flask to wear off.

The third day began like the rest. Harland woke up on the dresser in his makeshift small-clothes to a the warm sun, a small meal, and a note from Ms. Barlow.Tending to the garden, my little one. He stood up and stretched, realizing with no great comfort that though she had often said 'little one', she had certainly never refered to Harland as hers. I'm overthinking things..

He ate his meal, then waited for her return and the inevitable barrage of one-sided conversation. Some time later, the door opened and he could hear her humming her way into the kitchen briefly before the sound started approaching the bedroom. He saw her enter, slight sheen of sweat coating her perfect skin as it always did after she finished working outside. He wondered why that made her look even more beautiful. She sat on the bed, close to him. Close enough to smell, certainly. God in heaven. He thought.

“Good morning! Did you sleep well? The harvest today was quite small. Most weeks I have enough to return to the markets with...” She continued on, as she did, for some time. Harland heard her but certainly wasn't listening. Lately he had been working out a way to escape the watchful eyes of Ms. Guthrie once he returned to his normal height. Harland was so lost in thought that he realized the room had been quiet for some time.

“Harland.” The shift in Ms. Barlow's tone was slight, but being a woman of endless pleasantries Harland noticed it immediately.

“Y-yes, ma'am?”

“I'm boring you.”

“No, ma'am. Of course not. Well. I mean, it's just that.. I'm a pirate. And you're a proper lady. That's all.”

“You're a pirate?” Ms. Barlow arched an eyebrow, her face a combination of amusement and annoyance.

“...Aye?” Harland was unsure where this was headed, but after the dull haze of the last few days he found himself growing increasingly uneasy.

She said nothing for a moment, simply looking at him. “You are 3 inches tall and dead to the world.” Her words sent a chill through him. Ms. Barlow let the silence linger, let the weight of her words sink in. “You were a pirate. Maybe that's the problem, Harland. I believe Nassau can be reformed and I choose to believe that all people are inherently good until proven otherwise. Even pirates. That's why I chose to help you. So for all I've done, I suppose it's too much to ask for a little common courtesy? To not show such blatant annoyance at my words and my disposition? It's quite sad, Harland.”

Harland was incredulous. Clearly the woman was insane. “I meant no disrespect, ma'am. But if you want a friend I think you'd better look elsewhere.” A long moment passed. And then another. Ms. Barlow made no expression, simply gazed into Harland. His uneasiness began to grow into a small fear, as he realized his words might somehow inadvertantly provoke her. “Ma'am, I didn't mean -..”

“No. Of course not, I don't expect you to be my friend. I hesitate to think of what Ms. Guthrie would have done to me were she to find out I was harboring you. I also must admit, Harland, when I found you I did not consider that the effects might be long lasting or... permanent. Maybe it's time you realized the gravity of your current situation.” She put her finger to her lips, making a show of being thoughtful about something.

“Ms. Barlow, I truly cannot apologize eno-..”

“Hush now, Harland. I want to ask you something. How long have you been a pirate?” Where is she going with this? Harland wondered.

“I was an urchin in Nassau.. it's the only life I've known, ma'am.” It was true. Harland had not been a pirate for long, but he had been one for as long as he could be anything at all.

“Expected as much. I wonder, Harland. What must it be like to have never workedfor anything in your life? To do nothing but take what rightfully belongs to others?”

Harland's expression darkened instantly. “If you don't think being a pirate is hard wor-..” Ms. Barlow interrupted him once more, this time with a loud laugh that drowned out any hope of him trying to explain his side of things.

“Oh, I'm sure. Swabbing decks, manning the oars once in a while.. clearly performing such perfunctory tasks entitles you to the vast wealth you pirates rape from those who did, actually, work for it.” She scoffed. “Disgusting. You know, Harland..” She dropped her gaze from him and reached down. She untied one of her work boots and then the other, lifting her bare feet from them. She crossed her left ankle over her right knee. Harland noted absently that she wore no socks and how flushed, fresh from her boots that her feet were. “I know what it's like to work for something. To work hard, just to be able to survive. I've been doing it all morning. Let me show you.”

Harland's confusion quickly gave way to shock as Ms. Barlow reached out for him. Any hope of struggle or protest was instantly silenced, as she gripped his small body with her right hand. Her fist closed around him, and she pressed the very tip of her thumb over his mouth, leaving him free to breathe through his nostrils. Harland's heart was racing with panic, and his breath quickened. Slowly, Ms. Barlow lowered her tiny prisoner towards the crevice underneath her sweating, sweltering toes.

Before he was even close, a hint of the woman's powerful, musky scent mixed with whatever foulness was emanating from her worn, thick farm boots slammed into him, a wave of fumes. Instantly and instinctively, he withheld his breath. She continued to bring him lower, eventually placing his head right into the open space between her toes. The pad of her middle toe gently grasped downward. “I want to be able to feel you take it in, Harland. Take in the smell of hard work. So you can know what it means.”

Harland Reed was not prepared for the next few moments. Lungs burning, he took a breath through his little nose. Instantly overwhelmed, Harland lost himself to the heat and aroma coming from deep between Ms. Barlow's sweating, impossibly powerful toes. It smelled unlike anything Harland had ever experienced before, unpleasant yet unmistakeably powerful and.. arousing? His mind was quickly flooded with confusing thoughts.

Ms. Barlow observed from above with wonder and amusement. Even upon his first tiny breath, the impact of her odor was unmistakable. His eyes squeezed shut, and she felt his tiny body struggle far beyond what should have been possible for someone so small and helpless. She could just faintly hear what must have been screams for mercy, something she was certainly beyond providing at this point.

“Mmm.. isn't that nice, Harland? What do you think of my hard work? I want you toreally think about it. But that's not going to happen until you stop struggling so much and just take it in. So that's what you're going to do right now. Stop struggling.” She gave him a threatening squeeze. Dazed and confused as he was, Harland took the hint.

Harland's breathing slowed. She held him there, his eyes still closed, and could feel the tiny, cool exhalations from his nose caressing her damp, swampy toes. Harland continued to breath her smothering scent in, trying to pull in enough air to keep from losing consciousness. It felt like a losing battle. He was so aroused it was becoming painful, locked in Ms. Barlow's grip as he was. Both the odor itself and his own arousal were so far beyond was unlike anything he had ever experienced, so complex and unusual, that the shock and humiliation he surely should be awash with was almost at the back of his mind.

Ms. Barlow continued to hold him into her toes, relishing the ability to so powerfully teach the foolish young man a lesson. After a few moments, Harland's breathing started to increase more and more rapidly, and she surmised he was not able to get enough oxygen from within such humid confines and would soon asphyxiate from lack of oxygen. She contemplated leaving him to do exactly that, perhaps a fitting and pathetic end for a pathetic breed of criminal. No. This one has more lessons coming, the next one right now. She pulled him away and removed her thumb from his mouth. “Do not speak. If you make one sound, I will put you right back down there. For good.”

Harland did not open his eyes and remained silent, and perhaps would have done so without the warning. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. Why is she doing this to me? Why.. does it bring such shameful lust? He could only hope she hadn't noticed, though he was unsure how she could have. He slowly opened his eyes and tried to focus on her.

Ms. Barlow watched Harland open his eyes and search for her face. His eyes met hers, not accusing or angry as she expected. He looked slightly confused, but there was something more there. He looked almost docile. Certainly not what she expected. But it was time to continue. “Good.” She said. “We'll talk about all this later, Harland, I assure you. But there's one more thing, a saying about wanting things in life. Harland, you should want to work hard. It makes you a better man. A stronger man. You should want it so much, that you can taste it. So you will taste hard work, until I know for myself that you want it.” She lowered him again, to the same spot.

“You know what I want, Harland. So go on.” Oddly, Ms. Barlow experienced a sensation of excitement and nervousness that confused her. She expected Harland to now offer his outrage, free to speak or scream or curse the heavens as he was. She was not sure how she would handle it from there if he did, as she truly had not planned any of this out. Harland was now close enough to perform the task she wanted of him, and though he did not struggle, neither did he acquiesce to her desires of him. He turned his head and looked up at her with the most doe eyed, innocent expression she had ever seen someone make. She could not help but feel a twinge of sympathy and maternal warmth toward her helpless little captive and what he must be experiencing. But she did nothing, said nothing, for the moment.

Harland was struggling desperately to form a thought that made some sort of sense. How had this all come to be? The situation was so strange that he doubted any sort of rationale would bring him any clarity. He knew he should be filled with rage, or shame, or guilt, or something.. Certainly those emotions were there, but there were so many others alongside of them. He looked up to Ms. Barlow, desperately hoping for some sort of sign or guidance. She's.. concerned? I don't understand.

“Harland. I want what is best for you. I know what is best for you. You will not be the same person you were ever again. I will make sure of that.” With that, Harland dropped his gaze. He closed his eyes again. Slowly, but deliberately, Harland reached out for the sweat coated destiny awaiting him with his tongue. Expecting the worst, he tasted her sweat. Like her pungent aroma, the sweat carried it's own uniqueness. It wasn't.. bad. He continued, his initial probing giving way to a steady lapping at her sweaty toes, and she would gradually move him around so he could be filled with more of her. Time passed. Harland did not know how much.

Ms. Barlow was entranced at the sight before her. She could not understand how she had so easily cowed this pirate, but she was not about to complain. Or stop him. She closed her toes over him, gently, sealing him in. She had not expected the young man's tongue, small as it was, to feel so.. wonderful. It was indescribable. The thought of her complete dominance, forcing him to clean the filth from her toes, was even more divine. At one point she let out a contented sigh that could not be mistaken for anything but sexual in nature. Harland seemed in his own world, probably just in too much shock to process anything. But she knew at some point he would wake from his reverie and notice that something here was slightly amiss. He must have swallowed so much of my sweat.. Oh my. I shouldn't have let this go on so long.

Pulling him away from her foot, she waited until Harland seemed to snap back to reality. “Well. I can't say I am unhappy. I'm glad you understand how things must be, Harland.” With that, she made to set him back on the dresser. It did not take her any time at all to notice the protrusion coming from the tiny garment she had made to cover his modesty.

Harland looked up at Ms. Barlow from the dresser in time to see her eyes narrow as she examined him. “How - you.. could not possibly have been aroused by such..” Harland had the grace to show his shame on his face, the flushing of his cheeks unmistakeable. She trailed off, feeling a twinge of guilt at her own earlier feelings with the handsome young man lapping away at her toes. However, she knew she could not let emotions cloud her judgment.

“Well, I suppose it doesn't matter.” She changed her tone, hoping she sounded unaffected. “Because I'm still not convinced.” Harland said nothing as he watched her lift her working blouse over her head. Her bra did not do much to hide her, especially to him, large breasts. Ms. Barlow reached out for him, and he offered no resistance. She lifted her arm, exposing her bare underarm. Slowly and deliberately, she pressed the tiny Harland into the soft, wet warmth of her pit. She closed her arm again.

Harland found himself sealed inside a new prison of heat and sweat. Confused, belly already filled with vile, salty liquid, he went to work again.