“Here puppy, puppy!” an enthusiastic female voice exclaimed.

        Looking up from his laptop, a balding middle-aged man watched as the woman beckoned the chihuahua sized “puppy” to come to her.  The animal cautiously approached her.  She smiled as it stopped and whimpered, looking up pleadingly.  Squatting, she patted the creatures head, fondling its long blonde hair before stroking its bare back.

        “What a guhd puppy, who’s a guhd puppy, yeah, you’re a guhd puppy!”

        She vigorously rubbed its sides and back before jostling its large hanging breasts.  Though he was fair distance away, the man was sure those eyes were full of pity at being treated like an animal.  He smiled as he looked back to his laptop, he had seen that look so many times that he could picture it perfectly, its little blue eyes quivering glassily.

        He chuckled as he scanned the headlines, political crap, some movie star drama, stupid people surprised at their stupidity coming back to haunt them, before finally clicking on a semi interesting article about the latest shrinkie breed.  He skimmed the text, “Tighter expansive pussy”, “Docility up 34%”, “Larger litters, 10 pups!”.  His brows furrowed at the last item, the current litter size for modified female shrinkies was 4 to 7, while large litters were possible, the health of the sow and pups were seriously affected.  He stopped reading, angry that the writer had no common sense, for play or servitude the model would be great, but for breeding this one was not worth it.

        “Ugh…” he sighed, leaning back and peering into the sky.  The world had greatly changed, or so he had been told.  By the time of his entering the world, it was relatively the same.  He smiled, thinking of his sentimental grandmother lamenting of the Great Minimalization and then the “backwards” progress that stripped the afflicted of their basic human rights. 

        It had begun innocently enough with a new satellite system that somehow converted solar radiation and the sun’s rays into power that was then beamed to relays on the earth.  For decades the system worked perfectly, being expanded to provide power for the entirety of the human race.  Clean, limitless energy was attained, pollution vastly reduced, and a new golden age seemingly begun.  Until the goddamn satellites malfunctioned and “irradiated” the earth. 

        The energy being mostly wave like in transmission, only the scientists initially noticed the incident.  The world was showered with the energy for a full day before the satellites’ programming was fixed and the energy directed back at the relays.  There was a press release, some small hubbub over metric to English conversions resulting in the error, and a little worry over potential side effects.  But, nothing happened, there was no radioactivity or sick people.  The world went about its business, for five more years.

        Unfortunately, there were side effects from the waves, only they took time to manifest themselves.  Almost five years to the day of the incident, men and women rapidly shrunk in size, most being reduced to six inches, with others being reduced smaller, and a “lucky” few reduced only to two feet.  Almost 30% of the world’s population were affected, society ground to a halt.  Even worse, the effects could be delayed, weeks, months, even years.  At first there was sympathy and aid for the afflicted, for decades they were placed in custody of shrinkee trusts and removed from society both to protect them, and to allow the normal sized populace the freedom to reorganize without fear of trampling them.

        Crime shot through the roof, supply chains stretched to their limits where not broken entirely, and with civil officials decimated by the initial incident, things began to break down.  Fortuitously, Shrinktech emerged.  While vainly researching a cure to the Incident, the eggheads found a way to make a stronger, portable version of the satellites, allowing the instant miniaturization of any human.  To preserve civilization, strict laws were enacted, and task forces were formed and empowered to shrink any and all criminals.  Order was quickly reestablished where the task forces were set up, at first just in the major cities but as their numbers grew, they were able to reclaim entire countries.  Crime, or at least crime against society, went back to Prewave levels. 

        Crime against the shrunken, shrinkies as they were now classified, continued.  Many conscientious normal sized humans had worked hard to help the afflicted set up communes where they could live without fear of being enslaved or especially killed, whether by accident or intent.  One such commune set up in Nebraska grew over 200 square miles, mini buildings, roads, apartments, and even a few dozen 40 foot, shrinkie foot, skyscrapers were built.  The city functioned just as well as any other Prewave city.  Caring normies patrolled the borders, protecting the inhabitants from the giant animals and humans surrounding them.  This city, Small Haven, or Shrinktown as many derisively called it, grew in influence with the industry of its inhabitants, and the charity of many normies, particularly those with shrunken family members.  The city championed for shrinkie rights, and were initially successful, several cities reiterated the belief that shrinkies were humans, just noticeably smaller in stature.

        As shrinkies were still classified as humans, at least in the US, EU, and a few other countries, the courts were literally filled to the brim with litigants, the majority involving crimes against the small humans.  Courts ground to a halt as there were just too many cases to process.  A new crisis developed and crime against society proper increased rapidly, those in power had only recently reasserted the rule of law and knew how dangerous the situation was.  Several anti-shrinkie rallies, some accidental shrinkie deaths resulting in harsh punishments, jealousy towards the stability and luxury citizens in the shrunken zones enjoyed, and society was fully primed for the more pragmatic politicians to enact the Humanity Act.  Humanity was now classified as anyone 3ft or taller, with the obvious exclusions for children and the disabled.  Shrinkies were now no longer human and reclassified as pets.  Anyone who found a shrinkie was now their owner/master and any possessions formally owned by the shrinkie could be transferred to their new guardian.

        As often happens in politics, a few radicals managed to influence the act for their own purposes.  While they may have lost their human rights, at first the shrinkies were protected by the laws regulating animal cruelty.  Not a great comfort, but it was something.  Where the pragmatic saw the best option available and the high-principled a horrendous violation of human rights, PETA’s more extreme elements saw an opportunity.  By hook and by crook they managed to find just enough support to pass more draconian laws, shrinkies were re-classified as sub-pets.  The logic being, and later proven correct, that animal cruelty would greatly decrease as cruelty against the miniature humans rose. 

        There were other events resulting in the current world to be sure, Shrinktech’s shrinkie products & breeding program, a few major court battles, and the fall of Shrinktown, but those were musings for another day.  The man caught a woman wearing a black blouse, yellow skirt, and black pumps staring at him, or more specifically “not staring” at him.  She wore yellow designer sunglasses that prevented any view of her eyes.  Her nose was pointed decidedly into a book she was “reading.”  She was tan and quite fit, his eyes fixed onto her ample breasts and hips.  He chuckled and waved as if to an old friend.  The woman didn’t reply, too “engrossed” in her novel.  His smile broadened when he observed her brow furrow almost imperceptibly.

        The man stood, straightening his dark blue suit with one hand while closing and cradling the laptop with his right.  He turned and began walking towards the Greek columns of the courthouse, there was still work to be done.  He stopped and rubbed his eyes, a headache suddenly enveloping his cortex.  While squinting in pain, he heard a low shriek.  He turned to see the chihuahua sized shrinkie from before being mounted by an actual chihuahua.

        The woman’s shrieks were accentuated by the beast’s pippy barks.  Its front paws were on her shoulders and she on her knees.  It’s little head snarling as it still somehow managed to simultaneously tick nervously.  Its little red prick probed her eagerly, searching.  She shrieked more, trying desperately to muster the strength to push the chihuahua off.  On the point of succeeding, a little girl came up and swatted her behind causing her to yelp.

        “The doggie just wants to show you how much he loves you, don’t be mean!” The girl reproached.

        Tears flowing, the shrinkie acquiesced and tried to stop her shaking.  The chihuahua grunted as it jumped forward, digging its claws deeper into the tiny shoulders.  The probing continued for a few more seconds before contact was made, the woman yelped again as the member penetrated her.  The chihuahua grunted and yipped eagerly as it roughly humped.  Quick thrusts rattled the woman, she lost her strength and her arms fell, collapsing her head and torso into the grass.  Her womanhood still impaled on the chihuahua, her ass remained lifted in the air.  The beast continued thrusting desperately for a minute or two until it violently shook one last time.  The beast’s yips ceased as it rested possessively over the unconscious shrinkie.

        “See, he only wanted to show you his love!” The girl exuded happily.

        Laughing, the man turned, letting his hand fall.  He resumed walking to the courthouse.  As bad as his headache was, things could always be worse.

        “Sometime today, Honey?”  The court officer questioned, not even looking up from her phone.

        John panted heavily, struggling with the pen.  At just seven inches tall, the pencil was a foot shorter than him, but nearly half his girth.  He finished a misshapen cursive ‘s’ and dropped the heavy ballpoint pen/log onto the sheet.  He inhaled rapidly, checking his ugly signature, “Connor James.”  The woman sighed in relief, as though his struggles were hers.  She placed her hand palm up next to him.  He hopped on, her other hand moved in to form a partial barrier before bringing him to the floor.  The wall of a hand moved away and Connor jumped off, the officer straightened back to her skyscraper height and resumed looking at her phone.

        Connor turned from the colossus, belittled even more than he thought possible at this height.  He jogged towards the nearby back wall and then across the normal sized classroom.  He passed by seven normal sized desks before coming to the eighth, his smaller desk underneath.  Every desk had a smaller one below, situated near the front.  He put his bag to the side and sat down angrily. 

        He looked back at the other desks and was relieved that he had come early.  This was his fifth day in court ordered sexual harassment training.  On the first he had chosen the nearest shrinkie desk, only to find the constant pounding of feet from the normies coming in unnerving.  Several times giant shoes, sandals, and occasionally boots, had come within inches, shrunken inches, of him.

        He watched as the line that had previously been in shrank, literally.  A court clerk pointed a gun shaped device and shrunk each, one by one, before lifting them to the table where the shrinkies then dragged a pen towards the sign-up sheet.  After finishing the Herculean task, the accompanying court officer lowered each to the floor, with just as much indifference as Connor.

        He really hated being shrunken, much like the other gloomy looking shrinkies he saw jogging to the remaining desks, but the trade off was worth it.  Due to a lack of space and cutbacks, many court facilities offered time off of sentences if the person agreed to be shrunk during the classes.  Connor had shoved a woman to the ground and been ordered to attend three weeks of anger management.  It didn’t matter that the woman had kicked a female shrinkie like a football, sending her into the blades of a push lawnmower.  The judge made him pay a fine and mandated sexual harassment counseling.

        “Attributing human emotions to objects, either your sense of morality is skewed or you’re mentally unstable.  Had I the time, or the state the resources, we could accurately diagnose what’s wrong with you, unfortunately $500 and 3 weeks sexual harassment counseling is the best treatment available at this time,” The judge had admonished him while sentencing.

        He clenched his hands tightly, tears forming, he didn’t care if what the woman had done was lawful, it wasn’t fair.  He slammed his little fists onto the wooden desk, releasing a bit of his frustration.  His feelings on miniaturization were due to his parents suffering.  His father had shrunk on the job and been claimed by a coworker, and a year later his mother had also been reduced.  Even worse, his 18-year-old sister had found her first and assumed guardianship.  The memories of how she treated their mother, her own flesh and blood, still haunted him.

        Being shrunken shaved off two weeks from his sentence, and only reinforced his views of how cruel people were.  He watched as the normies walked in.  They signed up next to shrinkies who hadn’t come in early and signed their own names next to them, sometimes even taking a pen from one, or swatting them aside like annoying insects.  They then strode nonchalantly towards their desks, the shrinkies scurrying quickly to avoid the footfalls.  The giants knew that they were normies, but even being temporarily shrunken made them little more than rodents.

        Fortunately, shrinkies were far more resilient to pressure due to some science-y explanation Connor had not been able to comprehend, so being stepped on or kicked was not a death sentence, but it was still painful and, with enough weight, injurious.  A few shrinkies were accompanied by a guardian who lifted them after the initial shrinking, signed their names for them, and then brought them to a desk, avoiding the current chaos of the mice sized humans dodging for all they were worth.  Several shrinkies were clipped by the enormous shoes, one found herself stepped on by a woman in sandals.  The giant stopped, leaning her weight onto that foot and scrunching it back and forth before lifting it and giggling at the traumatized female.

        “Ha, ha, sorry, didn’t happen to see you there.  Be more careful or next time you might get stuck.”

        Connor’s forming scream was interrupted by two large black pumps dropping around him.  He turned his head, examining the right shoe, before following the thick silo of a leg skywards to see a plump Hispanic face looking down at him.  The woman was leaning to the right, peering down at her “deskmate.”  She looked to be in her mid-thirties, her face smiling motherly at Connor.

        “Hello, my small friend, my name is Teodora!”

        The woman’s voice was deep and sounded older than she looked, yet exuded warmth and caring.  He couldn’t help but smile back at her.

        “Connor!” He yelled upwards.

        “Very nice to meet you my small friend, I hope you don’t mind my feet so close to you, I can try to squeeze my legs against the desk if that helps?”

        Connor thought for a moment, her pumps were almost right next to him.  He looked at her thunder thighs and far larger hips already squeezing to fit under the desk.  He could smell the leather of her pumps, and a tanned leather smell which he assumed was her sweat.  While not a preferable situation, this wasn’t that bad.  Normies were only told not to touch their smaller deskmates (a rule frequently unenforced unless the giants were outright squishing shrinkies between their feet).  There was a large plexiglass barrier behind him that curved to allow humans to rest their feet above the shrinkies.  Looking around he saw several giants place their bare feet on those while allowing their toes to dangle, sometimes brushing the shrinkies beneath.  Connor considered for a moment.

        “Nah, that’s alright, d…”

        “Oh gracias!”  She exclaimed, visibly relieved at not having to squeeze further against a desk intended for someone with only one chin. 

        Connor smiled cheerily at her exuberance.  There was a soft ringing alerting the start of class.  A pasty academic type took up a marker and began his lecture on sexual harassment.  He wrote while speaking in a monotonous mumble, no one was really listening anyways.  What accounted for counseling these days was nothing like it had been Prewave, thanks to the change true counselors were few and far between.  Nowadays counselors tended to look sharply at their patients and say something like, “Man up, or if you prefer woman up, either way shut up, and find something to do other than bitching.”

        The history Postwave was not pretty, so Connor understood why things had changed so much, but he felt that humanity had lost their moral compass, sacrificing ideals and humanity for pragmatism and repression.  Yeah society was reestablished, but it was cold and hard, you swam, or you sunk.  If you sunk, no tears and no whining, unless that’s what your owner wanted from you.

        Connor continued his musings for two hours straight as the professor droned on slightly audibly.  The bell rang again, announcing an end to his hell.  A few normies rose only to be stared back into their seats by the now active security officer.  While people who shrank by chance were fair play for capture, people shrank for official business were not.  All shrinkies were to leave first to allow them to be properly counted and restored to normal height.  If any were missing the classroom would be put on lockdown and everyone searched until all the signatures were accounted for and the tinies restored to normal height.

        He stood up with his bag, eager to leave.

        “Till next time Connor!”  The cheery voice bid him adieu.

        “Goodbye Teodora!”  He replied, waving before jogging towards the court clerk at the door.

        All the shrinkies were restored, their names checked off the official sign in sheet and further checked against another indicating who was supposed to be present.  The clerk handed every shrinkie a sealed envelope.  Conner knew from the four days prior that it was just a notice telling them how many days they had left; in case they couldn’t count.  He shoved it into his pants before quickly leaving, jogging down the courthouse corridor.  It was childish, but he felt uneasy at being seen afterwards by his normal sized cohorts.  He took a corner too fast, bumping his shoulder against a balding man in a dark blue suit.

        “Sorry ‘bout that!”  He called back, not even turning his gaze as he ran towards the entrance.

        “No problem,” The gentlemen said heartily, watching the younger man until he was well out the courthouse doors.

        He smoothed his rumpled suit before crumping the envelope in his hand.

        “Mi amigo!” The deep, matronly voice called to a full-sized Connor.

        He looked up from his sullen thoughts, “Te, Teodora!”

        Looking at her from a normal angle, he could now accurately assess his fellow “classmate.”  She was no more than 5’2”, her skin a tan brown, full light black hair worn in a large bun, an average looking face, neither pretty nor ugly, and her waist spilling over her long red skirt.  Her black blouse struggled, and failed, to hide the lowermost flabs.  She wasn’t morbidly obese, but she seemed likely to fix that issue one day.  Her tender smile and matronly voice her only real attractions.

        He smiled sheepishly when her smile widened upon seeing him sizing her up.  He ran a hand through his blonde hair and his grayish blue eyes turned away momentarily.  She sat down heavily beside him on one of the wooden benches outside the door, her frame a complete opposite to his tall lanky body.  There were several other people seated nearby, most on their phones or just staring at the lone clock in the hall.  One balding man leaned on a wall, reading a small novel.

        “It’s good to see you again!”

        Connor wondered if she were capable of being anything other than vivacious when she spoke. 

        “Yeah, just trying to finish two more days,” he replied, not really sure what to say in this situation.

        Her short fingers grabbed his shoulder tenderly.  He almost jumped at the surprise contact.  His mouth opened to politely protest until he saw the excitement in her smile had jumped to her dark brown eyes.   

        “Don’t worry Connor,” she said, the r’s in her words rolling gently, “This will pass more quickly than you know, though perhaps not while the lecturer drones on!”

        The two laughed mirthfully in unison.  Connor looked at the woman and accidently said his thoughts out loud.

        “How did someone like you end up in sexual harassment?”

        The woman’s smile faded, the luster in her eyes dimming.

        “Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t h…”

        “Oh no, it’s ‘kay,” She forced a smile, “There was a misunderstanding between me and another coworker.  She had a tiny and was mistreating him, so I tried to free him when no one was around.  Sadly, the collar you know?”

        He nodded, he knew the electronic collars well, ShrinkTech’s most lucrative product.  Disciplinary devices that could be used to shock your little pet shrinkies.  The zap could even be used to immobilize the small victim, reducing them to twerking in their own piss.  They doubled as registration and location devices, any stolen shrinkie could be quickly found and reclaimed.  Breaking the collar often resulted in the shrinkies death, sometimes due to the device exploding, but more oft than not due to blood loss from whatever sharp instrument was used.  He’d heard that there were master shrinkie abductors, thieves as shrinkies weren’t real people, who could disable the collar, but like most security devices the collars only focused on preventing the 95% of would be criminals.

        “But, only a week or two more and I’ll be back to work!” She said, resuming her perpetual good nature.

        “It’s still not fair, people are people, whatever size…”

        “I know, I know, but the few of us who agree can still make a difference, can’t we?”

        He returned her smile, “Yes!  Yes, we can.”

        The door opened and a sullen clerk announced, “Sign up time for temp shrinkies.”

        Teodora squeezed Connor’s shoulder, “Go on mi amigo, I’ll see you shortly.”

        Connor nodded, standing up to head for the door.

        Connor sat with two large red pumps on either side of him. 

        “30 minutes down, an hour and a half to go,” He thought pensively.

        The instructor had covered inappropriate workplace banter and was now discussing overt sexual harassment.  He stepped down from his lectern and walked over to a large folding table.  On top was a brown satchel that he reached into.  His hand emerged, grasping a foot-long black cylinder.  He set it upon the table before touching a button on the top.  Immediately the black turned transparent, revealing an average female shrinkie with brown hair.

        “To better demonstrate to you improper workplace behavior, we’ll be using a model today.”

        Most classmates snickered, including the tinies, though less enthusiastically.  The young instructor unscrewed the lid and unceremoniously turned the container upside down, dropping the tiny on her head.  Like all tinies, she had a Shrinktech collar around her neck.  The diminutive naked woman quickly stood, shivering in fear. 

        “Now, you should obviously respect your coworkers’ space, but should touching occur under no circumstances should it involve touching problematic areas,” His fingers moved indifferently to the woman’s rear, pinching it roughly.

        She squealed, jumping away.  She turned her face to the table while rubbing her reddened backside.  More snickers.  The professor then used his thumbs and pointers to grab and squeeze each of her breasts.

        “Never touch your coworkers’ asses, and if women, their chests,” the shrinkie stifled her voice while a finger moved to her privates, “And, under no circumstances should you ever entertain touching their genitals.”

        The professor’s pointer finger circled the thing’s pussy in slow, delicate strokes eliciting a sensual gasp.  His other hand moved behind her, allowing him to rub more forcefully, the fingertip futilely attempting to penetrate her.  The creature writhed and fought the ecstasy.  He rubbed harder, resulting in the thing screaming before liquid sprayed out and she collapsed over his probing finger, huffing wildly.

        Connor clenched his teeth, his body starting to shake.  He looked around, hoping to see indignation and shock, only to find looks of glee and amusement.  The professor laid the toy on her back and retrieved an unsharpened pencil.  He held it straight up by the eraser.

        Looking at the class in a mock face of seriousness, “And of course, one should never do anything such as this.”

        He lowered the writing instrument to her wet box, turning it to get it properly moistened.  Then, while holding her down, he brutally thrust it into her.  Her ungodly screams came out in quick succession, each one interrupted by the next as though new realization of pain had to be more painfully vocalized.  He pushed the pencil as far as physically possible, turning it inside of her.  Her hands crazily clutched at the pencil, pushing and then releasing it to flail in panic, before grasping it again.

        Everyone leaned forward in their seats, enthralled.  He wanted to stand up to the lecturer, to at least shout at him to stop, but self-preservation held him in check.  Four rows to his right though, another temp shrinkie took up the cause.

        “Hey, you can’t do that to her!”

        Normally a shrinkie’s voice would never be heard from beyond the larger desk above them, but each shrinkie desk had a speaker that could be used to participate in class.  The lecturer never took his eyes off his toy as he sternly replied.

        “It.”

        “W, What?!”

        “It, you referred to it as a “she,” but this is not a person, it’s not really even an animal.  It’s more of an amoeba or bacteria, insignificant life even when considered in the small scale of things.”

        The male stood up from his desk and ran the distance to the lecturer.

        “She is not an it!” Kicking the professor’s brown loafer.

        The professor looked down in utter bemusement, “Assaulting a teacher, tsk, tsk, now that just won’t do.”

        He let the shrinkie fall to the table, the pole sized pencil still lodged in.  He reached down and clenched a fist around the tiny hero, bringing him swiftly eye to face.

        “I could increase your lecture time due to this violence, or even have you imprisoned,” He mused.

        “Go ahead!  You can’t have me miniatured because of this though, and you know it!” He spat at the professor’s eye, missing by several inches.

        “Ugh, you are correct my student,” the professor said despondently before quickly perking up, “So how about some corporal punishment instead?”

        The little man went slack.

        “N, n, no, nooo!”

        The professor pressed the hand holding the student onto the still screaming woman, using his other to recover the pencil from between her legs.  He raised the pencil, now speckled with tiny red dots in front of the man’s face.

        “I think the class should learn what not to do to a man, particularly his posterior?” He looked at the class with an evil grin.  Several voiced their agreement.

        “Alright!”

        “Yeah!”

        The professor cradled the pencil with his pinkie and ring fingers while using his others to begin unzipping the man’s pants.  Effortlessly he pulled them down.  The tiny pleaded and begged as his waist was now exposed.  The professor tilted him over, and now firmly grasping the pencil, brought it down hard. 

        Cries of horror and indignation rang out in the classroom.  The pencil hung midair only an inch from the man’s buttocks.  It was held securely in place by Teodora.

        “I think your student learned his lesson, professor, could we please continue the class?”

        His anger flared, “Who the hell d…”

        “I’m sorry, señor, but you should remember that once he is normal size, he may forget his learning if you go to far.”

        The professor stopped and carefully examined the weeping man, he was well built, with a barrel chest and overly muscled arms.  The professor mused how this situation would play out should the two meet outside the courthouse.

        “Very well, would you please see this temp shrinkie to his chair, I doubt he has the wherewithal to do it himself,” He dropped the uncontrollably sobbing man into her outstretched palm.

        The class quietly booed and hissed as she returned him to his desk, pulling his pants up for him beforehand.  Teodora returned to her desk, Connor nodding to her in approval as she resumed her seat.

        The professor picked up the unconscious female shrinkie.  He proceeded to pull a sharpened pencil out and held it by the eraser for the class to see.

        Looking straight at the teary eyed shrinkie he said, “And now let’s change the topic from sexual harassment, to sexual violence…”

        Connor was sitting outside the door, staring at the wall as he’d done after class the day before.  He’d watched for several minutes as the instructor raped the woman with the sharpened pencil before he found the strength to turn away.  Blood and guts spilled out as she was continuously violated.  In the end, the professor rammed the pencil from her vagina out of her neck, holding up the impaled woman for all to see.  He then walked over to the shrinkie who’d attempted to save her and laid her corpse in front of him.

        “Do me a favor and toss this in the trash after class.”

        There were no cheers or snide comments, just captivated stares.  From what Connor had seen, only he, Teodora, the would-be hero, and one other looked horrified.  There was amused silence after the impaling, the atmosphere of indifference to the tinie’s fate palpable. 

        He had quietly sobbed for the rest of the class.  Teodora had slipped a foot out of a pump and caressed his shoulder with her sweaty foot.  The smell was horrible and Connor almost puked, but he grabbed her big toe tightly and cried into it.  Teodora’s other foot resumed the caressing, eventually soaking his hair in her smell and sweat.  The smell was overpowering, he doubted that she had washed her feet for some time.  Her toes gripped his head tightly for a few seconds before releasing.  He wanted to push the odorous mass away, but his strength was no match.  Her feet continued to comfort/molest his body as he wallowed in sorrow.

        Connor sniffed, swearing he still smelt her scent on him even after several showers.  He shook his head, just one more day of this and he could go back to the machine shop, lose himself in his work, and forget about this messed up place. 

        Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blur of blue.  It was the balding man again.  The day before Connor had bumped into him a second time, his tears having obstructed his vision.  The man walked over and stopped in front of him.

        Connor was about to offer another apology when the man spoke, “You really shouldn’t trust that woman.”

        “Huh?” He said taken aback.

        “Your Latina friend, don’t trust her, she’s not like us.”

        Connor’s face reflected his confusion, so the stranger continued, “There’s something wrong with her mentally.  She tried freeing a shrinkie!  That woman thinks those things have emotions, who knows, she might even believe that they’re human!”

        Connor’s face contorted and his hands clenched tightly.

        “Whatever you do, don’t trust her.  Her kind don’t understand the proper order of things.  A place above for us, and a smaller one below for the insects.”

        The bald man’s expression was full of empathy, as Connor’s skin began reddening.  His anger choking any vocal response.  He just sat there, listening to the older man.  While he couldn’t speak, he knew if the man continued he would…

        The man’s look of concern grew as he went on, “Either her morality is skewed, or she’s mentally unstable, either way steer clear o…”

        Connor leapt from his seat swinging at the bald man.  In his mind he pictured his fist connecting with the other’s square jaw, his left then incapacitating a kidney before they tussled on the floor, Connor beating him senseless.  What actually happened was that the man moved aside, catching his attacker’s wrist and twisting it behind his back.  His other hand punched Connor’s right bicep decidedly before slamming his chest into the wall over the bench, knocking the wind out of him. 

        The defender put his mouth close to Connor’s ear and whispered, “My apologies, young man, I was just trying to offer you some helpful advice.”

        He patted Connor’s shoulder sympathetically before releasing him and walking down the long corridor.  Connor grunted and made his way back to the bench, rubbing his injured bicep.  He saw him turn a corner and couldn’t help but wonder how he could move and hit like that.  He thought about pursuing him, but he could guess how a second struggle would end.  He sat on the bench, rubbing his throbbing arm.

        After five minutes of reliving the experience, a familiar voice greeted him.

        “Mi amor!” Teodora exclaimed, having begun calling him that yesterday after giving him that foot snuggle.

        “Teodora!” He said, mostly happily, though his nose scrunched.

        He gazed at her long dark gray skirt and pink blouse, her stomach again bulging through, her fat thighs just visible, and her feet in matching pink flip flops.  She laid two tall bags beside her on the bench.

        Being polite he said, “Whoa, that’s a lovely outfit.”

        “But of course!” She put her hands to her hips and turned in what she thought would be a seductive manner, “Only the most attractive of woman dare wear this style!”

        Connor laughed at her bravado as she exhibited poses like a supermodel.  Though he wouldn’t say it, her performance killed any sexual desire he might have had.  Teodora reached out to him and made him do a short salsa with her before they collapsed onto their bench, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

        Her expression turned serious, “Are you doing alright?”

        “Yeah, it, it was bad yesterday, b, but I’m better now,” He lied.

        She gazed at him with her concerned, motherly, look, “Just one more day, mi amor, you know, if you need anything, I’m always here for you.”

        He just nodded and resumed his downcast expression.  Her arms reached out quickly, grabbing onto his shoulders.

        “I know!  I can help you with the sign in!”

        He looked at her warily, “The sign in’s not too hard, I…”

        Her fingers moved down, squeezing his biceps.  He winced.

        “Dios mio!  You’re hurt!  That pen is too heavy for you, look at what it’s done to your arm!”

        “I, It’s just a bit heavy,” He responded, not wanting to tell her how he really injured it.

        “NO!  You’ve been through so much, let me help you, please, I don’t want you hurting yourself, and I’ll make sure no one messes with you!  If they do, they’ll have to go through this!”

        She jutted her chest out, which resulted in her big gut sticking out even further than her breasts. 

        Connor laughed before musing her proposition over.  His bicep was killing him, and lifting that pen was going to be incredibly more difficult today.  Also Teodora was really kind, she could be trusted to help shrinkies, but there was an alarm bell ringing in the back of his mind.  He was going to decline again when he thought of the man in blue, the hell if he was going to do what he wanted.  His words were so offensive, so, so, so…  Familiar…  Connor shook off the thoughts of dread he felt.  He could, no, HE DID, trust Teodora.

        “Alright, alright, it would be nice to have a hand.”

        “Two!” She replied, turning her plump digits back and forth rapidly in front of his face.

        He chuckled politely at the bad pun.

        “Temp shrinkie sign up time!”

        “Come on, mi amor, let’s go!”

        Teodora had been right, her helping had been a real boon.  After being shrunken she lifted him to the table, setting him on the edge before she signed their names.  He saw her moving the pen, writing on one line before writing on a second one, the court officer stood there glued to her phone as every day prior.  Teodora lifted him up and escorted him to their shared desk.  He swung his arm, trying to get the pain to subside.  Things were looking up, mostly…  Her two giant, bare, feet were right next to him.  Upon sitting she had immediately slipped out of her sandals and placed her puffy feet beside him.  He gagged every other minute, somehow the smell was even worse than yesterday. 

        He thought of asking her to move them, but decided to bear it instead.  For over an hour and a half he endured the smell until the nausea became unbearable.  He felt as though he was going to puke.  He eventually stood up and walked to the back of Teodora’s desk to tactfully ask her to move her feet.  She was sitting upright, so he imagined he could get her attention from underneath.  As he approached those gigantic calves, he could see more and more of her upper thighs under the gray skirt.

        He could almost see her face from below so he continued forward.  Approaching further, he caught a glimpse of something unexpected, a giant cleft, composed of fat jutting out.  He gasped as he realized that Teodora wasn’t wearing any panties.  He was now staring up at the most massive camel toe he had ever seen in his life.  That thing was megatons heavier than he.  It was like the sight of the grand canyon, something so vast and immense that it could swallow you whole without any effort.  Teodora shifted in her seat and he watched her monumentous crevice jiggle.  He fought the spell of horror which had come over him and raised his chin all the way up, only to see Teodora smiling down at him.

        She leaned down by the left side of the table.  Her eyes still motherly, but now glinting with a hitherto unseen hunger.  She licked her bottom lip and smiled.

        “Mi amor, I had no idea that you liked looking up women’s skirts,” she whispered so that no one else in the classroom heard her.

        Connor tried mumbling some excuse, but couldn’t find the words.  The giantess slid one of the tall bags covering the right side of the desk to the front, preventing anyone from seeing beneath the desk.  She reached down and brought Connor to her lap.

        “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mea, I was just trying to get your attention!”

        “Well now you have it, and then some, mi amor.”

        Her stubby fingers stumbled with his clothing, clumsily removing his shirt.  She wrenched his shoes and socks off before tugging at his pants.

        “Teodora, what are you doing?!”

        “Shh, we wouldn’t want your squeaks to interrupt the class,” She giggled, succeeding with separating the tiny man from his pants.

        “NO!” He screamed as she used a short, manicured fingernail to slice off his briefs.

        “This is wrong!  It’s against the law, it’s sexual assault!”

        “Only if I’m caught, mi amor.  Now be a dear and service my feet, they could use some attention.”

        She tossed his naked body to the floor, just in front of the plexiglass barrier.  Speedily he jumped up and ran to the side, only to be blocked by her foot.  Pivoting, he ran the other way to be cut off yet again by the second foot.  The feet swiveled inward, Teodora bringing them playfully closer and closer.  Connor ran to the barrier and leapt, grabbing on to the slanted top.  The surface was smooth, his hands found no grip, and he fell onto his back.  A size 40 descended upon him before he could recover.

        The foot pressed down firmly, embedding Connor in its sole.  It lifted slightly, before pressing down more heavily.  Connor’s muffled screams barely audible as squeaks.  He only managed to consume the sweat and dirt from her arch, the taste even worse than the smell.  The pressure intensified, his face completely smushed.  He closed his mouth, accidently kissing her skin.  He felt the foot shake in response as he struggled to breathe, her stench the only air available.  His arms and legs were useless, his eyes burned from the salty sweat.  Teodora’s foot began grinding side to side, he was either going to be flattened, or smothered to death.

        Not knowing what else to do he opened his mouth and shot out his tongue, licking for all he was worth.  The pressure lessened and the behemoth holding him down shook again.  He gulped down mouthfuls of sweaty air before licking and kissing faster.  He messily lapped at the arch, the foot lifting higher.  He urgently drank down immense droplets of sweat, lacking the time to spit out the pungent liquid.  He didn’t know whether he was tickling or arousing his captor, but he was gaining time, and more importantly, room to move.  He fought back the urge to vomit, his hands joining in the desperate massage.  He heard a contented sigh as the foot lifted just enough.

        This was it!

        He rolled full speed to his left, escaping his prison.  He got up and ran blindly to the left of the foot.  His hands ineffectively trying to clear his eyes.  He ran into something soft, squishing into it before being thrown back to the tile flooring.  He had succeeded in escaping from her right root, only to collide with the left.  Before he could stand, both squeezed him from either side, turning so that their soles could mash him together.  He fought more furiously, only for the force to increase as the arches turned perpendicular to better squeeze.  His vision faded, and he nearly lost consciousness as he was released. 

        Connor coughed violently upon hitting the tile flooring.  He clutched his sides, his entire body feeling bruised and battered.  He sat up, only to be knocked back down by Teodora’s toes.  The right big toe hovered above his head, arching up and down menacingly.  The toe paused, lightly brushing his nose.  The other foot tapped impatiently, the toe resumed its dance before returning to his nose, bearing down harder.  Connor sniffled before tentatively sending out his tongue.  He licked the monster causing it to rise slightly, the other foot ceasing its tapping.  He cried softly as his tongue lapped against the skin, she wanted him to gratify her.  After a few minutes her left big toe tapped his right arm.  He wrapped his arms around the giant right toe, licking and kissing for all he was worth.  He serviced each and every digit of her feet similarly before the bell rang.

        He yelled out in relief, hope!  Teodora’s toe shook him off before the foot descended once again, trapping his head in the webbing of her toes, preventing him from uttering any cries for help.  He cried joyously, ignoring the foul odor.  The clerk and officer were checking the sign-up sheet, it wouldn’t be long until they came for him!  Time passed slowly for him in his hell, but he kept smiling, come on, come on, find me!  He heard chairs scraping, and giant footsteps.  No, no!  Something was wrong, they didn’t forget me, did they?  He heard a woman say something to Teodora before the classroom door shut. 

        The toes scrunched his head tight, lifting him back before depositing him in Teodora’s palm.  She brought him up to her face.

        “Looks like they forgot about you, he, he!”

        “N, n ,no!  My name!  The sign in sheet…”

        “He, he!  I never wrote your name silly, I just pretended to.”

        “B, but the check in sheet!  They know I’m supposed to be here, they’ll check the cameras!”

        “No, you see, your sentence was shortened, yesterday was actually your last day.”

        “H, Ho…?”

        Teodora shrugged innocently, “You really should've read your notices.”

        Through desperate tears he tried appealing to her humanity, “What about helping shrinkies? This isn’t you, Teodora!”

        Her motherly smile darkened, “I never really cared for shrinkies, that one I told you about before?  The one I was trying to free?  I was just trying to steal her, ah, those tricky collars...”

        Connor gulped, her tongue licked her lips, “Oh what fun we’re going to have, I still have two weeks of counseling, so guess who gets to be my little foot toy?”

        He fought against the giant hand, “No!”

        She tightened her grip, silencing her pet.  She looked down at her sandals and frowned.

        “Ugh, I should’ve worn those pumps, damn heat…” She looked at the tiny man, smiling motherly again, “I know!  I have just the place for you, mi amor!” 

        The strong plump hand lowered him beneath the desk, going underneath her skirt.  Slowly it raised, Connor once again facing the fat cleft between her legs.  He screamed, attempting to escape.  Teodora’s hand didn’t even acknowledge him by tightening, his strength was nonexistent compared to the giantess’.  She pushed him through the mounds of fat, and into the canyon.  Soon he felt her labia, slick with her fluids.  His hair quickly soaked up her fluid.  She pushed him deeper, into her vagina.  Connor felt the hand release his legs as her womanhood sucked him in, clenching and unclenching.  Squirming, he clutched at the soft, slick interior, failing to find a hold.  As he tried screaming again, he breathed her, smelt her, tasted her even in his lungs…

        Teodora moaned as she stood up, feeling the tiny shrinkie struggled within her.  She moaned, grabbing her bags.  Her left hand squeezed her pussy possessively, this was going to be the best two weeks ever!

        The man in a blue suit watched as people began exiting the counseling room.  After a few minutes the class had emptied, the clerk and officer exiting last.  The officer turned and told someone in the back of the room that she’d have to leave within 10 minutes so that she wouldn’t interfere with the janitors.  He smiled, his fingers probing the paper edges of the novel he’d brought, enjoying the feel of the pulp.  Physical books were few and far between, readers, long ago obsolescing them.  There had been many electronic devices Prewave, primarily tablets, and Postwave that had continued until Shrinktech’s Shrinktech.  Defining a word with the word itself was something that greatly offended the bibliophile, but in this case it was accurate.  Shrinktech was first named after the technology that propelled it to the forefront of technological innovation, shrinking humans.  It was a decade afterwards they that they truly revolutionized the world. 

        As the average home computing speeds neared the terabyte range, Moore’s Law had slowed, and eventually ground to a halt.  Nanotech and new materials could no longer advance technology as they had before.  Scratch that, it wasn’t that they weren’t advancing, it was that there was no longer a way to actually repair the electronics.  Even the circuit boards that weren’t the size of a period were more densely packed with parts far too tiny for humans to repair.  Added to this difficulty was new software located directly in the circuit boards.  While robots were capable of some repairs, sometimes just removing a circuit board resulted in damage due to the engineer touching the sensitive electronics.  Technology plateaued until a novel solution was found; mini-workers for the mini-repairs.

        Shrinktech opened up several facilities, where shrunken scientists and computer engineers were “employed” to repair new electronics.  A team of shrinkies could be brought to any location to quickly repair any hardware, or circuit located software, issues.  The system worked brilliantly, more and more teams were created to service government and tech company equipment.  Eventually private businesses started having Shrinktech train and provide them diminutive workers for individual customer repairs.  Soon most auto shops, computer stores, and others had Shrinktech qualified shrinkies working for them.   With the advent of the Shrinkie breeding facilities, larger pools of trained shrinkies became readily available.  The working conditions for shrinkies deteriorated more and more as their specialty became common place, only the higher end shrinkie experts were afforded any luxuries or consideration.

        There was a thud to the left, interrupting the man’s thoughts.  His fists formed instinctively as he swiveled to face the disturbance.  It was a male, two-foot short white shrinkie who had been thrown to the floor.  A black man stood over him, looking disappointed.

        “I said drink it all, Silky, I’m not wasting my time, walking over to the toilets when I have you!”

        There was a small puddle between his feet.  He fumbled with his junk before closing his zipper.  Silky trembled, waiting for his punishment.

        “I give you one thing to do, and you can’t even do that?  1 liter capacity my ass!” He exclaimed, slapping him with the palm of his hand.  Silky landed with another thud, skidding several feet further.  He looked up to see black boots and blackish blue pants in front of him.

        “Oops, sorry about that mister,” The man apologized, walking over and grabbing his property’s blonde hair.

        He dragged the sniveling shrinkie back to the bench.  Grasping the male by the throat with his left hand, he slapped him again across the other cheek with his right.  Picking up his books, the observer walked over to man preparing another more powerful slap.

        “Is that the Humphrey AMLE?”

        “Yup,” The black man replied, his hand completing its arc, Silky cried out, his left cheek now a cherry red.

        “How’d you know?” he interrupted his task to appraise the watcher, “You swing that way too?”

        He walked to the side of the tiny and squatted down, “No, but I do have a thing for specialty models.”

        The owner released his grip, “Hmm, first time seeing one up close?”

        “Yeah, I’ve read the specs, but being a British breed haven’t had the pleasure of observing one.”

        “Well, by all means, though as you can tell he’s a bit defective,” he gestured to the puddle beneath his feet, “Was supposed to be able to swallow and hold 1 liter, didn’t piss more than half that this time round.”

        The shrinkie’s owner released his grip and raised his head slightly to signal it to turn around.  It complied quickly, hoping to avoid another beating.  Tears were streaming down Silky’s face.

        Silky couldn’t hold the salty tears back, pain he knew, pain he expected, it was how masters released their frustration and how they showed affection to shrinkies like him.  His training had been thorough, at the appropriate shrinkie age he had been taught fully what was expected of him.  He was trained how to orally stimulate men and women, though more so men as that was who he was marketed towards.  Before he was put on the market, he underwent 6 months of more vigorous training.  His anus was stimulated, long pencil-length rods used to stimulate him, nothing larger as most men preferred to break in their product’s asses for the first times themselves.

        He had been so happy to be bought by his master, Robert and his husband Charlie, they had said that his mouth was so soft, and thus called him Silky.  His name may have been merely a description, but a name implied significance!  In the facility he was H-AMLE-8777TZ.  He knew that when the pair used him roughly or struck him, they were showing him their affection.  Silky reciprocated, doing all that he was told quickly and eagerly.  Now, he was defective.  He couldn’t understand it, he remembered quickly gulping on the plastic phalluses in the lab, their amounts of liquid marked visibly in the containers above.  Silky had always been able to drink more than 1.2 liters of any human liquid, but now something was horribly wrong.  He had drunk his masters’ cum easily enough, and the briny yellow liquid tasted no better or worse from the lab, so why couldn’t he complete his task?

        His shaking intensified as he thought of his future.  Even if his master beat him black and blue, that would hurt, but that was expected.  Defective, those were the words bred and trained shrinkies like him feared the most.  He would be sent back to the lab, where if he indeed wasn’t physical able to fulfill his requirements, he would be “refurbished,” for some other use if possible, sent to the butcher if not.  Silky feared that future, but most of all he feared being sent back and found to be able to have fulfilled his criteria, but chosen not to.  Willfully Defective was the term for breeding facility shrinkies who chose to refuse commands.  Twice a week all shrinkies in the facility would watch live streams of the horrific punishments for that cardinal sin.  The management always found creative ways to slowly execute their problematic products.  The facility shrinkies rarely screamed when tortured, some even becoming aroused by it.  But Willfully Defective ones screamed nonstop during their fatal chastening, their pricks perpetually flaccid through the ordeal, a testament to just how agonizing that fate was. 

        “Feel free to touch it however you want, me and my husband already broke in its glory hole yesterday.”

        Silky looked up at the man, his face was serious, his eyes piercing as they seemed to ascertain his every blemish and flaw.  He tilted his head down, he was not to look in a normie’s eyes unless instructed, he must always know his place.  A right hand felt up his leg, moving up slowly towards the crotch, it caressed the balls before kneading the tiny prick between them.  Silky grew rock hard in seconds, the little man started humping between his sobs of failure.  He had to prove he still had value, sadly it took him a minute longer than normal to ejaculate, the stress robbing him of even performing that task adequately.  His master tsked again angrily, the tears turned into a torrent.  The cum coated fingertips pulled away while being cautious not to let the liquid fall to the floor.

        Then the left hand forcefully rubbed and squeezed his ass, Silky jolted, but uttered no sound.  Two fingers probed and entered his anus, rotating and stretching it in every direction before exiting.  The hand moved up to his face, pinching his cheeks together, his mouth forcefully opened.  The man’s right pointer and index fingers probed along the teeth, the inside of his cheeks, and began approaching the throat.  Silky tasted his own seed on the giant’s fingers.  He tried to clean it off with his tongue, until the fingers went deeper, to the knuckles, down his throat.  There was no gagging.  The man in blue pulled his fingers back halfway and the shrinkie began to gag, before ramming them forcefully back, halting the reflex.

        Wiping the excess cum off inside the shrinkie’s cheeks, he pulled his fingers out and looked at its owner, “I don’t think your model is defective, when you had him drinking, how far were you down his throat, relative to your length?”

        “Only about a third, I didn’t want his slobber on my pants.”

        “Yep, that’s the problem, The Humphrey AMLE’s gag reflex has been greatly reduced, but you have to deepthroat them, going in halfway or sometimes even a third of the way tickles the uvula, you need to jam that thing securely against the back of its throat with your cock.  Try it again all the way.”

        Silky’s tears stopped, he wasn’t defective?  His master scratched the side of his head as he thought.  Silky knew he was risking another slap, but even scarier was that what the other man had said meant he would certainly be labeled Willfully Defective.  He had to prove he still had value.  The shrinkie ran over to his master and quickly began unzipping his pants.  He reached in, delicately pulling the long black hose out from behind a pair of briefs.

        Robert looked down in glee, this was not what he expected.  He had considered waiting until he got home so as not to risk his Armani pants, but if little Silky loved his piss so much, who was he to argue?

        Silky held the lengthy beast up with both hands, he rubbed it, and licked its head, causing it to grow and the tip to emerge from the sheath.  His opened jaw swung to the right, and then left before there was a small pop and it dislocated.  He began taking the monster in front of him into his mouth, one soft gulp at a time. 

        Robert moaned, Silky’s mouth truly matched his name.  The expandable mouth took in his full length.  Robert grabbed the back of his pet’s head, ramming himself the rest of the way in before releasing a hot stream down its throat.

        Silky felt the hands on the back of his head and widened his mouth so that his teeth wouldn’t scratch his owner’s pride.  Robert’s cock was halfway inserted when he began to piss.  Silky tasted a little of the foul liquid, being forced to drink it as a child had acclimated him to the taste, but had not made it any better.  His small hands grabbed at Robert’s thighs, trying to force his member deeper.  Robert pulled his head firmly, closing the distance.  Moaning, he let the torrent fully flow.  He finished after a while, his shrinkie studiously noting that his stomach was nearing 3/4s capacity.  His owner looked down and smiled contentedly at the shrinkie.  Silky’s tears changed to joy, he had satisfied his master, he wasn’t defective!

        Silky felt the cock grow larger in his mouth, he began slightly bobbing his head back and forth.  Silky reached for the base of the shaft to further excite him, but Robert was too eager, an explosion erupted.  The ejaculate flowed viscously down his throat.

        “God that was good!” Robert winked at his new friend.

        He pulled back, allowing Silky to properly clean him before pushing him violently to the floor.

        His ecstasy evaporated when he noticed a long-legged woman seated far down the hall in a long dark gray skirt, pink blouse, and sunglasses reading.  Her nose was pointed at her book, but he felt her eyes watching him.  It wasn’t that he could get into any trouble, but he felt as though his private moment had just been cheapened by the unseen voyeur. 

        He turned to his helpful friend.

        “God, you were right, thank you so much!” He put forth his right hand.

        The stranger quickly reached his right hand into his suit, pulled out a bottle of Purell and sanitized his hands before firmly gripping Robert’s hand.

        “I’m Robert.”

        “Quentin.”

        “God, I was not looking forward to having to return little Silky here, so much of a hassle having to fill out the defective form and going to the post to ship it back.”

        “Yeah, time is money,” Quentin replied, glancing at the clock above the door.

        “Me and Charlie, my husband, we’re busy enough dealing with our realty business, don’t have the time to deal with another shrinkie issue.”

        “Another…?”

        “Yeah, well, semi-kind of, my sister stole a shrinkie from me recently, you wouldn’t believe it, my old crummy boss was having a meeting with me about buying a loft, when the asshole shrank right in front of me, one foot nine inches!  Goddamn, what luck, didn’t have a collar on me so I left him with my sister, by the time I got back she had a collar of her own on him.  Told me to fuck off, damned ghetto trash.”

        “Terrible when you can’t even trust family,” He gave a sympathetic look of loss.

        “Yeah, he was married so it wasn’t like she could claim any of his assets, but damn I would have loved to pound his ass, give him a taste of how he treated me all those years.”

        “You know, there are ways of reclaiming him.”

        “What, through the courts?  You a lawyer or something?  He had no collar, now he does, law’s pretty cut and dry on that one.”

        “No, not a lawyer, I’m actually a handyman.”

        Robert looked puzzled, so he continued, “I fix things, problematic things.”

        Robert nodded, realization creeping into his eyes, “Yeah, well, as much sentimental value as that would have, I wouldn’t be willing to spend much to get him back.”

        “Oh no, I wouldn’t require monetary compensation, I primarily deal in favors, often they prove far more lucrative to both me and my clients.”

        “Really?” Robert brightened, carefully assessing the man. 

        His clean-shaven face, short cut hair, save the top of his head, and confident demeanor gave a professional look.  His suit, obviously well-tailored, was unfortunately made of a rough looking, cheap fabric.  A professional wearing that surely wasn’t worth much.

        “Your suit…”

        “My attire may not be top of the line, but its functionality is unrivaled.  Handymen must be two things, skillful in their trade, and always willing to get their hands dirty.  The style of my clothing has never affected my work.”

        Robert nodded in newfound respect, his mind trying to think of what methods a man like that might possibly employ.  The stranger pulled a deep blue business card, reminiscent of his suit, out of another inner pocket.

        “Unfortunately, I’m booked up for the moment, but please call me next month and we’ll see what we can arrange.  Again, don’t even think of payment.  Should I fail, all consequences legal, or otherwise, will fall solely upon myself.”

        Robert took it with his left, his right hand meeting his acquaintance’s for a second firm shake.  He glanced at the business card, brevity outstanding beyond its hue of blue, Quentin Sharp, Handyman/Debt Manager, and a phone number all set in difficult to see black. 

        “Debt manager?”

        “A side business of mine, I erase debts.”

        Robert looked at him in disbelief, debt was permanent.  The only way to remove debt beyond paying was to have all your goods repossessed and be shrunk for auction to try to cover the deficit.  He reached for his wallet and attentively placed the blue card inside, before handing back one of his own.  Robert Jones, Appaloosa Realty in giant bold letters followed by a paragraph of other information.

        “Until we meet again, Robert,” The handyman/debt manager stood to leave, pocketing the contact card.

        “Wait!  Can’t promise you that call, so how about at least letting me repay you for helping me with my other problem?”

        He gestured towards Silky, “Surely you’ve wondered just how good the Humphrey AMLEs are, why not have a quickie?”

        Quentin stood uncertain if he should, he looked at the clock again.  There was time, but still, he had one more matter to attend to before he could leave.

        “Come on, obviously you’re impressed with the specs, but let me tell you, until you’ve experienced it, you have no idea just how great they are.”

        He gazed thoughtfully at the door marked security towards the end of the hallway.  He looked back at Silky, now standing at attention.  He smiled, there was much to do, but this would make the next conversation more plausible.  The best devils mix their lies with the truth.  He sat back down, reaching for his pant zipper.

        Silky was taught to serve any and all giants that his master ordered him to, though his training included lessons in restraint.  It was important that his owner know that he was singular to Silky, in the hopes that he made an attachment with the model.  This would better his treatment, while more importantly satisfying the expectation of loyalty.  Silky considered this during the conversation, but made a swift decision.  This stranger had saved him, had prevented him not only from being painfully done away with, but had guaranteed his purpose in life.  He had earned Silky’s full potential.

        The two-foot man ran over to Quentin’s crotch, his eagerness causing him to emphatically swipe away the larger man’s hands.  Silky gasped in shock, he had just swatted a superior.  His body trembled as he looked up, expecting to see a glare of indignation.  Instead, Quentin’s eyebrows were raised in surprise, but his lips turned upwards.  His hands raised palms out, in a gesture of surrender.  Silky cried a tear of joy, beaming as he unzipped the man’s pants and set about giving him an experience he would not soon forget.

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