In the candlelit dining room, the women chatted for a little while longer. Christine was talking about Tyler’s work, and it made me feel wistful about drifting out of employment due to my size. I tried to content myself to lie on my back on the tablecloth, staring up at the shadowed furrows running along the inside of Jennifer’s palm, which was lifted up but curled protectively over me again, the previous teasing probably already forgotten, though my aching dick took longer to forgive. The big black chunk of Onyx glittered on her ring finger – the thing keeping me leashed to her finger while I was inside the rock; literally wrapped around her finger. Someone probably needed to update the postal service to forward my mail to my new postal address at: ‘1 Panther Tongue Cul-de-sac, Ms Tomlin’s Ring Finger.’

At a lull in the conversation, Christine stretched back in her chair.

“THIS SIDE OF THE HOUSE GETS COLDER AT NIGHT,” she said. “LET’S MOVE OURSELVES INTO THE DEN. THERE’S A FIRE GOING.”

There were the shuffling sounds of the women leaving their chairs, the wood chairs groaning. I had just gotten back onto my feet when the pad of Jennifer’s finger delivered a small tap to the crown of my head, only soft, but enough to nearly buckle my insubstantial frame down onto the table again.

“BACK IN THE RING, BABE,” she said, her fingers fanning over me like tree boughs as she started to unscrew the panther head. I stiffened, not wanting to so fast submit myself to the silicate cell’s ringing reverb and chromatic color scheme.

“YOU’RE NOT PUTTING HIM AWAY SO SOON?” inquired Christine. “WE’VE BARELY GOTTEN TO KNOW EACH OTHER.”

“IT DOESN’T BOTHER ME,” Jennifer insisted, “BUT JERRY’S A SENSITIVE LITTLE SOUL AND HE NEEDS HIS SPACE. I WOULDN’T WANT HIM TO GET OVER-STIMULATED.”

It was far too late for that, I thought.

Christine wasn’t convinced either. She fixed Jennifer with a patient smile.

“YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. KATIE AND I WILL TREAT HIM LIKE GLASS,” she looked across at the younger redhead. “WON’T WE, KATIE?”

“LIKE NATURAL PEARL,” Katie added, nodding solemnly.

So the panther head stayed screwed on, and I had a rush of perverse affection for Christine for standing up to Jennifer. She had a patient mother duck vibe, like she was the only person who could humble her impetuous friend with a gentle lecture.

The enormous floating hand flattened palm up on the tablecloth, creating an elevated stage awaiting my ascent.

“FINGER JOCKEY,” Jennifer said grandly, “YOUR RIDE AWAITS.”

A giant fingernail tapped against the table to motivate me to hurry up and jump aboard. Not wanting to risk another surprise French kiss with her saliva-slicked fingertip, I dashed on over and scampered up onto her hand. Her fingers twitched and flexed as I ran across the springy palm towards the center; my movement must have tickled her, but she managed to restrain herself from swatting me in a fit of irritation as she would have done to any other creature my size.

Chairs squealed like sirens over the timber floor as they were pushed back for the women to leave their seats. As Jennifer stood, the great fingers curled up slightly as her hand lifted into the air and began to transport me as if via levitation through the dining room, following the colossal – and, viewed from behind, curvy like a mountain range – waist-hip figure of Christine, leading out of the room.

It was kind of fun, I had to admit, like riding a huge magic carpet, and backgrounded by the dimness and the distant, eerie flickering orange candlelights, I could almost imagine I was floating along through Aladdin’s vast Cave of Wonders, though no magic lamp to wish me back to normal size.

“COME ON THROUGH, LADIES,” said Christine, beckoning through the archway out of the dining room. “AND KATIE, WOULD YOU PLEASE BRING THE BOTTLE…?”

“CAN’T FORGET THAT,” Katie said, taking the wine bottle and passing the kitchen to collect some wine hock glasses.

“UNLESS YOU’RE A BARTENDING WIZARD, TAKE THE SHORT FAT ONES – ” Christine advised kindly, “—THEY LOOK LIKE SNIFTERS WITH WIDE RIMS; THEY’RE STACKABLE.”

Stacking three glasses and carrying the wine bottle, Katie began to follow the other two into the living room, asking:

“WHERE ARE THE BOYS HEADED, ANYWAY?”

Christine replied:

“A COUPLE OF BLOCKS DOWN TO SEE THOSE PEOPLE AT THE END OF THE STREET. TYLER KNOWS SOMEONE DOWN THERE. I BELIEVE IT'S A WORK COLLEAGUE."

“LEVI WOULD BE IN IT FOR THE LEFTOVER FIREWORKS,” Katie groaned.

Christine gave a knowing nod, before she suddenly turned to Jennifer, her eyes dropping on me:

“OH, AND JERRY, I’M SORRY TO HAVE INTRUDED EARLIER. YOU’RE WELCOME TO JOIN THE BOYS IF YOU WISH. ONE OF US CAN TAKE YOU DOWN THERE, ASSUMING WE CAN PRISE YOU OUT OF JEN’S HAND, FIRST…”

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT THAT, CHRIS,” Jennifer said immediately, “I’M KEEPING MY EYE ON HIM FOR NOW. BESIDES,” her voice tipped coyly, “HE WON’T COMPLAIN SHARING THE COMPANY OF THREE BEAUTIFUL WOMEN.”

“A LADIES MAN,” Christine smiled, seemingly happy now that her offer was smoothly side-lined. “HOW VERY CHARMING. WHAT DO YOU DRINK, JERRY?”

Her towering upper form bent over Jennifer’s hand, the shadowy curvature of her huge ear becoming my ceiling as she turned her head to the side to hear me.

“Whiskey, thanks, Christine,” I called up to her. “And lately, lots of it.”

“JERRY’S A LIGHTWEIGHT,” Jennifer said quickly, “—NO JOKE; IT UPSETS HIS SYSTEM.” 

“HE DOESN’T HAVE TO DRINK IT, JENNIFER,” Christine said, with gentle reproach as she straightened again. “HE CAN JUST ENJOY THE AROMA.”

The den was warm and the light was kept off; the crackling fireplace providing the only orange light. To the side of the room, the curtains were not fully drawn over the full length glass window, showing the p-patio chairs in the moonlight, against the blue night sky (Christine’s estimation of the ‘very dark’ night was overblown, there was a full moon). The house had a railed wooden deck running almost around the entire house, offering a nice view of pine treelines (said by Jennifer during the drive in, obviously I had not actually seen them). Anyway, it was too cold to go out; Particularly for me, being naked.

While Christine slipped out to fetch me the liquor, Jennifer’s hand lowered and came to a rest upon the coffee table in the middle of the room, letting me dismount. I slid my legs over the edge of her hand and dropped down onto the wood surface, warmed from the fireplace. Without thinking, I began to pace around the tabletop, trying to get the blood out of my groin and into the rest of my body. My shadow stretched triplefold out from my feet as I walked – even my shadow was taller than me – but at least the black trail, flickering from the glowing fire and my walking motions, made me more visible to the women. For that reason, I was determined to not stop moving.

Christine sidled back into the den and carefully placed a teaspoon down near me on the coffee table, which contained a single drop of pale gold alcohol, to me like a big puddle in a metal basin.

“NO COMPLAINTS WITH JACK DANIEL’S?” she asked rhetorically, stepping back. “IT’S TYLER’S – " she gave the women a wink, "I ONLY TOOK A DROPLET, THINK HE'LL NOTICE?"

In silence, the three women watched with interest as I wandered up to the bathtub sized spoon and leaned over the inside, taking in the rich, malty fumes, before lowering my head to suck some up. The surface tension made it like honey, but not distasteful, kind of like alcoholic treacle.

High up, Katie’s inebriated giggles made the air ring:

“AWWW,” she said, “WHAT A DELICATE LITTLE SWEETHEART.”

Satisfied that I was not going to drown, Jennifer scooted up onto the armchair closest to the fire, turning sideways against the backrest and lifting her knees over the armrest, enjoying the fire’s warmth on her pantyhose covered legs. Katie and Christine slid onto the opposite cushions of the two-seat sofa, the former clearing a small stack of magazines to create space on the timber coffee table for the glass stack and bottle, which rested with a clunk that jolted up through my body, but I didn’t flinch; the alcohol was already having an anesthetizing effect on my nerves, which had been plucked at all night by the loud sounds and gigantic movements. Seduced, I slurped down mouthful after mouthful until my belly felt tight and my blood vessels were humming.

Once the whiskey drop was all gone, I stood, swaying, and then tried to resume my slow journey along the table, trying to keep doing laps, keep my mind active so I didn’t fall asleep.  

Not long after, Jennifer got up again and, assured I was properly supervised, headed for the bathroom.

Christine and Katie’s voices droned in casual conversation over my head. When the voices paused in thought, I turned and looked up to find Christine’s eyes following my ambling passage around the coffee table. Without realizing it I had been doing a lap around the edge of the table closest to where her great, poised form was sitting. My movement had caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She was still like a statue, but her eyes were locked on me. I assumed she was making sure I didn’t fall off the table.

She noticed me looking up at her.

“YOU’RE BETTER OFF STICKING WITH US IN HERE, JERRY,” she said idly. “THE WARMTH SHOULD BE GOOD FOR YOU.”

I stood there, not knowing whether to carry on my walk or hold her attention out of politeness. The sofa upholstery rustled as she slid forward over the seat, leaning over her knees until she was staring right down at me, a lock of stray hair – molten gold in the firelight – dropping down the side of her face, gold vines that I could have scaled. The silvery blue eyes studied me intently. In my peripheral vision, Katie was also watching me from behind her wine glass, which she was sipping at intervals. Her long, angular legs were crossed at the knee, one over the other, the lifted foot hovering just by the edge of the coffee table. The pantyhose must have been chafing or making her foot sweat because the toes – like creamy boulders – were flexing and straining against the fine black netting.

Christine leaned forward, bending low over her legs to get a better look at me. Her eyes narrowed as her plush pink lips thickened into a pout. Her great countenance swam before my tired eyes.

“POOR THING,” she fretted, “ALL EXPOSED. YOU MUST GET SO COLD.”

Her booming voice now sent pleasurable shivers through my numbed nerves. My penis twitched and lifted.

“Bare skin-to-skin contact helps me stay warm.” I blurted without thinking, not intending anything by it.

Her lips now twisted in the ghost of a smile.

“NAUGHTY LITTLE MAN,” she wagged a finger down at me. The digit was so massive its motion displaced enough air around me to create a palpable cool draught, giving me a flash of the cold she was ironically so concerned about.

“JENNIFER SHOULD HAVE WARNED ME ABOUT YOU. HERE I AM WORRYING ABOUT YOUR EXTREMITIES WHEN YOU’RE CLEARLY RECEIVING A LOT OF WARM BLOOD FLOW TO OTHER VITAL AREAS.”

The previously wagging digit now zoomed even closer for me, closing in to give me a small admonitory poke. Due to its sheer size, it bumped headlong into my face, torso and even made firm contact with my groin, which, due to its near painful sensitivity from being whacked by the earlier vacuums of wind, was building up with arousal again. I had the disturbing feeling of being bumped by a car moving at the pace of a harmless crawl.

I stumbled back as the massive digit withdraw again, Christine sent Katie a sidelong droll look.

“I HAVE NEVER KNOWN A MAN SO TINY TO BE SO EXCITABLY HAPPY.”

Katie giggled into her wine.

I put my head down and carried on my walk and both women went back to their conversation. A dark object loomed before me. In the dim light, I hadn’t been paying it much attention. It was the domed shelf of Katie’s toes, which had come closer to the coffee table, now gripping the edge, and I was heading straight for them.

“KATIE, DON’T MOVE YOUR FOOT,” Christine said, hushed. “I THINK JERRY IS LOOKING TO CLIMB ONTO YOUR TOES. WHAT DO YOU SAY?”

That’s not what I was going to do. I was going to walk around her toes and keep going around the table. But now both women had fallen silent and were staring at me with interest.

“HOW AM I GOING TO REFUSE?” Katie said, “THE POOR LITTLE GUY HAS NO SEATS HIS OWN SIZE.”

Her toes rubbed together as if in anticipation, distending and contracting against the hose. They had me frozen, hypnotized like a bundle of pale pythons writhing inside a big black net.

“OF COURSE YOU MAY HOP UP ON MY TOES,” the redhead said, through a shy smile. “I WOULD BE HONORED TO LEND THEM TO YOU TO LET YOU TAKE A LITTLE REST. I SEE YOU’VE BEEN MARCHING AROUND THE TABLE ALL THIS TIME LIKE A BUSY LITTLE ANT WHILE CHRIS AND I HAVE BEEN SITTING HERE ON OUR BUTTS GOSSIPING. THOSE TEENY FEET MUST BE SO TUCKERED OUT BY NOW.”

She’d lowered her wine glass and had leaned forward to view me better.

Not wanting to look rude, I continued up to the bumpy ridge of her toes, wiggling faintly, but calming with my arrival. With a deep breath, I reached up and dug my nails into the pantyhose boulder of the little toe, roughly as tall as I was, and pulling myself up, arm after arm, until my hands brushed the hard plate of the nail beneath the hose thatch. The nails were painted dark purplish red, and the tendons along the toes stood out as they were kept flexed hard around the tabletop edge.

Making the climb turned out not to be a wise idea after all, but it was only once I was standing on the nail plateau did I feel the stinging in my hands. At my size the pantyhose felt like a mesh of thatch and had scratched at the flesh of my palms and inside of my fingers. Once I was finally up, I checked my stinging palms to find them red with rope burn. My feet had also been digging against the hose, and lifting one foot, I found the sole similarly red with a rash. It was just a good thing I didn’t rub my dick against the abrasive fabric

Breathing deeply from my exercise, it became apparent the air was tinged with Katie’s sweaty foot odor, elicited by the warmth in the room and the stuffy enclosure of the pantyhose. It was sharp to me, but too faint for either woman to have been aware of.

I carefully made my way over the shadowy cleft separating the fifth toe from the fourth, although the springy floor of the hose provided a safety net against falling in between toes. Then I kept journeying, passing from toe to slightly bigger toe, trying to ignore the sting of my soles against the scratchy hose, until I’d made it onto the hard dome of the big toe’s mauve-colored nail.

The sofa groaned as Katie’s mega-sized hand parachuted down over my head, one long finger extending downward, as the nail tip began to dig and scratch around the toes. My passage along her foot must have itched her. Startled, I began to pace back to keep clear of the great index finger shovelling its nail around the agitated toes. The sound was like boots scraping concrete.

Maybe my tickling was making her feel giddy and reckless, or all her slow sips of her wine were finally getting to her, dissolving her inhibitions, as she now decided to have some fun with me.

"WATCH OUT, SILLY LITTLE TEDDY BEAR,” she cooed down at me, “MY BIG FINGER IS COMING FOR YOU."

Her index finger suspended its scratching to lift up and loom over my head warningly. As the nail angled down at my head, I stirred into activity, my feet scampering back and forth, leaping over each toe in turn as I desperately tried to avoid the probing digit. But It didn't matter where I ran, the fingertip tracked me patiently like a slender and incredibly mobile airborne missile.

Booms of feminine giggling trembled the air as my tiny pattering feet danced back and forth, seeming to make her itch all over again. The overhead finger made some playful swooping and dipping motions in my direction. Through peals of laughter, Katie said:

“STOP SKIPPING AROUND DOWN THERE AND ITCHING ME, AND MAYBE I’LL STOP TRYING TO SCRATCH AT YOU!”

Then the giant finger paused its chasing to rake around the toes again, causing the pantyhose fabric to pull and stretch under my feet, jerking me around a little. Without warning, the finger lifted up and, joined by a thumb, pretended to pinch at me. I jumped back, getting ready to run again, but the world seemed to tilt. My legs jerked around as I tried to keep my alcohol-affected sense of balance on the tugging fabric. Then one of my feet stepped down into nothingness and I was rushing down to the ground, turning head over feet. The women gasped.

The top of my skull struck the carpet and I bounced into the air before coming to a stop on my back. The drop didn’t hurt – even though I’d landed and bounced on my head – I was too small. Back when I’d been former size, I could survive a drop from the ceiling to the floor, though it hurt. Now, orders smaller again, I could probably fall from the ceiling without pain, and wondered how far I would have to fall in order to sustain injury, or even die. Whatever the case, if I did die by accident, I didn’t see it happening by fall.

Before I could get up, the sofa made loud rustling sounds as a great collection of fingertips descended from above and, as they entered my immediate proximity, blurred in my perception into giant fleshy spheres, which finally extinguished all light as they smothered my face and body and pulled tight around me – much too tight, like an anaconda had me in constriction. My limbs were forced rigid, locking my joints. The curve of my spine was being urged to straighten, causing vertebrae to grind, and driving pressure against my narrowing ribcage. Muscles all over were pulling, rubbing and burning. A scream was frozen in my chest; my lips were crushed against the rough ridges of a sebaceous-coated fingerprint.

Through the throbbing in my skull, came Christine’s urgent voice:

“KATIE,” she said, “MIND YOU DON’T PINCH JERRY TOO HARD. I KNOW HE LOOKS BREATHTAKINGLY MUSCULAR, BUT YOU HAVE TO REMEMBER, HIS MINISCULE BODY DOESN’T HAVE THE SUBSTANCE TO HOLD UP AGAINST YOUR FIRM FINGERS.”

“OH MY GOSH,” Katie gasped. The flesh walls separated again; the flickering firelight spilled, then I was slid over and bounced upon the creased, padded expanse of her palm.

“I’M SO SORRY!” She gushed, her voice loud and painful in my aching, throbbing ears. “CAN YOU MOVE? ARE YOU ALRIGHT? I DIDN’T HURT YOU DID I?”

Her face was oppressively large overhead, as she’d brought her hand right up to peer in at me. Her wide eyes scanned me anxiously while the dry fruity gust of her wine-suffused breath nearly had me intoxicated just having it rammed into my lungs over and over.

“It’s fine, Katie,” I said, raising a hand and getting to my feet. “Nothing broken. The carpet gave me a soft landing.”

“OH,” she gave a great big sigh of relief, hammering me with warm air that trembled my infinitesimal frame, “I’M SO GLAD TO HEAR THAT. YOU NEARLY HAD ME FREAKING OUT THERE.”

“BETTER NOT LET WORD OF THIS LITTLE MISADVENTURE GET BACK TO JEN,” Christine advised Katie in diplomatic undertone. “SHE’S APT TO... OVERREACT.”

Christine’s face came in over the edge of the giant hand, moving in beside Katie’s to briefly check I was alright, and her gaze hung on me for a second, half veiled by her lashes. Now I was getting buffeted by the gale forces of their breath combined, and worse, they weren’t breathing synchronously, so as I hunched up and weathered one exhalation, I’d get blasted by another stratospheric windcloud almost immediately. Then the air was wrenched out of my chest again by one inhalation, which doubled up, threatened to yank my lungs inside out, or tear them to shreds. My diaphragm was in anguish; felt like it had collapsed, given up trying to keep my chest wall firm, and leaving my lungs to flap like sails. There was no rest. I felt like a balloon being blown up too big, too fast, sucked out and blown up again to near bursting point. Added to that, my dick was purple and screaming for release, trapped in a never-ending cycle of being violently tugged, built up to agony by the sheer gripping force of warm air currents, squeezed by each inhalation and whipped by each exhalations.

Tears were running down my face and my stomach turned from the nauseous pungence of stinging wine-infused wind, while a clammy film of vaporous saliva was sticking to my skin like cling wrap. Ever the optimist, I had to be grateful that – so far – neither woman had sneezed, otherwise my head might have burst with the sonic boom.

“HUSH HUSH, ISN’T THAT RIGHT, JERRY?” Christine was saying in a low voice, meanwhile the presence of an enormous fingertip – also hers judging by the earthy nail polish – materialized to brush into my shoulder like a head-butt. “IF SHE KNEW YOU WERE HAVING A LITTLE TOO MUCH EXCITEMENT WITH US – WITHOUT HER – SHE MIGHT STUFF YOU BACK IN THE RING AGAIN...”

Katie looked at Christine curiously as if for elucidation. Christine’s eyes lifted from me and passed a quick look to Katie, with deceptive calm, as her head shifted from my sight again.

“JERRY KNOWS WHAT I—”

“JERRY KNOWS WHAT?”

It was Jennifer’s voice, sounding deceptively idle and unconcerned as she strode back into the den. After her eyes performed a preliminary search of the room to locate me, seeing that I was cradled in Katie’s palm, she returned to her armchair, with her legs drawn up on the seat.

“JEN, THERE YOU ARE,” said Christine briskly. “WOULD IT BOTHER YOU IF I TOOK JERRY OUT TO HAVE A QUICK WORD WITH HIM IN PRIVATE?”

Facing the fire again, Jennifer turned her head back to survey Christine with an expression of gentle vexation.

“I SUPPOSE,” she finally said. “PROVIDED YOU DON’T LET HIM OUT OF YOUR SIGHT.”

“I’LL HAVE HIM CLINGING TO ME THE ENTIRE TIME.”

Christine’s upper body sidled back into view above me as Katie’s palm slanted steeply, overturning into a sharp slide straight onto Christine’s cupped palm, awaiting just below. The way I was being passed back and forth between hands, getting blasted at intervals by breath had me feeling like a tiny canoe in a vast storm-whipped ocean.

I was starting to wonder if it wouldn’t be so bad to go back into the ring, even just for the opportunity to lie down and let my body recover. As I mulled this, the den walls were gliding past as Christine carried on through the house and into another room. I only saw rooms in part, with grossly magnified objects of furniture blocking most of my view, so I used surface materials and the handful of objects I could make sense of to inform me where I was. In this case, the tiled floor, polished surfaces, and a colossal glass pane shielding the shower cubicle. flashing past above the edge of Christine’s hand, indicated this was the bathroom.

Then came the sound of the door thudding shut.