My body radiated calm, muscles feather light. I was upright. Hovering – no, floating. In a daze, my hand ran over my smooth chest, over the adhesive plastic. I was naked, but I didn’t care; there was no cold or heat, just bland comfort.

Nothing moved. Everything was silent. I was alone, my consciousness was shrunk inside my brain, with no perception of the outside world. I was happy, mind blank, tranquil.

Slowly, unhurried, unpanicked thoughts coasted through my mind.

Where was I?

Who was I?

How much time had passed?

I decided the answer to all three was: it didn’t matter. I felt like I had slept for one hundred years, and could probably sleep for one hundred more.

Light crept under my eyelids. They slowly opened.

The blurry light danced and shimmered and wiggled. I watched it disinterestedly for some time, content to do so. But slowly my awakening brain began to crave more stimulation.

Is this real? Where am I?

There seemed to be an expansive airspace beyond, the space receding into an indefinite white blur like I was very high up in the air, floating in the atmosphere.

I reached forward and my palm connected with a hard surface, sliding along the flat smooth surface with a tiny squeak. It was a glass screen in front of me, and it completely encircled me. I was trapped under a clear jar, resting upside down on a tabletop in some foreign room. The cloudy blue sky showed outside a window. The night had passed by while I was unconscious. Now I had no idea what day it was.

The sensation of my beating heart grew more prominent now. My mouth opened in distress but I was too weak to utter anything other than a moan. One of my hands shifted to my shoulders, bumping some hard object ringed around my neck. It was a collar, attached to a thin chain lead that snaked in beneath the jar neck, and the weight of the jar kept the lead stuck beneath.

My hands scrabbled and tugged clumsily at the leather bind, but it had no buckle. It was glued together. I might as well have tried pulling off one of my fingernails.

I pinched myself, slapped myself. The room remained unchanged. But the drug patch on my chest suppressed my anxiety. Instead, there was a feeling of oddness haunting me. Like I was in a dream where I was being watched. I did compulsive laps around the inside jar rim, watching the two open doorways in the big white walled room, but there was no one. This was no dream, and the rational side of my brain was just beginning to wake and demand an explanation.

But none were forthcoming, and for a long time, nothing happened. My brain was more alert to the passage of time. It seemed like an hour passed…two hours…three hours…I could no longer be sure.  It could have been hours, or just minutes.

Worse, I had no idea how long I’d been in here before I woke up. Maybe days.

This was real. It wasn’t a dream. Things happened in dreams, usually very fast and unpredictably. You didn’t sit around in a dream for literal hours. Similarly, if this was a hallucination, it was a very persistent one. In either case, this world was too realistic for my liking, and I was getting desperately anxious to return to the real world.

Anya’s voice suddenly infiltrated the containment, the glass dampening the volume:

“WAIT ‘TIL YOU SEE THIS, IT’LL BLOW YOUR MIND.”

There was a trace of anticipation, like a kid about to open a Christmas present.

A man’s voice replied.

“THAT’S HIM?”

Two tall shapes moved through the room towards me. Anya and a tattooed man with a stringy goatee. In the company of the man, Anya in her head sash seemed less hippie and more pirate. She was smiling faintly, smugly, in a way she hadn’t been before.

“HE’S CUTE,” the man said.

Their forms stretched over the glass. Without realizing it, my hand slipped around the chain around my neck, and tugged. My thoughts were so slow, like I’d been hit in the head.

Suddenly my lungs were heavy and I was fighting for air. Actually, I had stopped breathing out of pure fear. My vision went black for a moment; I must have passed out for a second, the length of a micro sleep.

Tap tap tap

My eyes snapped open. The outside world gazed in at me through the clear barrier.

A giant, lacquered milky white fingernail had appeared out of nowhere, tapping the glass wall right in front of me, and making my head ring. I flinched; it had almost seemed as though the white sharp tip had been capable of penetrating the transparent wall and prodding in the face.

Satisfied that I was conscious, Anya turned her attention back to her male friend, lips twisting in a plush, frowning pout. The dark lipstick made her lips shine like the surface of a ripe plum, absurdly kissable looking – if only because it was a shade of lipstick Jen sometimes used to wear before I’d shrunk. I could almost taste it, in memory.

“YOU DON’T REALIZE,” she said to the man, “YOU ARE LOOKING UPON TRUE GREATNESS RIGHT THERE.”

It became apparent she was making fun; she gave her pinky a wiggle in the direction of my pelvic region. Her voice laughingly rung inside the jar like a stinging slap.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN HIM EARLIER; THE MOMENT I BRAZILLED HIS BALLS WITH THE MOUSTACHE CLIPPERS, HE STARTED GETTING THICK.”

Moustache clippers? It was true, I was bald as a baby down there. And it wasn’t the only place. My hands raked my scalp and met only a dome of skin. She had shaved my head, too.

“YOU TOUCHED A GUY’S THING WITH MY CLIPPERS?” The man grunted.

She laughed evasively.

The giant faces of the two hung over me, very close. Their faces together took up so much of my visual field there was nowhere else to look. As the man leaned in for a better look, his breath condensed on the glass. I tried to focus on a loose strand of Anya’s platinum hair, which had fallen forward over the head sash; running my eyes up and down its length as I desperately tried to organize my sluggish brain, trying to imagine I was alone with my thoughts and not exposed to everyone in this glass like a museum exhibit.

“Anya…” I groaned, “…what’s going on?”

She looked at the man, seeming to enjoy his surprised reaction as much as mine. He must have been her boyfriend.

“YOU’RE NOT JEALOUS OF HIM, ARE YOU?” Anya said to me.

“DON’T BE AFRAID OF ME, LITTLE GUY,” the man said. “I JUST WANT TO TOUCH YOU."

She rolled her eyes and challenged him:

“YOU CAME HERE TO SEE ME, RIGHT?"

Turning to him, she slung her arms around his shoulders and massaging his biceps. He began kissing her neck.

“I KNOW,” she uttered, warming again, “HE’S SO CUTE…BUT I’M CUTER..."

They were both half laughing now, and seriously into each other, necking and nuzzling. Then Anya disentangled herself from the man, turning to survey me again.

“WAIT, I’VE GOTTA DOPE HIM AGAIN—”

An irritated burst of air issued from the man’s lips.

“REALLY? HE CAN’T WAIT FOR HIS FIX?”

“THE HIT KEEPS HIM NICE AND SLEEPY WHILE WE GET DOWN TO BUSINESS.”

She bent, placing her hands on her knees, and her magnificent porcelain face seemed to swell against the jar, somehow simultaneously grotesque and glamorous.

Her great slender fingers clawed around the jar possessively like pale spindly crabs, nails clinking against the glass. And her gleaming silver eyes were locked on my tumescent sword, which was, disregarding all decency, hopelessly, painfully erect for her delight, even as I inwardly raged at their condescension of my size and incapacitation. Her shiny plum red lips bulged and smacked with soft kissing motions as her eyes lazily roved my tiny form, as if she was fantasizing about applying those same darkly irresistible lips to every inch of my naked flesh. One final air kiss was brought against the outside glass, and just watching the moist flex and squish against the glass, created a sympathetic throb right through my shaft, and screwing my balls tight. She hadn’t been lying; the drug’s potency was making my arousal unbearable. The lips unstuck, leaving a dark oiled stain on the glass, as if to ensure I remembered her even once she was out of sight.

The throbbing sensation had not gone unnoticed; to her, my shaft veins had bulged monstrously as the entire girth strained and swelled. The tightness in my entire lower region was as if it was clothed in a too-small sleeve. Seeming to intuit my distress, she gave me a lopsided, conspiratorial look, as if psychically asking me if I wanted the pressure relieved. As she straightened again, a ballooning breast was raised before my face and the pointed tip pinched between forefinger and thumb, and stroked briefly, just to see my reaction. My gaze hung on the semi-elastic nipple stretching and flicking. She did it so subtly and unselfconsciously it went unnoticed by the man.

Turning her head vaguely back at the man, she said:

“IT’S REFRESHING TO HAVE A LITTLE SOMEONE TO ENTERTAIN ME FOR ONCE.”

She brought her face back over me, beaming me a private smirk through the glass wall that went beyond the man’s notice. Her gaze alone seemed to stroke my body like a feathery touch. A shiver went up my spine. Right then, the intensity of her desire of me became real; actually seeming to radiate through the glass wall as palpable heat, her silver, coyote-like eyes almost burning a hole into my forehead. It seemed as though she had been toying with the idea of removing the glass for that final air kiss. And her fixation on my groin provided an unavoidable indicator or where she would have put it. I almost wondered if the glass was for my protection against her vivid affection.

She arched an eyebrow at the man, and giving a small nod to my huge, frustrated erection.

“CHECK THAT OUT -- WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WANTED ME THAT MUCH?"

The man reached around her, pivoting her away from me, sending one hand down to clench her butt cheek, just so I could see it.

Anya managed to disentangle herself from the guy, and her form lifted over my head, before the jar rose straight up in the air. I made uneasy steps over the tabletop but her reflexes were faster, ungodly fast compared to my drugged wits. Fingers seemed to fall into the jar and I automatically took unsteady steps, but her reflexes were ungodly compared to my drugged wits, I was snatched up. Her other hand dropped into her pocket and lifted a patch to her lips, tore the backing paper with her teeth, and, flipping me over, slapped it onto my back. Then I was flipped again, for the previous patch to be ripped off, and put back onto the table. At least the jar wasn’t put over me this time.

“SWEET DREAMS!” Anya called as she followed the guy into the bedroom.

Right before she left the room, she casually swung around, locking eyes with me and sucking the tip of her finger. Then they were gone.

Soon, the dull reverberations of their activity played through my glass jail cell, punctuated by growls, gasping expirations of breath, and Anya’s squeals. My dick came alive to this primal music, even against my will. It strained for the starlet’s vivacious, wicked affection, even as the sight of her brought me a rational pang of dread.

The drug’s hypnotizing calm began dragging me down, and I struggled and spasmed against it, fighting to keep my brain active, and awareness of surroundings bright and present. But the world continued to withdraw and I went into another chemsleep.