I lay in the sunny patch on the queen bed, waiting for my body to air dry. I had a hand towel, but it was so warm, I got caught up sunbaking.

Outside, a car rolled past and stopped around the other side of the house. The installed electronics on the front door were triggered to open at the sound of my voice. It was simple enough get the door, but since I was naked I trusted Jennifer would chase unwanted visitors away.

I had started venturing out into the back garden – or, actually, riding in the safety of her pocket while she grew plants for homemade exfoliating products. Sometimes she playfully buried me in the soil up to my neck, or chased me with the hose stream.

As I listened for whether the visitor was going to come to the front door, Jennifer swept into the room. She was dressed up and made up, catching me totally off guard.  I jumped up in surprise and rushed for my hand towel.

Seeing me running naked brought out her silly, playful side. In three quick strides she was at the bed, and with a soft push from her fingertips, I was swept off my feet and pinned under the weight of her palm.

“STILL NOT DRESSED,” she said, sighing. My chest wound was still healing and hurt a little from the pressure of her hand,

Her thumb was cupping my groin, and began stroking softly. She must have recently moisturized her hands because her touch was cool and butter smooth. My brain spaced out a little, then remembered where I was.

“I need a second!” I groaned.

She lifted her hand, and a cloud of perfume lowered over my head as she sunk into a crouch beside the bed as if this was supposed to make me feel less self-conscious, but it didn’t, because her hair was like a lustrous cascade, her short skirt showed a mile of leg that ended in a fuckable pair of heels, and I was tiny and naked and completely hot for her.

While I stood and stared, she said:

“GET ON IT. WE HAVE COMPANY.”

I looked past her, and uncomfortably through the window.

“I noticed.”

She rose to her feet again and said in a low, brisk voice:

“YOU MAY BE IN FOR A GAB ABOUT AN OCCUPATION TRANSPLANT, SO PUT YOUR GAME FACE ON.”

“What?”

“YOU’VE GOT A JOB INTERVIEW.”

My brow scrunched in confusion.

“Since...now? What? How do you know?”

She gave me an ultra smooth smile.

“I KNOW EVERYTHING. I’M YOUR MANAGER NOW; EVERYTHING FLOWS THROUGH ME.”

“Could you have warned me about this earlier?!” I hugged the towel to my body tightly, my skin breaking out in nervous goosebumps. “I can’t give a job interview right now, what is this even for?– give me some bullet points!”

With one lightning fast motion, she snatched the towel clean out of my hands.

“Hey!”

Then she took a deep breath, brought her lips right up as if she was just about to kiss me, but instead emptied her lungs upon my tiny standing form. The powerful warm blast buffeted my body enough to stagger me backwards.

“ALL DRY!” she said. “NOW GET DRESSED.”

Once she strode out, I rushed around looking for clothes. Not just any clothes but something smart and impressive, which was not so simple for someone my size. Luckily the designer I modelled underwear for had gifted me with a specially tailored little suit as a gift for my work.

…And somehow, it must have gone missing, because it was not in the obvious places, but it didn’t make sense how I could have misplaced my best outfit. It might have been with my stuff up in St Palma. A special courier service was supposed to be sending my stuff down in the mail, but it hadn’t arrived yet.

I jumped back up onto the bed and raced towards the bedside table on Jen’s side. Some of my tiny outfits were folded in a pile up there, one of them must be the tailored suit. But even while searching the pile I could see in my mind the suit amongst my other clothes, stored away in the apartment.

But I had nothing else. Every other outfit on the pile was wrong. Some of them weren’t even proper outfits, but doll clothes. I looked at the folded outfits in dismay, faced with a very grim choice.

The sound of upbeat chatter bounced down the hallway towards the bedroom, and next second, Jen burst in. I flinched.

An instant later, Samantha swept inside the room after her. I stared in dumb confusion, and the two women stopped and stared at me.

Then remembered I was naked.

“Not now! Not ready!” I cried, diving onto the bed and running for my hand towel.

“JERRY!” Jen grunted, sweeping her hair back. She marched up to the bedside table, snatched up an outfit at random and threw it at me. I stared at it despondently.

“PUT IT ON,” she commanded. “YOUR JOB INTERVIEW STARTED TWO MINUTES AGO.”

They were sitting around the dining table when I came out into the living room. Superman’s logo was emblazoned on my chest, and the red cape flapped around my legs.

I skipped like a pebble over the floor, and stopped at Jen’s massive left stiletto, which was tapping with contained restlessness, visible only to me. Her toenails shone with a new layer of translucent polish.

I smacked my palms down on the stubby knuckle of her big toe, until she twisted fluidly in her seat – and without breaking the light conversation – her hand shot under the table and plucked up my cape so fast the air whooshed out of my lungs. Then I was flying into the air, much less impressively than the real Superman.

“WRONG FLOOR, MISTER,” Jen drawled. “UP HERE.”

Dangling by Jen’s fingertips, I found myself suspended like a food offering just above Samantha’s hands, which were resting one on top of the other, on the tabletop. The fake tan was gone and her naturally olive shade showed. She lifted one hand and her soft fingerpads pushed up into the soles of my feet, a pointer beneath my left, and her middle finger beneath my right, as if I was standing on them, though I still completely relied on Jen not to drop my cape and sending me crashing back to planet dining table.

She amused herself briefly with the sight of me ‘standing’ on her fingertips.

“Hi, Samantha,” I nodded, trying to act both like she was a surprise and like I’d expected her all along. “H-How are you?”

“NO POLITENESS, JERRY,” she said kindly, tapping my soles, seemingly in a self-conscious effort to appear unconcerned, and her nail tips prickled my heels, “LET’S BE DIRECT. IT’S ABOUT YOUR WORK. ACTING IS VULNERABLE; IT’S NORMAL; IT MAKES PEOPLE VULNERABLE, BUT FOR YOU, THAT’S A PROBLEM.”

“Um,” I took a deep breath as her probing touch accidentally tickled the soles of my feet. “Is this a job interview?”

“NO INTERVIEW; A DISCUSSION. YOU WANT TO BE RESPECTED, I UNDERSTAND, BUT YOU TRY TOO HARD AND END UP IN THESE UNSAFE ENVIRONMENTS, AND IT MAKES EVERYONE'S LIFE HARDER TO WORRY ABOUT YOU.”

“What choice do I have?” I grunted. “Actors can’t work from home, I have to be on set, in front of a camera, around normal size actors.”

Jen, still gripping my cape, blurted at my back:

“THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOU GETTING LOST ON SET OR HAVING A PROP MALFUNCTION. IT’S A PEOPLE PROBLEM, LIKE WHAT HAPPENED AT THE SKYROS CLUB – EXCEPT I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THAT BECAUSE YOU NEVER TOLD ME.”

I felt her eyes staring hard into the back of my perspiring neck. Then the table pushed up against my feet as she released my cape. I turned and looked up at her.

“That was Farris’s idea,” I said, feeling lame.

“THEN YOU NEED A NEW DRIVER, AND YOU NEED A NEW AGENT,” she retorted, sweeping me around with her hand to send me in Samantha’s direction. Now I stared up at Samantha, hopelessly confused.

She seemed nonplussed by Jen’s sharpness, and offered me a small, sympathetic smile. I realized she must have told Jen about Skyros.

“SO, YOU HAD A BIG OPERATION,” she ventured, “ARE YOU FEELING BETTER?” Her fingertip brushed my chest, and withdrew when I winced. “YOU’RE NOT.” She stroked under my chin in apology.

“I’m basically just my usual self again,” I bashfully pushed her finger away. “Almost.”

“BENE.”

Accepting this, she went on:

“I WANT TO DISCUSS AN OPPORTUNITY WITH YOU, MAYBE A GOOD THING. I’M WITH A DIFFERENT AGENCY NOW.”

“You mean a modelling agency? I didn’t know you still wanted to be a model.”

“NO, I DON’T. I WANT TO BE A SUPERMODEL; RUN MY OWN BUSINESS FROM THE TOP. AT THE MOMENT I’M WITH THIS AGENCY MANAGEMENT TEAM, MUCH BETTER FOR ME. AND, IF YOU WANT TO MEET THEM, THEY WON’T NEED AN INTRODUCTION.”

“I have to think about it. Is this another underwear contract?”

She considered this, gently capturing my head between her fingertips and gently tracing around my skull.

“IF YOU WANT TO MODEL, SAY, LIKE ME, THEY COULD MANAGE YOU. BUT YOU DON’T NEED TO MODEL. I AM THINKING IF YOU JOINED THIS TEAM, YOU COULD BE MY AGENT’S DEPARTMENT ASSISTANT, AND HELP MANAGE ME. OR, IF YOU WANT, BE MY ASSISTANT, THE LITTLE MASTER OF MY BRAND.”

“Wow,” I said, breathlessly trying to catch up. “That sounds heavy. What can I do for you?”

“WE’LL FIND A PLACE FOR YOU. I WILL TAKE YOU WITH ME TO WORK AND SUPERVISE YOU, AND THEN WE FINISH AND I TAKE YOU HOME.”

“You’d have to fly me to work,” I said slowly. “I don’t have my apartment anymore.”

Jen replied over my shoulder:

“UM, SO, WE HAVE A COUPLE OF OPTIONS TO MAKE THIS A THING, JERRY. WE COULD FIND YOU A NEW APARTMENT, OR…I COULD MOVE TO ST PALMA.”

“But what about your job?”

“I AM TRYING TO GIVE YOU AN EVEN CHOICE HERE, BUT I REALLY NEED YOU TO PICK THE SECOND ONE, BECAUSE I’VE GOT A JOB TRANSFER UP THERE NOW,” she gave my back a quick excited poke, “I’M MOVING TO A NEW PALACE AND YOU ARE INVITED TO TAKE A VERY SPECIAL PLACE IN MY LUGGAGE KIT!”

There was no question. What Jennifer wanted she got. And -- damn me -- I was too happy to give.

“That’s awesome! I want to be luggage!”

*

Much later, I awoke to find I’d been napping on the sofa. All the lights through the house – except for the bedroom – were off, and I couldn’t turn them back on. In my apartment in St Palma I’d had tiny rope ladders leading up to the light switches.

There was an empty, toy-sized black glass bottle nearby. Frowning, I picked it up.

“JERRY?”

Jennifer called out from the bedroom.

‘Yes?” I called back.

“ARE YOU THINKING OF COMING TO BED SOON?”

“In a minute.”

“GOTCHA…BUT REALLY, THOUGH, I’M SAYING IT’S YOUR BEDTIME. NOW.”

Hearing the concealed growl in her voice, I jumped up.

“Coming!”

I scampered through the dark house, homing in on the only source of light, glowing from out of the master bedroom.

The end of the bed faced the doorway. She was sprawled on her front on the bed, and still like a Sphinx, one arm dangling down over the edge of the mattress towards the floor, silently watching me walk in. Her feet were up, rubbing against each other.  She was naked.

“Hey, what happened to this?” I said, waving the toy sized bottle. It had been full of Valpolicella when Samantha had gifted it to me. Now it was empty.

“OH…” she let out a breath, tracking me with her eyes. “JUST A TINY SAMPLE.”

“It doesn’t look like a tiny sample. It looks like a tiny the whole thing.”

She giggled. Her lashes sunk and fluttered at me with suggestion.

“I SAVED YOU A DROP,” she said, sucking her lips, “YOU JUST HAVE TO CLIMB IN AND GET IT.”

She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers to suggest that I only had to reach her hand, and then she would lift me the rest of the way. I hesitated, and then her hand seemed to grow, and grow, over me, I cowered in its shadow, staggering back.

“No chest!” I put my arms up in front of me, as ineffective as it was, “It hurts.”

The hand kept coming, but now hesitantly.

“THIS IS ME TOTALLY BEING GENTLE.” One of her fingertips inched into my shoulder. My skin crawled with anticipatory pain.

“OKAY, ON THE FLOOR,” she instructed, “I’LL JUST TAKE YOUR ANKLES.”

I scoffed.

“Can you leave me some dignity?”

Finally, she decided to grasp my head between pointer finger and thumb and lift me.

“Oof,” I groaned, rising through the air. As I dangled, with her breasts pointing into my face, she flipped over and lay back on some piled up pillows, and pulling the blanket up. My limbs were pushed and manoeuvred as she literally pulled me out of my clothes. Then I was swept under the darkness of the blanket, and was lain over the padded mound of her right breast. The blanket trapped me beneath, keeping me pressed to her chest, although I could still move. I fastened my hands around the chunky red bottleneck of an erect nipple.

My hands were cold and from outside the t-shirt, she lifted the blanket only long enough to send my head an admonitory flick with a fingertip. I started running my palms fast around the nipple to get my hands to warm up. Her chest seemed to float up and down as she gave a deep yawn. She shifted, folding one arm behind her head as I sculpted and slapped her nipple until my biceps burned. Reaching across the bedside table for a stick of lip gloss, she said:

“HOW’S MY GUY? BEEN THINKING ABOUT EARLIER?”

From the other side of the fabric that tented my head, I could sense her watching me – or, specifically, watching the tiny mound of blanket indicating where my head was.

I replied sincerely:

“It sounds really big and, right now I like it here.”

She spent a moment painting her lips with the tube of gloss.

“YUH,” she said abruptly. “BUT BEFORE WE KNOW IT, YOU WANT OUT AGAIN.”

She was probably right, and I knew it. She went on:

“WE NEED A BETTER SYSTEM, SO WHAT’S THE PLAN?”

“You choose,” I said, fixating on the darkened bulb of her nipple. When I scrunched it between my hands, the blood vessels tapped against my palms. “I mean, you usually do.”

“IF YOU WORK FOR HER,” she said meaningfully, “YOU NEED TO WORK WITH ME AT HOME. GET IT?”

When I didn’t reply, the blanket whipped up and her hand came in and softly stuck my face with the stub-ended gloss.

“Hey!” I spit syrupy lip gloss out of my mouth and blinking it out of my eyes as the fabric dropped on my head again.

“COULDN’T RESIST,” she giggled, refreshing her lips with the gloss again.

“I didn’t realize you both were talking about me.”

“SHE CAME FOR ME WITH THE OFFER, BUT I MEAN, IN A WEIRD WAY, IT COULD WORK, YOU THINK?”

“You’re really okay with it?”

“SINCE YOU ASK, YES. YES, I AM.” I wobbled around on her ribcage as she gave her spine a long, luxurious stretch: “SHE WANTS TO BACK YOU UP AND I THINK SHE’D KICK MORE BUTT FOR YOU THAN FARRIS DOES.”

I swallowed hard, wondering how we were going to negotiate bathroom work breaks. There was also a more pressing issue.

“You know that… Samantha likes me?” my hands were working in nervous, rapid motions around the span of her nipple, which was firm and inflamed with arousal. I worked tirelessly to keep the nipple a tight bud.

Her chest went down as she let out a sarcastic whoosh of breath. She seemed about to say something else, and then changed her mind.

"GOOD TO KNOW." Her tone told me she'd already figured this out.

I raked my nails over her nipple until she made a gasping sigh of contentment.

“WE TALKED SOME ON THE FLIGHT TO RIVERA,” she said finally, “AND WE BOTH AGREE THE JERRY FANBASE IS A BIG PROBLEM. THEY’RE OUT OF HAND. GIRLS LOOK AT YOU LIKE THEY WANNA SLIP YOU INTO THEIR PANTIES. I’VE GOT TO SAY, I’M LIKING THAT SOMEONE HAS MY BACK ON THAT. AND I DON’T THINK THAT SOME PANTY SLIPPAGE IS HER AGENDA HERE.”

“You might be right,” I said, recalling a comment she made once in her car when I suggested being driven between her thighs.

There was a surge of cool air as Jen whipped the blanket back.

“BUT IF IT’S A BAD IDEA, JUST SAY THE WORD, I’LL SHUT THE WHOLE THING.”

“I don’t think she’s like that anymore, but she does like to touch me a little. Just soft petting.”

Her hand zoomed under the blanket and unceremoniously plucked my neck up between pointer and thumb transferred to the opposite breast. I coughed and rubbed where her nailtip had accidentally depressed my throat, and then began swirling my hands around the other nipple.

She went on seriously:

“SHE’S NOT PERFECT, BUT FUCK IT, SHE HELPED ME GET YOU BACK.” There was a soft touch to my head from outside the blanket, “IF SHE WANTS TO PROTECT YOU FROM BULLSHIT I CAN GET BEHIND THAT.” Her voice got softer. “I…REALLY WANT SOMETHING BETTER TO WORK FOR YOU, BABE.."

She shifted and I grabbed her nipple in the dark as the invisible landscape of her torso rocked beneath. The gentle rising and falling of her chest seemed to deepen as she went quiet in thought.

"ACTING IS TAKING MORE AND MORE BITES OUT OF YOU AND THERE’S LESS LEFT OVER FOR ME.”

She shook the thought off, and said with a tiny trill in her voice:

“AND I KNOW YOU LOVE ME MORE THAN ANYTHING.”

“More than everything.”

“BOLD WORDS.” Her voice rose with seductive intrigue. “WHY DON’T YOU GIVE ME A TASTE HOW MUCH.”

The stiff feeling spreading along my manhood was urging me on.

“Whatever you say, I’ll do it.”

The blanket rustled as she spread her legs and the scent of her wetness hit me like a wave. Trapped under the blanket it quickly grew so thick I could taste it in the back of my throat. Taking deep sucks of air, trying to strain the oxygen through the musky fumes made my chest cramp.

“I’M GOING TO CLOSE MY EYES,” she said, positively gleeful now, “AND YOU’RE GOING TO CREEP DOWN AND GIVE ME SOME CLIT SUCKLES.”

The romantic notions swirling in my head expired.

“You didn’t talk to me like this before I shrunk,” I complained. Then spluttered helplessly, “I’m older than you!”

“I’M BIGGER THAN YOU.”

Resigned, I began crawling on hands and knees down her torso, like a foamy mat that dipped subtly around the ridges of her ribs, and growing firm and taut over her abdominal wall. It was pitch black under the blanket and there was only the hungry scent to use for direction, becoming dizzyingly potent as I crawled in the right direction down her waistline.

My crawling tickled her; she took a deep breath and shifted her hips, trying hard not to tip me off. I couldn’t help tickling her, and tried to speed up, at least to shorten the ordeal. With a frustrated moan she shifted again, and a hand came sweeping down her body to scratch her stomach. A nail poked my butt to urge me lower, and faster.

Hair prickled my palms as I made it onto her mound, and then slid off her labia and bounced on the mattress below. I felt around blindly for the soft, silky folds of her womanhood and began trying to push them back to expose her clitoris. Her slit was already starting to accumulate a lining of moisture, and the slippery labial folds kept trying to reform  into their normal position and swallow up my hands.

The tang of her scent was so strong it felt like it was stuffed up inside my head. My eyes watered. The pocket of bedsheet trapped me in a sauna with just her fragrant lusting pussy and no distraction or escape. The pussy would decide to let me escape again only after it had been satisfied. But I had needs too, and sometimes Jen required a little prodding to remember them.

“I want to be looking at you when I come,” I yelled out.

She lifted the blanket and the outside light pierced into my eyes. I blinked rapidly until I could see her face framed from between the dark masses of her thighs, and further up, framed by her breasts. It made me feel hopelessly dwarfed by her lower anatomy. From her perspective I must have been the top of a tiny head lucky to poke up past her slit.

She seemed to consider what I’d said.

“GIVE ME A TAP OR SOMETHING WHEN YOU’RE READY, AND I’LL TAKE YOU OUT AND YOU CAN LOOK AT MY TITS.”

“I just want eye contact.”

She leaned back against the stack of pillows. Her breasts lifted, rising and falling hypnotically, nipples red and erect.

“AND I JUST WANT YOU TO BANG ME UP AGAINST THE WALL. IF YOU CAN DO THAT AND I’LL MAKE IT SPECIAL FOR YOU.”

“Er, thanks.”

“HEY, AIR KISS.” She pressed a kiss to her fingertips, and then sent her hand down after me and gently stamped my lips with a fingerpad blotched with lip gloss. Her nails twirled against my hair and one of them gave my skull a small, urging flick.

“GET SUCKLING,” she said, “YOU’RE LIVING, EATING AND BREATHING THIS PUSSY.”

She gave a leisurely stretch, instinctively tilting her womanhood at me. My tiny hands searched around the top of her slit before hitting upon the warm swelling indicating her clitoral hood. I began to run my hands around it in sensual arcs, scratching and tugging it. My touch was so delicate I needed to be a little rougher than normal.

Her clitoris started to firm up and warm against the hood. Pressing my palms either side, I leaned in and tried to capture the bulb with my mouth. It was soft, plush and moist, and very warm, not unlike a puckered pair of lips, so that’s what I pretended it was.

As I started to make out with it, she let out a delighted gasp. Her hips gave an involuntary shudder, causing the labial folds to slip and seal around my head like a really huge pair of floppier lips determined to suck on my skull like it was a gobstopper. I thrust my arms beneath the folds and peeled them away again, and they slipped back with a sticky, stomach-turning sound like someone licking my ears. Then it was back to the clitoral bulb to resume the make out session.

Her hips made a small thrusting motion toward me in the dark, and now the two wet labia came together to press to my front and stuck. When her hips drew back again, I was pulled along. Startled, my arms thrashed for a handhold and accidentally plunged beneath layers of slippery flesh. Her hips made another reflexive boost, this time capturing my head and pushing me forward and down.

Herculean vaginal muscles drew tight, forbidding my head to enter her. Instead, the muscular contraction caused my face to get run down the lip of her slit before ending up squashed hard against the taut stretch of flesh that was her perineum. I was on the cusp of her ass; any lower and I would get sucked into the crinkly darkness of her asshole.

Her hips bucked, drawing back enough to let me pull myself away. I rubbed myself against the mattress to dry a little before reapproaching. Then I began massaging the hood again, and french kissing the deep red bulb of her clit.

As her arousal built, she began to issue agonized groans and let out gusts of panting breath. The airwaves were usually dominated with her vocals during sex, which at normal size made my dick rigid with desire, but at tiny size the unadulterated noise could beat at my miniature, sensitive ear drums like blows. At least this was muffled by the blanket.

“YOU’RE DOING SO GOOD, BABY…”

Her voice vibrated my head like a soothing massage.

The bedsprings creaked as her weight re-distributed. Her thighs tensed and pushed, her hips lifted, tilted upward and then plunged down, practically on top of me. My spine whumped onto the mattress while my erection was pulled inside her asshole and clenched furiously. Her anus was so agonizingly tight my member began to pound for relief. She responded by letting loose a series of rippling gluteal scrunches that utterly dominated my member. Every scrunch drew my hips tight in between her padded ass cheeks, and did not let go for several seconds. Then an instant of reprieve before another killer, too-tight groin hug.  She was bent on orgasming now, and my dick was being pulled along for the ride. Pussy glaze dripped and splattered on my chest.

An orgasm was imminent, and the climactic convulsions were underway. Another viscous screwing and my member so tight I thought my heart was going to stop.

My tiny manhood fought desperately to keep up with her raging sex. The anal ring pulsed around my girth with rapid twitching tugs, coming in too fast to count. Stars were bursting into my eye as my balls felt like they were going to explode. I was almost overcome with an equal agony and delight, and only barely holding back a painful ejaculation, which her anal sphincter seemed utterly driven to milk out.

Intuiting her release, Jen cried out:

“I AM SO WET BECAUSE OF YOU RIGHT NOW I THINK – OH MY GODDDDD—!”

Her voice became a long sighing moan, at the same time her vagina made a decidedly unromantic squelching sound while ejecting a load of musky female spunk which blasted down onto my face with a wet splat. I couldn't move an inch to avoid it; her sphincter was iron tight around my penis, shackling me in place under the masses of her butt cheeks. Trembling, I gave up my load in defeat into her ass, and no eye contact because my world was drenched in her cum.

After what seemed like a long time, her deep, raking breaths loosened up into something measured and relaxed, allowing me to slip out of her.

“THAT WAS AN ACCIDENT,” she said obviously. Something – maybe a fingertip – came searching for my penis and gave it an appreciative little flick, which was now growing flaccid. Then she said in afterthought: “I MEAN, A HAPPY ACCIDENT.” There was a radiant smile in her voice. “DID WE COME TOGETHER?”