You wake to the familiar, oppressive stillness inside the glass dish. The air is thick, humid with the collective breath of the twenty bodies packed in here, some curled tightly, others sprawled in exhausted defeat against the curved walls. The dish itself is wide and shallow, a decorative piece Maya picked up somewhere, the kind meant for potpourri. Its clear glass gives you a panoramic view of the open-plan living room and kitchen beyond. Pale hardwood floors stretching out to walls that climb into the sky, white cabinets gleaming under morning light, the big windows letting in sharp winter sun that turns the whole space bright and cold. The silence breaks with a distant click, the coffee machine in the kitchen being switched on. Water gurgles, the low mechanical hum fills the apartment. A moment later, bare footsteps pad across the floor. Maya appears in the kitchen, walking from beside the coffee machine and past the archway leading towards her bedroom, rubbing sleep from one eye. Her long auburn hair is a tousled mess, waves falling unevenly over her shoulders. She’s wearing tiny black sleep shorts and a grey tee that slips off one shoulder, exposing her smooth pale skin. She yawns wide, stretches her arms overhead revealing her flat midriff for a second, and wanders toward the kitchen counter first.
From your vantage point you watch her move with lazy grace, her hips swaying slightly, bare feet slapping softly on the wood, though to you each hit causes the ground to shudder. She grabs a mug from the cabinet and clunks it onto the tray beneath the spout then leans against the counter while the coffee drips, scrolling absently on her phone with one thumb. A faint smile tugs at her full lips as she watches something, probably TikTok, the way her eyes light up and she lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. After a few minutes of muffled music and text-to-speech on her phone Maya stands up fully. Mug in hand, she finally turns and pads into the living room, straight toward the coffee table. Her body looms above the dish: hazel eyes still sleepy, faint redness around her nostrils, glossy pink lips parted slightly, her physique shrouded by the loose clothing that now carried the smell of sleep as she gets closer to you. “Morning, little guys,” she murmurs in that warm, sugary voice that makes it feel like she’s talking to something adorable. She lifts the ventilated glass lid with two fingers. Cool air rushes in. Her hand descends, nails painted a chipped metallic silver, and plucks one tiny from near the center. He kicks and twists uselessly as she carries him by the neck towards her mug. You hear his screaming get cut off by a soft splash as she drops him into the steaming black coffee.
“need to get more sweeteners,” she says lightly, stirring once with a spoon. A muffled, bubbling scream rises briefly before the liquid swallows it. She takes a long, satisfied sip, eyes half-closing in satisfaction, no hint of remorse or care for the struggling tiny. She lowers herself further into the couch right in front of the dish, the soft cushions creaking faintly under the shift of her weight. Up close the smells of hot coffee, sleep-warmth and faint vanilla lotion filled your nostrils; her bare thighs fill half your horizon. “Fuck,” she sighs, wiggling her pale toes against the cool floor, “I hate having cold feet in the morning.”
Her hand dips in again. This time she selects two tinies, one man, one woman, holding them delicately between thumb and forefinger like fragile models. She smiles down at them, voice soft and sweet, almost sing-song. “You two will fix that though, won’t you?” Before they can do more than squirm and plead in tiny, useless voices, she slips them into her fuzzy grey slippers waiting beside the couch, one in each.
"Please! Maya please not your..." You hear faint, panicked shouting as her bare feet slide in after them, toes flexing, pressing them flat against the warm, slightly worn insoles. A soft, contented “mmm” escapes her lips as her weight settles fully. She stays seated there for a few minutes, phone in hand again, scrolling TikTok with lazy swipes, the audio now loud enough to make your ears ring during the intermittent loud video. Occasional giggles bubble out of her, a quiet snort at one video, a bright “oh my god” at another. Every so often her toes curl or shift inside the slippers, and you hear the faint, wet crunch of movement beneath.
Eventually she stands, the floor vibrating with each step as she wanders back toward the bedroom, slippers thudding softly. The lid remains off the dish; no one moves toward the open top, you all know better at this point. Maya bought you in a multipack about 3 weeks ago while she was out running errands. You were dumped out and split up into her collection of tinies, you had no idea how many of that pack were still alive at this point. For a moment the apartment falls quiet again, save for the occasional distant creak from her bedroom as she gets ready for her run, she runs most mornings. You huddle back against the glass with the others, staring out at the empty, sunlit living room.
The front door opens with a soft click, letting in a brief rush of cooler air from the hallway. You look over to see Maya stepping back into view, now dressed for her run. Her auburn hair is now pulled into a high, swinging ponytail, a few loose strands already escaping around her face. She’s wearing a fitted black long sleeve that clings to her torso, outlining the slim, toned belly you glimpsed earlier. Her mid-waisted black leggings hug every subtle curve of her hips and thighs. White running shoes, the same ones you watched her drop two tinies into yesterday as insoles, are laced tight. Earbuds dangle from one ear; she pops the second in as she grabs her keys and water bottle from the small side table. She pauses in the doorway, glances toward the open dish with that bright, absent smile. She walks towards you, her footsteps now thunder as her shoes pound the floor. Sheblifts the lid off of the table and places it firmly above you all again. “stay put” she says lightly, but with a clear intention, reminding you all that you belong to her.
Then she’s gone. The door shuts and the lock clicks. The apartment falls into a deeper silence than before, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge and the distant rattle of a loose bit of metal in the wind outside the windows. No one moves for a long time. Eventually, a new voice, small, shaking, rises from the center of the dish. A man, added only yesterday. His skin is still marked with faint bruises from whatever rough transport brought him here; his eyes are wide, scanning the glass walls like he’s looking for an exit that isn’t there.
“What…what is she like?” he whispers, voice cracking. “The big one. Is she…bad?” The question hangs in the stale air. A few tinies shift, but no one answers right away. Then a woman near the edge, Sarah, speaks up. She’s been here longer than most, maybe two months. Her voice is quiet, flat, she's already accepted the rules of this place.
“She’s not bad,” Sarah says. “She’s just Maya.” The new tiny crawls closer, desperate.
“But does she hurt people? Like, is she...mean?” Sarah lets out a low, humourless breath.
"She's better than some of her friends. My first day here one of them was over, compared to her Maya is just dangerous.”
The tiny man sits down, leaning his back against the glass. "So...what does she do to us?" He asks, sounding almost hopeful. Sarah pauses, eyes fixed on the empty living room beyond the glass, then starts talking, slow, deliberate, like she’s recounting a memory she wishes she could forget.
“A few nights ago, she was watching some rom-com on the couch. Had the dish open to occasionally take one of us to...eat. She stretched out, kicked off her sneakers, and picked one of us, a guy named Tom, arrived a couple weeks after me. Held him up, smiled that same sweet smile she just gave us, and said she wanted a foot massage. Told him to get to work on her sole, rub between her toes, all that.” Sarah’s voice stays even, but you can see the cracks in her facial expression.
You take over telling the story for a moment. "Tom refused. He was shaking, said he couldn’t, begged her to pick someone else. Said his hands were too sore from cleaning her shoes the day before.” The new tiny’s breathing quickens. “Maya didn’t get mad. She just tilted her head, gave him this little pout, and said, ‘Okay, if you don’t want to massage my foot, you can massage something else instead?’”
Sarah swallows, then takes over again. “Tom thought it was mercy. He started begging, ‘please, anything, I’ll do anything.’ She leaned back into the cushions, undid her belt with one hand, first she undid the latch, then slipped the leather slowly until the two ends were separated. She popped the button on her jeans, and slid the zipper down. We all watched, couldn’t look away as the slow rasp of the zip filled our ears. She pulled him close, pressed him right against herself, then pushed her fingers beneath the black waistband of her panties. She started slow, almost gentle, like she was savoring the way he panicked.”
You take over again. “She used him for a long time. Twenty minutes, maybe more. Rubbing him harder and harder, grinding him into her, pushing him just inside the edge so he’d kick even more. At one point she said under her breath ‘mmh, this is a much better idea than a foot rub.’ His screams got muffled fast, replaced with Maya's moaning. We could hear the slick sounds over the movie dialogue. She kept watching the movie, like what she was doing was just background relaxation.”
The new tiny is trembling visibly. Sarah finishes the story. “When she finally came, her thighs clamped together, we didn't hear anything from him. She stayed like that for a minute, breathing slow, eyes half-closed. Then she pulled what was left of him out smeared on her fingers. He was...barely recognizable. Limbs twisted wrong, body flattened and crushed into a red paste. She looked at him for a second, then brought her hand up to her mouth and licked her fingers clean with this little satisfied hum, then wiped the rest on her thigh. Then she sipped her jeans up slowly and didnher belt back up tight like nothing had happened, the only evidence was her slightly flushed face.”
Sarah looks at the new tiny. “That’s what she's like.” No one adds anything. The story doesn’t need embellishment. Outside the glass, the empty living room waits. sunlight shifting slowly across the floor as the morning ticks by.
The silence stretches on, thick and heavy, until the lock clicks again. The front door swings open. A gust of cold winter air sweeps in, carrying the sharp scent of the outside world. Maya steps through, cheeks flushed pink from the run, ponytail still pulled tight. Sweat darkens patches under the arms of her black long-sleeve and along her lower back. Her breathing is steady but deep, chest rising and falling as she pushes the door shut behind her. The thunder of her running shoes on the hardwood shakes the dish. She strides straight to the coffee table, face bright and glowing, a light sheen on her forehead. She drops heavily onto the couch, her thighs spreading slightly within her leggings She leans forwards and lifts the lid off of your prison with one hand and sets it aside, the musky smell of her exertion now overtakes all other smells.
Her fingers descend, huge, warm from exertion, nails still chipped metallic silver. They pinch the first tiny gently but firmly around the torso of a tiny next to you. Sarah doesn’t scream as she's pinched. She just goes limp as Maya lifts her out, dangling her briefly in front of her face. Maya smiles, that same warm, absent smile, and says nothing. Sarah’s feet kick uselessly in open air. Maya's hand comes back, pinching a second tiny, a man you don’t know well. He starts pleading immediately, voice tiny and frantic "please! Put me back, don't do this!." Maya doesn’t react. She takes a woman who’s been quiet since arrival next, you saw her get dumped here about a week ago. She thrashes once, then goes limp as she’s raised.
Maya's hand returns, her fingers closing around you, warm, slightly slick with sweat, the skin soft but the grip unbreakable. The world tilts as you’re lifted high into the air. You see the dish falling away below, the remaining tinies shrinking to specks. The scent of her run hits you, sharp salt, faint deodorant failing against exertion. You’re brought level with her face for a second. Her hazel eyes flick to you, recognise nothing, and move on. You’re just another body in her collection. She drops you into her other hand with the others. The fifth and sixth follow quickly behind you, two more tinies snatched up without ceremony and dropped into her warm hand.
Now all six of you are cradled in her loose fist, pressed together in the warm, humid dark of her palm. Bodies jostle against each other, skin sticking to skin, hearts hammering in unison. You can feel the pulse in her fingers, steady and strong, her slick sweat beginning to coat your body.
Maya suddenly begins mashing you all in her fist, eventually working the second tiny she picked up into the open, held between her thumb and forefinger. Her hand begins moving, the he begins begging again.
"Oh fuck...No Maya! Oh god, no no n..." his voice is abruptly cut off as the smell of stale breath and heavy coffee invades your senses, then his legs shoot up out from between her fingers. Through the newly open gap you see Maya's immense lips mere tiny-feet away. She pulls her hand away slightly as you see her begin chewing something, your heart sinks as the realisation consumes you, the man.
She swallows, then her hand begins pushing another tiny towards the gap. This time the woman she picked just after you. Her body is sucked away as Maya pulls her into her mouth, this time there's no chewing. Maya swirls the tiny woman around her mouth with subtle precision, tasting her. With a slight movement of her throat you know that the woman is gone, not dead yet, but out of reach forever.
Four left. You, Sarah, and two others. Maya finally looks at the remaining handful properly. Her voice is light, still a little breathless from the run.
“Okay, you four, these shoes are filthy.” She tips her hand. You all tumble out onto the floor between her feet. She pulls her running shoes off, revealing her white socks, now streaked grey with her sweat. She drops each shoe onto the floor either side of you, the smell coming from them is intense, warm and earthy, but something burns your nostrils with each breath, Sarah fights to hold back a gag. The white uppers are streaked with mud, soles caked thick with wet dirt and grass clippings from the park trail. The insides are dark with sweat, the insoles stained and flattened from miles of pressure.
Maya leans back, stretches her socked feet then stands, the vibration rattles you all. “Hmm, you aaand...you, get inside,” she says casually, pointing at the two other tinies before leaning forwards and pinching them up. “One in each shoe. Clean right to the toe.” she orders before dropping them into the warm openings. She nudges Sarah toward the left shoe with her damp socked foot, then her foot swings and knocks you toward the right, her sweat coats you instantly, you gag at the salty musk entering your mouth.
“Outside ones, mud duty. I want them spotless before my friends get here.” She stands, the table shaking as her weight leaves the couch. She doesn’t wait for an answer. She pads off toward the bedroom, peeling her sweaty long-sleeve over her head as she goes, revealing her sweat soaked body to all of you, heading for the shower. Nothing new to you, Maya walks around undressed almost daily, she doesn't care what her tinies see. Sarah begins pulling chunks of mud out of the treads around the side of the shoe, then turns towards you briefly, "she said her friends? Like, more than one?" Her eyes are wide. You nod, knowing today is going to be a long one as Maya's slave. You reach your hands deep into the grassy mud coating her right shoe and begin pulling boulder sized lumps out, coating yourself in thick brown and green sludge. You hear the distant thunder of the shower start, splashing off of Maya's body out of sight.