The following anecdote can pass without comment. I have nothing to say about it, except that it happened to me:

Overhead I saw sunlight through tall trees. Adela’s pretty, happy face and glistening bare foot blocked my view of the blue sky. From where I lay in the heel of her shoe, I could see the maples changing from green to red, and hear their leaves rustling; in the distance, a dog barked. Adela picked up a leaf from the forest floor, and swayed its tickling edge over my face, like a palm frond. I saw the veins and cells, and the way the leaf seemed to bleed where the old green of spring and summer gradually melted into the autumn red. “Don’t worry—we’re alone,” Adela said.

She reached down with her left hand and snatched me up between her thumb and forefinger. Abruptly, the first shoe—a Mary Jane, as I guessed—dropped on the ground. She lowered me gently onto her right hand, and let me roll and somersault down into her open palm, where I stopped, waited, and tried to raise myself. The first time I tried, I slipped, and she gave a pretty laugh that knocked me over again. I settled on a crouch. 

Adela idly poked me a few times with her left forefinger, lightly flicking me in the stomach or grazing her dark blue fingernail down my back. The flick knocked my breath away, but the touch of her nail elicited a quick, involuntary shiver of pleasure from my body.

This response delighted her: “How are you doing, Martin?” I didn’t say anything. 
“I like you better at this size. Do you like being tiny?”
I didn’t think the question merited an answer, and I kept a proud silence—a mistake. I was amazed at how quickly this annoyed her, how easy it was to prick and needle her. Her face clouded over, and her brow ‘furrowed’ (probably the only time that expression’s been appropriate).
“Answer me, you bastard! Or I’ll leave you here!”
“…No, Adela, it’s me. It’s Martin. I don’t like being tiny. I don’t like being this size.”
 “Wrong answer, but I’ll let you off the hook because you’re new.” She stood up, and looked discreetly up and down the trail, to see if anyone else was around. A few crows cawed, and I saw a sparrow riffling in the dirt nearby. It was all peaceful here, but I was afraid. 

I was cautious and respectful this time. “May I ask you what time it is?”
With one breezy movement, she plucked her cellphone out of her pocket and flipped it open. “3:30,” she said. “Where do you have to be?”
“Please, Adela,” I hoped she would like my act. “I’m hungry. Can’t you bring me home, now? Or make me 6 inches at least and put me in your backpack? There are animals around, and what if you drop me?”
“Why do you need to eat?” She ignored the rest of my request. “I haven’t fed Rich in two months, and he’s still alive.”
“You haven’t fed him?” I was incredulous. Adela was a complete stranger to me. “How does he eat?”
“How? I dunno. I don’t clean my own feet, so he does it for me.” She was getting impatient. “Sometimes I give him water and crackers, and once I dropped a piece of candy. But he’s fine. Toejam, flakes of skin, sock lint, sweat, dirt... He eats what he finds. What do you call those people? Self-sufficient? Either that or parasites. Bacteria. Maybe he’s bacteria but he takes care of me.”
I could tell she was getting defensive, but I couldn’t help myself. “Adela, that’s disgusting, not to mention criminally inhumane. I feel like I don’t know…”
“You don’t know anything, and anyway who says you’re human?” She bristled, and for a second I was afraid that she was about to close her hand and crush me.

But that didn’t happen. “Please,” I said. “I’m sorry.  At least change my size a few inches. I feel so vulnerable out here. Five inches…or maybe four.”
In a tone of the utmost indifference, she said: “Sure, Martin. Close your eyes.” I closed my eyes. “Open them.” I opened them, but something was wrong. Her hand seemed twice as long as before. I could make out the small ridges, fingerprints and pores in her skin. Droplets and tiny beads of sweat dotted her palm like dew in the morning.
“No, no! What happened! I’m even smaller!” I fell on my knees, and prayed to her, wordlessly, with my fists.
She grinned as though she’d drawn a big laugh from a crowd after a successful joke. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know.” She chuckled for a little bit, and then grew serious. After setting me onto the ground between her feet, she went through the old procedure. When asked to open my eyes, I opened them, and my heart beat like a fist against the doors of my chest: my head was between her knees. I was just over a foot in height—maybe 14 inches tall.
“Thank you! Oh, Adela, thank you so much. You don’t know what’s it’s like…” She interrupted me.
“Stop talking. I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
I tried to speak again, but she clamped my mouth shut with her sweaty palm and made another cursory glance up and down the trail. All clear.
“Martin,” said Adela, dropping her panties, “now let’s have some fun.”
 
Before I knew what was happening, she had thumbed off her left Mary Jane shoe, peeled off her sweaty sock, and stuffed me inside up to the head. Then she turned around, pulled apart her ass cheeks, and shoved me into the crack with my face pressed against her little rosebud, which shuddered at my touch in anticipation. She sat back on the wooden bench, and pulled in her legs and feet. 

“Lick, you little doll,” she ordered. “You little bastard, lick my asshole.” What could I do? I started licking. The moment I started, she began to rock and buck back and forth like a huge ship in choppy waters. I knew she was fingering herself, and trying to get off as quickly as possible.

Adela was hugely & immediately aroused by the whole experience: by a fourteen inch man, stuffed in her sweaty knee-high, licking her asshole. I had no idea how perverted she was until I recognized that this was really pushing her over the edge. “Circles, circles, yes…stop…good...now keep going…with the circles…” It only took about a minute and a half before she relaxed. My face was drenched in her sweat, and I smelled literally like shit. But she took me out of her sock and seemed very happy.

“Oh, Martin, I think we’ll get along. Let’s go home now.” I dropped down to four inches, and she stuffed me in her panties, against her pussy, for the rest of the walk. After suiting up again, and lifting her knapsack from where it fell in the leaves behind the bench, we set off.

“So you said you were hungry,” she cooed. “Clean me up.” I licked her clean all the way home, and in this way—humiliating as it was—I was able to satisfy my hunger and quench most of my thirst. More importantly, I was making her happy. And as long as Adela was happy, I was safe. Or so I thought.

She had five slaves. I had met only one, and he was as good as dead.