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Story Notes:

This story contains absolutely no sexual interactions between adult and minor characters.

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Chapter 1: Aunt Rose's Plan / Meeting Sarah Again

Timmy felt so tiny literally being dragged by his 6'7" tall Aunt Rose toward the
ornate entrance of one of the many exclusive shops that lined the most
fashionable thoroughfare in town. His aunt probably didn't intend to be so rough
with him, rather it was just that her strides were so gigantic compared to his
own; he would have needed to run to keep up with her, and after a whole
afternoon of accompanying her, he was tired of running. Timmy's consternation
was also due to the fact that their next stop appeared to be a certain shop
that specialized in poufy children's clothes.

Timmy had always been small for his age. Even though he was almost 27 years old,
he stood only 5-foot-2 and weighed only about 105 pounds the last he checked.

The last time that he had been in a store like this was three or four years ago, when he
was shopping for a gift for the daughter of one of his parents' friends. Even
back then, some of the little girls he saw in the store were taller and
bigger than he was. And girls nowadays seemed even bigger. He shuddered a bit
as he saw them browsing the racks in the distance, all these girls who evidently
wanted to turn themselves into real-life Disney Princesses. Except the arms of many of these princesses seemed somewhere between "plump" and "toned", and they definitely didn't need any Prince Charming to rescue them. Timmy wasn't sure when it happened, but at a certain point in his life he began avoiding younger girls simply for the fact that far too many of them appeared taller and stronger than he did.

When he hesitated at the store entrance, his Aunt Rose--who wasn't his aunt by blood, and who seemed more like a giant
preying mantis to him--took a firm grip on his hand. Her long fingers nearly
covered his entire forearm. She looked down at him severely and said, "COME
ALONG, Timmy!"

"But, Aunt Rose, this is a little KID'S store. Why do you want to go in there?"

She paused, midstride, turned around and glanced down at him, bemused but stern,
the hint of a smile (or was it a snarl?) on her otherwise haughty, impossibly
high face. She arched her eyebrows and paused, the silence making him feel even
smaller and more self-conscious than ever.

Rose Nordgren was a very attractive woman, the sort of striking female whom it's
difficult to imagine ever looking any younger or older. Timmy didn't know her
exact age but reasoned based on what little he knew of his family history, that
she would have to be at least in her mid-30s, if not older, though she showed no
signs of being past her prime. "She seems to exist in a permanent springtime of
beauty," Timmy thought, and he would have been embarrassed for thinking such a
thing and using such flowery phraseology, except his aunt seemed to warrant
those sorts of accolades. She was the sort of woman men of polite society not infrequenly debased themselves before; many times in her life had she received weepy letters and emails from poor men begging her to consider them as an intimate partner, and offering her right up front eveything that they had to offer, in terms of money and in terms of power over their lives. All but twice had she turned such men down.

Timmy wasn't attracted to his Aunt--he told himself this repeatedly, because she was, after all, his aunt--but she really did
impress him in many ways. She had naturally dark lips and short chestnut hair.
Her light caramel-colored skin indicated the not infrequent mornings she spent
sunbathing, though her nephew also suspected that her complexion had something
to do with her veganism as well. Timmy was not happy about his Aunt having
forced changes in his own diet, and though her great height made at least some
sense due to her family's Swedish heritage, Timmy himself resented that he had
not been blessed with any of these advantages, despite his similar genetic
background, for his family was Nordic as well. "It's not fair," Timmy had often
thought as of late, "she's eaten nothing but yucky vegetables and is so super
tall and fit, and yet in the first 20-some years of my life I ate so much meat
and potatoes, but I turned out so small and weak. And after all, I'm a boy." He
didn't seem to be getting any bigger or healthier, however, even after meat was
stricken from his diet. If anything, as of late he seemed shrimpier than ever,
but there may have been other reasons for that.

Aunt Rose let the moment sink in, placing her free hand on her hip. She wore
skin-tight dark blue jeans and brown leather boots with a modest heel (not that
she needed it). The boots had a cowgirl vibe to them, and they looked slightly
worn but stylish--probably made to look slightly worn even when they were new--
and they each went up higher than her calf but below her knee. She also wore a
high-fashion blue denim top that resembled something between a jacket and a
shirt. Though Rose Nordgren only had pert B-cup breasts, her tight fitted top
had a plunging neckline that did reveal some cleavage. It zipped up in
the front and ended just above her bellybutton, showing off an inch or two of
her taut tan midriff. Timmy thought she resembled Uma Thurman from Kill Bill, especially from the desert scenes in which Uma wore jeans and cowboy boots, and Aunt Rose certainly seemed to have a similar trained physique--but Aunt Rose also had darker hair, darker features, and stood the better part of a foot taller than the Hollywood actress.

"Come along now, Timmy," she said, with all traces of amusement now washed from
on her impassive face. Timmy couldn't help but feel that she was often
patronizing him, though he could never quite discern any actual proof that she
thought so little of him or treated him duplicitously. She seemed to deal with
him honestly, and yet her words often seemed condescending. It was tough to
decide whether she intended to belittle him or whether she simply would have
addressed any younger person this way. "No fussing, please," she added, as they
entered the store.

A helpless Timmy found himself being propelled abruptly into this delicately
scented haven of childishness, with an emphasis on old-fashioned babydoll
femininity. Aside from the Princesses (thankfully, all of the little girls there
turned out to be shorter than he was), Timmy noticed a few little boys in the
store as well, each of them towered over by a female guardian or two. All of
these young males were dressed in clothes that looked borderline feminine at the least, but some of them were outrageous--
pink and frilly--while others were purple and form-fitting. It was like some kind of gaudy homosexual dream, except the boys themselves probably weren't gay (as evidenced by the scowls on their faces).

"What is this place?" Timmy wondered aloud. "I know this store didn't used to be
this weird."

"Well," his aunt replied, "from what I understand this store has changed hands
and has become the trendiest source for various new fashions to suit the needs
of certain types of modern little people such as yourself."

"Little people?" Timmy wondered, this time silently. "What does she mean by
‘little people'? ‘Little' in stature? Or ‘little' as in young? Because even though I'm short, I'm not a
midget. And even though I'm younger than she is, I'm damn sure the oldest ‘young' person here in this store by at least 10 or 15
years."

Before Timmy had time to voice his concerns, a smartly dressed older lady--tall
but not nearly as tall as Aunt Rose--hurried forward to meet them. Timmy felt so
tiny standing between these gigantic amazons. Looking up at the twin titanesses made him feel so weak and self-conscious. Either one of them could physically overpower him using but a small fraction of their effortless female strength. Moreover, he instantly picked up on the vibe that each of these women was happy to consider the other to be a social equal, whereas he was someone to be "talked over" in more ways than one. Poor Timmy! In his hypersensitivity he also felt that all the little
girls milling around in the store were gazing on him in disapproval of his
intrusion. He didn't blame them. Had he not been in the firm grip of his
powerful aunt, he would have fled posthaste.

"Ah, good day, Ms. Nordgren," the tall woman said to his aunt. "I presume this
is the little person you spoke to me about."

"Hello, Madame. Yes, this is my nephew Timmy."

"My but your a teeny tiny little thing," the saleslady said as she bent over so
her face was even with his, a motion which caused him to inhale a cloud of
potent perfume. She was in her 50s, had shoulder-length blonde hair, and wore far too much makeup in an effort to remain as attractive as she must have been 20 or 30 years ago. She pinched Timmy's cheek with two long pink nails, as if to make matters as awful as
possible for him.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Timmy thought. "Who does this stuff? Pinching
kids' cheeks? Okay, I'm not a kid, but--And what's with her calling me a ‘little
person'?"

"Your aunt told me about the terrible tragedy in your life," the saleslady
continued. "I am so sorry and hope some of our nice clothes here can give you
some comfort and in some small way help you move on in life."

The reference was to the death of Timmy's parents, which happened six months
previous. It had been quite traumatic for the young man, causing him to drop out
of graduate school (wasting all that tuition!) and actually enroll in a
sanitarium for rest. It wasn't a place for crazy people; more of a resort for
people who needed time away from the world. His days there were long and
monotonous, but he felt socially paralyzed and often wondered if he'd ever
leave, or even get up the courage and ambition to *want* to leave. Thankfully,
three months into his stay, his Aunt Rose emerged to take care of him and nurse
him back to relative health. He had never met her before that day when she
collected him from the sanitarium and brought him to live with her in the new
mansion she had bought for "next to nothing" in his home town. "Next to
nothing," he had thought, skeptically and cynically, when he first learned of his aunt's
purchase. "Even in the post-housing bubble crash that the U.S. seems cursed never to recover from--even, even then... This place must've cost over a million
dollars." Not that he was complaining. He generally liked living in his aunt's
mansion.

It was kind of odd, his Aunt swooping in to save him this way though they'd
never even met before. She told him she felt guilty and wanted to make up for
lost time. He did remember his parents referring a few times to his rich young
Aunt Rose who lived in Europe, who had married Uncle Michael, the brother of
Timmy's father. Years ago he remembered his parents remarking upon how Rose had
taken such good care of Uncle Michael while he was dying from a rare degenerative disease. But now his parents
were dead and Aunt Rose was the only relation Timmy had left. Several times in
the last few months, Timmy asked his aunt about the past, about his deceased
Uncle and what their life was like in Europe, and about where exactly her
wealth came from--but he never received a clear answer. It had something to do
with market shares and trading. As far as he could tell, his aunt no longer
did any real business but simply lived off her laurels, sunbathed, did yoga,
and facilitated acquaintances with ritzy, obnoxious people such as the
saleswoman in front of him.

Madame's eyes coursed over Timmy's tiny body, giving him the feeling that he was
completely nude. "He appears to be a most suitable subject, Ms. Nordgren. I
believe you'll be pleased with the result." She indicated the rear of the store.
"This way, please."

"Why are we going back there?" Timmy inquired as Madame led the way.

"Shush! You will soon learn," his aunt said. "Just come along, be polite, and no
more whining! Try and act like more of a man, or I'll show you just how LITTLE of a man you really are!" Obviously his big aunt meant business. He followed dutifully behind
the women, thankful for the moment at least that he did not have to hold his
aunt's big hand.

On the way they passed a pretty young clerk who smiled curiously at Timmy. She
was about Timmy's age, maybe a little younger, fair skin and red shoulder-length
hair. She wore a form-fitting black pantsuit, stood only a couple inches taller
than Timmy, and was actually the sort of girl he thought he might have a chance
with. He wondered if he would ever again enjoy the company of such a girl in any
situation not related to buying and selling. The most action he'd had from women in the last year and a half had simply been cautious flirtations with shopgirls. It had been a long time since
anything had gone Timmy's way.

Over her shoulder Madame said, "You will
please join us, Mary." The clerk fell in behind them. Timmy didn't know if he
was glad or not to have the girl accompany him on... whatever surprise his Aunt had in store for him.

They arrived at a small corridor with closed doors on either side. Madame opened
one and bade them enter.

"Aunt Rose, why do I have to go in there?" He tried to sound as dignified as
possible with Mary around. But his Aunt simply yanked him inside without any
noticeable effort, and he found himself in the delicately scented atmosphere of
a fitting room. He turned in dismay as he heard the door close once all four of
them were inside. Obviously, he was at the mercy of these two amazonic females;
he apparently had to try on whatever clothes they chose for him, and was to
undergo the further humiliation of having a girl like Mary present to watch and
aid in the proceedings.

He then heard Madame exclaim, in an authoritative tone, "Young man, please start
removing your clothing."

That did it.

"Are you out of your mind?" he screamed at her. "I'll do nothing of the kind!
Let me out of here!"

Madame sighed, "Very well, then. Mary, you know what to do. You know what we do
with bad little boys."

Before Timmy was quite aware of her intentions, Mary had seized the collar of
his jacket and lifted him off the ground. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just my
job. But please don't make me get rough with you, because despite some boys might think, that won't be very much fun."

In a flash, Madame reached out and unbuckled his belt and trouser
fastenings as Mary held him in mid-air. As his trousers slithered down to his ankles, Timmy's voice took
on a new note of hysteria. "No, no! Please don't do this to me," he cried, but
to no avail, for his underpants followed the path his trousers had taken. In
short order, Madame and Mary had reduced him to a state of blushing crimson nudity--all
with his super-tall Aunt Rose smiling down at him wolfishly, her pure white
teeth framed by her angular dark lips. Like a little rat, he hunched over and tried to hide his
nakedness, turning towards the corner.

"Come now, Timmy," his aunt said, her voice suddenly very tender. "We've all
seen bodies quite like yours before, unfortunately. Don't throw a fit like a toddler. You're
bigger than that. Slightly. I'm sorry to have surprised you this way, but I had to do it.
You never would have agreed to come here if I told you where we were going
beforehand and why--you would have been crying all the way here--but I think it will be fun if you give it a chance."

What choice did he have? Timmy turned around and let the three women see his
small thin body in the soft light of the scented fitting room, with its high
ceiling and weird red velvet draped walls. Of all the worries he had in the
world, he suddenly focused on one: "I hope Mary doesn't see the tissues I
stuff in my shoes to make myself taller," he thought to himself, eyeing his
shoes from across the room.

Madame surveyed his mortified person in the manner of one with vast experience
in such matters. "He really does have a very suitable figure for the styles you
suggested, Ms. Nordgren. And," she added with a wink, "a nicely fitted corset
would simply do wonders for it!"

"A corset!" Timmy exclaimed in disbelief.

His expression sent peals of laughter reverberating through the room. He noted
that Mary chuckled as well, though not as loudly as the older women. Smiling,
Aunt Rose retorted, "Don't worry, Timmy, no corsets today. I think that
transition would be too drastic and shocking."

"What do you mean?" Timmy asked. He couldn't tell if they were being serious
about wanting him to wear a corset.

"Timmy dear," his aunt continued, speaking very seriously, almost as if her
words had been rehearsed, "some progressive changes need to be made, starting
today. You have had enough rest, have mourned and let yourself go long enough.
Now it is time for you to adjust back into society in some capacity, and I've
every intention of transforming your mournful, cranky self into a demure little
person whose adorable exterior shall encourage a more delightful and agreeable
inner disposition. This is the way things are going to start to be for you." Her
words were like a bombshell to Timmy. He sank to his knees before her, pleading
that she not do this to him. "Not another word!" she replied sharply. "Get to
your little feet this instant and act like the polite little person I know you
can become!"

"‘Little person' again!" Timmy thought, very annoyed. But he stood up and faced
them--what choice did he have?--his shoulders slumped in dejection.

Madame bade Mary to "fetch the things I gathered together for our little Timmy."
Mary left hurriedly and obediently, her pantsuit material making a swoosh.

After a few moments of silence, Madame addressed Aunt Rose as if Timmy were not
even in the room. "Should we measure him again? Or are you sure about his
height?"

"Hm. No, I believe the figures I gave you are correct. He is five-foot-one-and-a-half-inches.
And he--"

"I'm five-three!" Timmy squeaked, indignantly.

The two tall women turned their heads to look at him in silence for a few
moments. Then his aunt slowly moved to crouch before him. Even on her knees she
was taller than him, and being naked in her close proximity only emphasized to
Timmy just how much smaller he was than his more genetically blessed (non-blood)
relative. She gave him a hard gaze, and he trembled, not knowing what she was
going to do or say to him.

"Timmy," his aunt began. "First of all, I know that you stuff your shoes with
silly paper to make yourself just the tiniest bit taller. To you that tactic is a relative colossal vanity. To me it is pitiable, but I am not going to pretend that reality is different simply out of consideration for your poor little male ego. So, by all means, you can walk around and pretend TO YOURSELF that
you are five-foot-three, or five-foot-four, or maybe only five-foot-two. But when
making calculations for your new wardrobe WE are going to go with five-foot-one-
and-a-half, because that is the actual measurement of your tiny little body that
I will put over my knee right now and spank so hard that you pass out either
from tears of pain or from exhaustion. And second of all, do not interrupt
grown-ups when they are talking. Especially ladies like us who are trying to
help you. Is all of that clear? Or do I need to explain it to you slower and harder?" She
placed one of her gigantic hands on his shoulder and began to caress it gently but
threateningly.

"N-no, Auntie. I-i-it's clear."

"See that it is," Rose said sharply, then stood back up to her overpowering height, shook her head back and
forth in disgust, and then sighed and raised herself on her tiptoes, stretching in
front of Timmy as if to rub his nose in his own faillings. She looked taller than
ever to Timmy, even when she stopped stretching, and from her imperious view high
above him she then smirked, as if to say "Just try me, little boy. If you dare
lie about your height to make yourself sound taller, I'll make sure you feel
shorter than ever."

After a gentle knock, the door opened again and Mary returned, her arms
laden with an array of lavish frilled and silken clothing, everything from
lingerie to shirts, which she placed on a chair. One garment in particular sent
chills down Timmy's spine: a wasp-waisted pink satin corset elegantly adorned
with delicate lace and pert baby-blue ribbon bows. Mary handed it to Madame, who
drew it about Timmy's waist and began the process of lacing him down to the last
breathless inch, much to his discomfort.

"Oh, no... Please. You can't do this awful thing to me... Say it's only a joke.
I thought you said I didn't have to wear a corset yet? Auntie...?"

His tormentors found his protests quite amusing and burst into fresh peals of
hilarity. This time Mary laughed right along with them. Timmy knew now that he
could expect no mercy from them and more or less resigned himself to the
indignities to come.

Mercifully, he was allowed to remove the corset, for the time being at least.
Then, at a signal from Madame, Mary selected a pair of elaborate lace-and-
ribbon frilled panties of finest pink silk and held them out for Timmy to step
into.

"But these are GIRLS underwear..." Timmy whined.

"They are most certainly not," replied Madame.

"These are for boys now too," his aunt informed him. "All of these clothes are
the latest thing in fashion for sensitive little people such as yourself, Timmy.
This is all to make you feel better, if you'll let it. Your personality is LIKE these clothes. Do you see?"

Timmy sighed dramatically, which provoked a chortle from Mary. He closed his
eyes as the pretty salesgirl slowly raised the pink silk panties up his skinny
legs. The clinging silk caressed his limbs as Mary's alabaster-skinned hand
carefully guided the panties up onto his small crotch and around his small hips,
the dainty waistband eventually reaching up a little higher than his stomach.
She held her hand there, as if measuring.

"These are the SMALLEST little panties available in the variety you wanted, Ms.
Nordgren."

"Hmmm," his aunt mused, placing the tip of one long finger to her dark lips. "I
suppose they'll have to do, as long as they don't fall down. I do think this
silken variety of panties suits him best."

"Yes," Mary agreed, taking pleasure in her work. "I think they will fit our tiny
man just perfect. And they won't be falling down anytime soon," she added, and
then, when the other two women weren't looking, she threw him a sly wink and
gave his penis a very sharp little pinch between her thumb and forefinger
through the soft silk of the new panties. Timmy was too beside himself with
shame and shock to know what to make of this. "Ouch," he murmured.

"A perfect fit," Mary exclaimed.

"They're certainly becoming to him, aren't they?" Madame commented with a
knowing smile, and his aunt nodded her approval.

"They are not! And I don't want to wear them!" Timmy exclaimed. "I want my own
underwear back!"

In feigned surprise, his aunt retorted, "But Timmy darling, all the other little
girls adore their pretty panties," at which Madame and especially Mary roared
with laughter. "Besides," his aunt concluded, "all of your underwear briefs have stains.
Yes, multiple types of stains, as our maid tells it."

This new public embarrassment quelled any desire in Timmy to protest anymore. He
didn't want to be whatever it was his aunt was turning him into, but the
overriding truth was that what he wanted or didn't want simply did not matter anymore.
And since his dissent was to no avail, maybe it wasn't even worth dissenting?

Long stockings were decided upon, and as Mary knelt to draw their gossamer
beauty up his small stumpy legs, her hands seemed more intimate than necessary.
Madame had taken his aunt out into the salon to select another outfit for him,
and he had been told that he would be marched out to be disciplined in front of the clerks and
customers in the salon if he made any fuss while alone with Mary.

As she affixed a pair of frilled garters to his stocking tops, Mary smiled up at
him. "You do make a beautiful little person, Timmy. I just love dressing up
little boys, and it's a special pleasure when they're as cute as you are."
Somehow, Mary seemed to be trying to comfort him in a friendly way.

"Do you dress up a lot of little boys--I mean, boys like-like me?" The 26-year-
old man asked nervously.

"Heh. Not so old as you, no." Mary finished tending to his clothes and stood up
beside him, resting her elbow on his shoulder. She had to stoop a bit for her elbow to find his shoulder level. "How old are you anyway? Ten or
eleven?"

"Um..." Timmy began, but found his thoughts were frozen. What could he say? He
knew he was very small and thin, but did he really look that young?

"You remind me of my little brother," Mary continued. Timmy was thankful that
she didn't demand that he reveal his age. "He's only ten. It's weird having a
brother so much younger than me."

"Oh," replied Timmy. "I'm an only child."

"That's too bad," Mary said. "You're cute. If you had an older brother I'd
totally be into him. I don't have a boyfriend and junior prom is next month."

"Oh, j-junior prom," Timmy repeated.

"Yeah it sucks to be sixteen and single," Mary sighed, "especially since I'm,
y'know, kinda short for my age." Timmy was mortified and it must have shown.
"Hey, you're not upset that I pinched you earlier, are you? I didn't mean
anything by it."

"No, uh, it's okay, uh, Mary." The reality of this entire situation was sinking
in for Timmy. Here he was, a 26-year-old man, mistaken for a 10- or 11-year-old boy by a 16-year-old girl who had picked on him, easily picked him up, and could discipline him if need be. Overcome, he started to cry silently, small tears trickling down
his cheeks.

"Oh...hey," Mary said. "Don't cry. Here. C'mere." She enveloped the crying 26-
year-old in her gentle arms. He pressed his head against her and wept into her dress
shirt. "Relax. It's okay. Shhhh..."

She hugged him tighter, picked him up, and patted the back of his head.

He did relax and after a few moments was able to regain composure and wipe his
tears away. He felt better. But whatever solace Mary's embrace had given him
disappeared when his aunt and Madame returned.

"Darling, look what a lovely pink sailor suit I've found for you! And an
adorable little white sailor's hat!" his aunt cried, fitting the latter item onto
his head. "And here are some nice pink capri pants! This completely changes your
appearance. Aren't you glad you don't have to wear horrid trousers anymore? You
can wear your little sailor suit and pretty capris instead!"

After another humiliating wardrobe change, Timmy looked in the mirror and
realized that the little pansy boy looking back was him! The change was
positively staggering. Madame made a few final adjustments, and he was led toward the
door.

"Oh, Aunt Rose, please don't make me go out in public like this. Everybody will
laugh at me, and I'll die of shame. I know I will. They'll think I'm a 10-year-
old. And they'll think I'm a... a... g-girl."

His aunt sighed and fussed over him, adjusting his capris, the collar of his
little pink sailor suit and his hat, then patted his hands tenderly. "Nonsense,
dear, no one will have the slightest thought that you are a smartly dressed
10-year-old. They'll simply see that you are a fashionable, modern little man."
Timmy was humiliated. Here he was: 26 years old, the holder of an MA in history,
halfway through an aborted PhD, and yet his aunt had quickly remade him into a
figure who could pass for a 10-year-old pansy. She propelled him rustlingly out
the fitting room door, his cheeks crimson and his eyes cast down.

Still in the salon, they passed a customer who remarked on what a sweet little
boy Timmy was.

They moved over to a long rack on which smartly styled coats were hanging, and
after several trials, a lovely pink cashmere was selected, its fitted waist
clinging to Timmy's naturally slim waist-line and its flare skirt flowing out
over his flamboyant capris. "This is a very expensive coat," his aunt warned,
"so it will only be for special occasions. And take care that you don't spill
juice on it. Or stain it in some other way."

Finally, they started for the door, Madame accompanying them part way.

"You have made some very wise decisions," Madame said to his aunt. "It would be
a waste of his natural loveliness to allow him to wear horrid, coarse 'pants',
which can't be good for his fragile psyche."

"Yeah," Mary added. "I never really thought about it before, but he came in
dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt. Timmy's dainty personality just, well,
can't live up to that old-fashioned, rugged male stereotype."

"Exactly right, my girl," Madame said folding her arms in approval. "You're
beginning to understand the social psychology at work in all of this."

His aunt beamed while Timmy anxiously awaited their departure from the scene of
his emasculation and demoralization.

Once they joined the stream of pedestrians, Timmy had the dread sensation that
all eyes were directed toward him in the certainty that he was a pansy boy.
Tugging at his aunt's hand, he pleaded, "Can't we go home now, Aunt Rose?"

"Why Timmy," his aunt reproached him, "You wouldn't want to deprive all these
nice people of looking at such a daintily dressed little person as you, now,
would you?"

In fact, a number of people did stop to compliment his aunt on how lovely her
little companion was, so prettily dressed that way. Timmy prayed that the earth
itself would open up and swallow him, and he implored his aunt to take him home
and out of public view.

"Why, Timmy darling, you should be quite flattered to have people say such nice,
nice things about you. I'm really at a loss to understand your attitude. Don't
you WANT people to like you? But we're not going home yet, and that's final!"
The audible, indomitable will power in her tone left no doubt in his mind, and
the sibilant rustling that accompanied his every step amplified tenfold his
nervous state and was a constant reminder of his new status: He was now to understand himself to be very much and very obviously in thrall of his Aunt Rose; she was now placing herself overtly in charge of him, and he was hers to command, to control, to dress, and to train as she saw fit. He tried taking
mincing steps, but the rustling of his frills still remained. In stark contrast, Aunt Rose's
powerful boots clicked loudly alongside him; he grew to fear every click, as if
they were nails driving home the point that she was in charge of him and he
wasn't in charge of anything. He timidly glanced in her direction and could not but be impressed at her powerful form and figure and she strode confidently through the crowd, towering over everyone, no head even up to her shoulder. Scared by her power, his eyes fell to the floor as he walked.

Moments later, he looked up from half-lidded eyes as his aunt remarked,
"Isn't that Mrs. Thollen and little Sarah coming our way? How nice! They came
over to the house last week, but you rudely stayed in your room and hid from
them!"

"I wasn't hiding from them! I just didn't feel like seeing anyone!"

Panic had seized Timmy anew. Sarah was a 12-year-old girl whom he used to
babysit for a few years ago, during summers home from college. While most of his
friends were doing internships and looking for real jobs, he was stuck watching
little Sarah. She was such a precocious child; he could only barely handle the
job of watching her and often accosted himself for his lack of authority over a
child. Maybe he didn't deserve any more responsibility. What would she think to
see him dressed in these ridiculous girly clothes? "Oh, please, Aunt Rose, don't
let her see me like this! I could never face her again! She will tease me so!"

"Afraid of being teased by a girl less than half your age? Nonsense, Timmy! And do stop tugging at my hand, or I shall SQUEEZE you!" To demonstrate, Rose briefly crushed his tiny paw in her smooth gigantic palm.

Each moment was a lifetime of
horror for him as Sarah and her mother Martha approached. Sarah was dressed in a
long, smart, charcoal-colored winter coat. Her lips were painted ruby red; she
wore stylish circular glasses and above her deep brown eyes rested a black
beret. It was the first time Timmy had seen Sarah in two or three years and she
looked so grown-up and sophisticated. Her mother, Martha, was dressed in a poofy
winter coat and her face showed a Mad Hatter-ish grin as she caught Aunt Rose's
welcoming gaze. The Thollens were half-Jewish. Martha was a dirty blond and
Sarah a raven-haired brunette.

As the two adult women began making small talk, Timmy kept his head lowered,
then, taking a quick glance at Sarah, saw that she was studying him with a
quizzical expression. Perhaps... just perhaps... she would not recognize him!

When Mrs. Thollen inquired somewhat facetiously as to who "this lovely little
person" was, his aunt said, "This is my nephew, to whom I'm in the process of
giving a much-needed makeover of sorts. Meet the New Timmy!"

A perplexed expression came to Mrs. Thollen's face, so Rose hastened to
explain: "Beginning this very morning, I decided it would be much more
delightful to have a daintily frocked nephew fluttering about than a crudely
dressed sullen nephew who has been such a trial to me." Timmy's heart pounded at
this denouement and he could feel Sarah's eyes probing him.

"Oh, Mommy, it's really Timmy dressed up in little boy clothes! Oh, he's
cute, isn't he?" She bent down and excitedly but tenderly hugged him, giving him
a quick kiss on the cheek. "Oooh, I missed you, little fella!"

Even though Sarah was only 12 years old, the leggy youngster appeared at least
6" taller and 50 pounds heavier than Timmy. Dressed as he was in tight little
girly clothes, he felt so tiny and puny as he looked up into Sarah's
deep brown eyes.

"Shut up," he whispered, angrily. His instinct was to give Sarah a good shove
and propel her annoying doe-eyed face away from him, but thankfully he caught
himself in time. He decided he didn't really want to find out just how
ineffective or laughable his physical efforts might prove to be against a much
bigger body belonging to a much younger female. This was a girl he used to give
piggyback rides to, not so long ago. He felt ashamed and frustrated, and the
ugly, unhealthy emotions showed on his face.

"That will be quite enough!" his aunt exclaimed. "One more word and I'll drop
those new taffeta capris of yours and give you a spanking right here in public!"
Sarah giggled and then gave Timmy a long mysterious stare. Mrs. Thollen grinned
in approval, then approached Timmy to take hold of his shoulders in a gentle
embrace. He tried to back away but bumped into his aunt's washboard stomach.

Martha Thollen kicked her husband out several years ago; the thrill had gone and
she decided she would enjoy life more if she were single again. She reclaimed her maiden name and gave it to Sarah as well. Working as a
bureaucrat in a university library archive served Martha's nature, which was
obsessive-compulsive but not to a neurotic extent. Timmy had always generally
liked Mrs. Thollen, remembering her as a stout, pleasingly plump little woman,
no more than 5'3" or so, with a kind face, big breasts and bigger buttocks. He
was never really attracted to her, but had enjoyed engaging her in some high-
minded conversation whenever she and his parents had arranged for him to babysit
little Sarah. He had always considered Mrs. Thollen savvy, commonsensible and
respectable, someone Timmy could see eye-to-eye with literally and figuratively.

But that was in the past. At the moment her puffy winter coat concealed her
physicality, but Timmy was perturbed to find that she now seemed a tad taller
even than her skyrocketing daughter. "Surely she can't be growing too," thought
Timmy. He looked down and saw that Mrs. Thollen was wearing what he would have
called "stripper" or "dominatrix" boots--black pleather boots that came higher
than her knee, with rows of silvery spikes running along their svelte length,
all resting on gigantic metallic heels and platforms. On the one hand, Timmy was
glad that Mrs. Thollen wasn't really so much taller than him, but on the other
hand her choice in footwear was just one more disturbing element to take in that
day. "What is wrong with all these women?" Timmy asked himself. "Mrs. Thollen
is a mother, and she must be at least 40. Is this what a middle-aged mother with
a respectable job is supposed to look like nowadays? Why is she wearing boots
like those? What if she runs into someone she works with, or some teacher from
Sarah's school? Doesn't she care what people will think of her, dressed so
ridiculously like that?" He paused. "But look at what I'M wearing. I wonder what
people will think of me?"

As if Mrs. Thollen could hear his thoughts, she replied, "I think you look so
very lovely, Timmy, and I'm glad that you have taken the first steps to a nicer
life." She bent her head down, giving him a nose-to-nose Eskimo kiss as her
dirty blonde locks fell against his cheeks. She then lightly pressed her lips to
the tip of his nose before craning her head back up to examine him better,
smiling, her pale hands still holding his shoulders. "What a wovely widdle boy yew aww..." she whispered.

Timmy felt only confusion. His aunt noted pointedly that his "change in wardrobe
will be accompanied by a change in attitude, whether he likes it or not."

"Oh?" Sarah remarked. "Why? Has he been bad?" Timmy looked up at her and could
not help but feel threatened after noticing that the girl was smiling knowingly down
at him.

"It's not that he's been bad, per se," Aunt Rose continued, nonchalantly
separating Timmy and Mrs. Thollen, then placing her hands on the top of her
nephew's head and leaning down on him. "It's just that he is really going
nowhere. Like a growing number of men, he just shows no aptitude for anything
productive. If he is ever to become his own person, he needs to start over,
with a whole new outlook and a... more appropriate, more conducive public
persona, you might say."

"I fear it may not be easy," Mrs. Thollen said. "There may be some bumps in the
road."

"Yes, I'm sure there will be," replied Aunt Rose. "But thankfully he has an aunt
like me around to guide him back to the proper path, very strictly if necessary,
whenever he strays or tries to lapse back into bad habits. I can always just PICK HIM UP and MOVE HIM BACK to where he needs to be!" She smiled down at
him, brought her long fingers under his armpits, lifted him up a few inches off the ground to demonstrate, shook him once or twice, and then set him back down. "And I can be very strict and very effective in corrective techniques as well,
especially to persons who are so much smaller and so much weaker than I am. Yes
I can, Timmy." Above her omnipresent smile, her left eye winked at him.

He trembled and slumped down, knowing full well that his big aunt was more than
capable of carrying out any threat and of controlling him however she saw fit. The events of the last hour had proven this to him beyond any doubt. She was able and willing to exercise the physical superiority that she had always had over him.
Living with her for the past few months, he had frequently speculated on just
how much more powerful than him she was, but this was the first day his aunt
herself had begun to acknowledge her vast physical superiority outright. He was
not happy to have their size and strength disparity brought out in the open this
way, especially not in the company of the Thollens.

Mrs. Thollen relieved the tension somewhat by remarking, "Sarah and I were
shopping for a new dress for her big Sweet Thirteen birthday party next month.
Would you like to join us? Perhaps Timmy would enjoy helping Sarah make some
selections. She needs a few new outfits to impress her friends from school and
ballet class."

His aunt agreed before Timmy could say anything--before he could even process
what this invitation would entail. He just wanted this nightmare to end. The
prospect of accompanying these females as they shopped for more clothes was more
than he could bear to think about. But it was going to happen anyway, whether he liked it or not. His aunt had decided for him.

Sarah exclaimed, "Oh, good! I'm sure Timmy will be lots of help in choosing my
new dress." She took his hand in hers and propelled him along at her side. It
reminded Timmy of how he used to be sure to hold her little hand when guiding
her across the street a few years ago. Only how Sarah's soft hand was much
bigger; it totally engulfed his own. With a small but increasingly familiar
sensation of shame, he thought that he probably couldn't even extract his hand
from Sarah's grasp unless she let him. Even when he was babysitting her,
sometimes she broke free of his grip and ran off laughing while they were in
public, causing him much stress at the time. But she was in control of him now,
more control than he had ever had over her.

Each step produced the telltale rustling of his taffeta capris against his silk
panties, and Sarah couldn't help but hear it. "Mommy, I think Timmy is wearing
silk and taffeta. Isn't that lovely? I'd just love to see them!" Mrs. Thollen
just laughed.

"Sarah, don't tease me," Timmy begged, as he looked up into her innocent face
with tears in his eyes.

"I said I'd just love to see them, Timmy," Sarah said with a smirk. "And don't think I can't stop you right here, pull them down and get a good look if I wanted to."

Open-mouthed and unable to formulate a comeback, Timmy just sniveled.

"Awww, you're so cute," she murmured.

Her mood softening, Sarah squeezed his hand affectionately, as they walked side
by side in the mall. She kept staring down at him, still not believing how tiny
and adorable he looked as he walked beside her in his pink capris, bright
pink sailor's shirt, and kiddie-sized sailor's hat.

"Mommy," Sarah said. "Timmy and I will catch up in a minute. I want to tell him
something."

"Okay, dear," her mother said. "But you kids don't be too long. Ms. Nordgren
and I will meet you in the dress store."

Sarah sat down on one of the benches in the mall and motioned for Timmy to sit
on her lap. Timmy looked at her in disbelief. She didn't say anything but her
eyes bespoke honesty; no teasing or humiliation was implied. She removed her
beret, allowing her flowing dark brown tresses to fall across her shoulders, and
took off her winter coat, revealing a knee-length pencil skirt, formal and
black, and a bright red sweater. She patted her lap again, a little insistently.
Timmy looked around in embarrassment, but saw no one was paying any attention to
them, so he climbed up on her linen lap. She snaked her arms up and held him
carefully, firmly, but not too closely or impolitely. Timmy had to admit that it
felt very good to sit on this big 12-year-old girl's lap. Stress left him; it
was the first moment of relaxation he had gotten in quite a while.

"I didn't know you wore glasses," he offered.

"Oh," Sarah said, taking them off. "These are really just for show. Do you like
me better without them?"

He didn't know what to say. Despite their physical proximity, Timmy didn't
really want to feel "intimate" with Sarah (of course not!). He didn't really
"like" her. What should he tell her? He didn't want her to get the wrong idea,
but he was relieved that she was being nice to him now and didn't want to risk
her making fun of him again, or bullying him, should he say the wrong thing.

"I can't say for sure," he said finally. "I haven't seen you enough lately to
make a decision."

She nuzzled him and whispered in his ear, "I'm sorry I teased you, Timmy. I
can't imagine how you must feel." He flashed a wan smile up at her for this
small consolation. "Try to make the best of it. Be a big person. Err, I mean,
try to be as big of a person as you can be. Okay? If it's any help, let me say
that I like you better this way and that you are very lovely." Coming from someone as cool, well-adjusted and sophisticated as
Sarah, this somehow made him feel a little more comfortable, and a little more
confident, than before.

"Now jump down, Timmy," she said. "Let's have fun and go shopping. Today, we can
be just like two girlfriends--except, of course, you're a boy." Once Timmy put
his old-fashioned, maladjusted male ego aside, he found that Sarah's words
actually felt really good and gave him a nice cozy sensation. Before sliding off
her lap he risked giving her a peck on the cheek. She smiled and rolled her eyes, then stood up and straightened
out her sleek skirt. Timmy looked up into her eyes. "Oh Timmy," she bemoaned,
gazing way down at him, a quizzical smile returning to her face. "If only we
were the same age, what fun we could have. But instead you have to be more like my little brother." Assuming the role of big sister to this man who was over twice her age, she
pulled his little sailor's hat down over his eyes, chuckled, and again grabbed
his small weak hand and started walking toward the clothing store, where Aunt
Rose and Mother Thollen were waiting for them.

As they walked hand in hand Timmy looked so cute; just like Sarah's little
brother--or perhaps more like her little sister, actually, to anyone who wasn't
up on what evidently passed for modern male fashion nowadays.

As the four of them entered a fashionable shop for girls, Sarah let go of
Timmy's hand to go over to a rack from which hung a gay assortment of party
dresses from satin hangers. "Oh, Timmy, aren't they perfectly darling?" she
exclaimed; Timmy nodded and stood sheepishly by as Sarah examined the dresses,
unable to make up her mind. Finally, several were selected, and the clerk led
them all into the fitting room so that Sarah might try them on.

Once inside the cubicle, Sarah quickly removed her coat and Mrs. Thollen
helped her out of her clothes. In turn, Timmy's aunt insisted that he remove his
clothes as well, although he professed to be quite comfortable. As usual, his
aunt got her way and he was soon undressed. "Oh, Timmy, what pretty panties you
are wearing," Sarah cried in genuine delight. She herself was now clad only in a
black pushup bra and sheer half-slip with her black panties showing through. In
spite of himself, Timmy felt somewhat flattered and was enjoying the approval of
Sarah in much the same way young children desire approval from the cool big kids
in the higher grades at school.

"Timmy's lingerie is so becoming on him," Mrs. Thollen said, emphasizing the
masculine pronoun as if doing so were humorous and ironic. "Perhaps Timmy would
like to try on some of these dresses?" Even though Sarah's dresses would
obviously look foolish on Timmy because of their much larger size, his aunt
nodded her approval.

"Then you could be my little sister!" Sarah exclaimed, giving him a quick but
dramatic embrace. The clerk glanced at Timmy, an expression of suspicion on her
face. Had she guessed that this shy little male was over twice as old as the
very extroverted "tween" girl whose solid, curvy arms were uncomfortably wrapped
around his thin frame? His mind was in a turmoil but the clerk then busied
herself by fitting a dress onto Sarah.

"Darling," his aunt said to him, apropos of nothing, "I hope you do not think it
is immodest for any little boy or girl to show off his or her pretty undies to
nice ladies. Besides, I am here to oversee everything and protect you."

"Yes, don't be afraid, Timmy," Sarah added wryly. "I won't beat you up while you're auntie's around."

Speechless and embarrassed, he could only blush.

A few moments later, Sarah then suggested that Timmy attend her birthday party. His
aunt accepted the invitation for him and, sensing his reluctance, said, "Don't
be shy, darling. Of course you'll go and we can buy you a pretty new outfit to
wear for the occasion. It will be a great step in your reintegration and
socialization process."

"Oh, Timmy," Sarah cried, "don't worry, you'll have such a wonderful time! I'll
make sure of it!" But Timmy's expression hinted that he believed otherwise. As
the clerk assisted Sarah in trying on more dresses, gowns, tube-tops and mini-
skirts, his aunt also arrayed Timmy in several of the same items. He looked so
silly in the big-girl dresses that fit the 12-year-old Sarah so perfectly. The
leopard-skin dress hung off of him as if it were the real pelt of a gigantic,
prehistoric cat. The little black dress was like a nightgown on him. The white
dress that ended above Sarah's knee draped down onto the floor as if it were a
long toga on Timmy. Mrs. Thollen had a loud laugh upon seeing him in each one. "Sarah is so much bigger than him, it almost isn't funny!" she exclaimed. "Key word being ALMOST!"

Eventually, Mrs. Thollen and Aunt Rose left the changing room to put some of
their intended purchases on the counter. Dressed only in her black bra and
panties, Sarah boldly sauntered up to the tiny 26-year-old, backed him up and
then pinned him smack against the full-length mirror with her young athletic
body. "Stop it!" Timmy squealed, very uncomfortable. Sarah just smiled down at
him and smushed him harder against the mirror. She rammed one of her big strong
thighs against Timmy's crotch and lifted him up a few inches off the floor.
"Owwww!" Timmy yelled, though his mouth was muffled by Sarah's chest (not by her
boobs, thankfully, but by the area right below the neck). "What did you say?"
Sarah asked mockingly. "I can't hear you very well all the way up here." She
quickly turned around and pressed her backside into Timmy, thrusting her butt
against him so that it lifted him off the ground again and he hung there,
trapped. Her taut butt was crushing him, and her dancer's legs were braced; she
kept applying the pressure and it really hurt. He was afraid that the mirror
behind him might break, if his bones didn't break first! Sarah then arched her
shoulders and leaned her fit back against Timmy's face, smothering him and
covering his eyes, nose and mouth. He gave another muffled scream. "What was
that?" Sarah asked mockingly, relaxing a bit and giving him some room for air.

"Stop it, Sarah," Timmy said weakly, after gasping for air. "You're hurting me."
His voice sounded so pathetic. Sarah thought it was adorable and it won her
over. She let him down, turned around and faced him. His body was so feeble and
he was so exhausted that his knees wobbled and he almost collapsed. Sarah had to
hold him up as he recovered and caught his breath and balance.

"I'm sorry, Timmy," she said, rubbing his little arms with her strong young
hands. "I'm a growing girl and sometimes I just don't know my own strength."

"It's okay," Timmy offered, regaining his composure and wanting to get out of
the situation, which was uncomfortable for several reasons.

"I just wanted to have some fun."

She swiftly grabbed him around his tiny waist and held him up off the floor. Her
grip was firm but gentle. Timmy didn't know what to do or say. Sarah kissed him
on the right cheek, then pulled back to examine him, staring into his eyes. Then
she kissed him tenderly on the left cheek and did the same. Thankfully, before
it could go any further Timmy noticed that his aunt and Mrs. Thollen had
returned.

"Make Sarah put me down, Auntie," Timmy squeaked meekly as his legs dangled high
off the changing room floor.

"Oh Timmy," Sarah cooed softly so only he could hear, "you're such a..." she
paused and her tone turned sharply as she concluded, with audible disappointment,
"such a fucking baby." It was the first time he had ever heard the young girl
swear, and it shocked him. She then set him down, kissed him matter-of-factly on
the forehead, delicately grabbed his nose between the knuckles of her right index
and middle fingers, made a honking noise, smiled down at him, and then continued
to try on some final outfits. Timmy just stood there in his little silk undies,
watching the leggy young girl as she examined herself in the mirror, occasionally
shooting him back a self-satisfied smile and an approving glance, as if to
rhetorically say "Don't I look good in this? Yes, this outfit will do".

Timmy and Sarah were briefly left somewhat to themselves again while Mrs.
Thollen and his aunt were at the counter signing for all their purchases. Sarah
took this opportunity to snake one long arm around Timmy and pull his little
body towards her. He was caught off-balance and stumbled a bit before his head
softly landed in the armpit of Sarah's elegant charcoal-colored winter coat.
"Don't be mad at me, Timmy, for inviting you to my party. It's just that it
would be wonderful to have you there, dressed so prettily, so we can be
sisters." It was tough for Timmy to think of Sarah in any respect as like a
sister to him. Until today his experience with her amounted to twenty- or
thirty-odd frustrating babysitting experiences, when he had to chase her then-
little body all over the house and sometimes all over the town. And then
suddenly today, a couple years later, Sarah seemed strangely interested, by
turns, in teasing him, apologizing to him, comforting him with relatively
innocent kisses, and making him uncomfortable by cramming him very aggressively
against her much bigger body, especially when one or both of them were scantily
clad. His feelings toward Sarah were not lewd or amorous, but they were
certainly not sisterly either. He was afraid of her, intimated by her; but she also awed him and on some strange, new level he desperately wanted her approval. That said, he couldn't imagine anything more frightening than the idea of attending a birthday party full of 13-year-old girls, because who knows how many of them would be bigger than him, how much bigger they would be, or how they would treat his shrimpy little body once they saw it presented to them in such an embarrassing manner. Nonetheless, he told her he would try and enjoy
her birthday party, and he meant it, although he had grave doubts about such a
mad venture. Anyway, the party was a month away; his aunt wouldn't expect him to
remain in girly clothes for that long... or would she?

Goodbyes were said at the front door of the shop. Mrs. Thollen made a special
point of telling Timmy to visit her sometime soon. "The library archive is
closed for winter break, so I have nothing to do with myself most days. Sarah is
in school and then she has ballet most afternoons. So you needn't worry about
her
being underfoot." Suddenly, it was as if Timmy were being treated as an adult
again. Sarah "underfoot"? As if Sarah were a small child again? Timmy wondered
how Sarah herself would respond to that characterization, but at the moment she
was engaging Aunt Rose in a brief conversation about pilates and yoga, so
evidently she didn't hear what her mother was saying. "I remember the long
conversations we used to have, Timmy. It would be nice to sit with you, have
some hot cocoa together, and talk like that again."

"Sure, Mrs. Thollen. Maybe it would be good for me to get out of my aunt's
mansion." Timmy normally wouldn't really want to go out of his way to hang out
with a 40-year-old plump mother whom he still thought of as "one of his parents'
friends", but he honestly did like having the option of escaping from his aunt's
grasp.

"Call me Martha," Mrs. Thollen said, and she pinched Timmy's cheek after kissing
him goodbye. "What is it with these women?" Timmy thought. "Mrs. Thollen does
remind me of that ‘Madame' from earlier today, so it is sort of predictable that
she'd be a cheek-pincher too. Although she never used to pinch my cheeks when I
babysat Sarah for her. Did all of these women get some sort of memo yesterday
telling them that they have to start pinching short men's cheeks? Or does my
wearing these clothes simply bring that out in them? Either way, it's very
annoying. And embarrassing."

Finally they parted company, Mrs. Thollen and Sarah turning one way, Timmy and
his aunt turning another. Before he could get two steps Timmy felt a violent
pain shooting up his left butt-cheek. He turned around and saw Sarah walking
backwards away from him, staring at him with a mischievous smile, her right hand
making pinching motions in his direction.

What in the world had he gotten himself into? It was as if every minute of his
life now was filled with a new embarrassment or humiliation. Is this what his
life had come to? To be a 26-year-old man dressed in pansy clothes, for all the
public to see, and to be disrespected and pinched on the ass by a towering 12-
year-old girl whom he used to be given paid guardianship over just a few summers
before? Who would give him guardianship over ANYTHING today? What job could he
do? Would any sane person who had just been examining Timmy's life over the past
few hours even allow him to watch a five-year-old or even to walk their dog or
watch their cat? All of the females around him were showing him to be absolutely pathetic. Timmy just stood there in the mall and stared in Sarah's
direction even after she and her mother disappeared.

"Timmy, COME ALONG!" his aunt bellowed, snapping him back to reality. "You can
see Sarah again at her party. You just have to wait. God! I didn't know you could act like such a little sycophant!"

"No, Aunty, I don't--"

"YES, Timmy. My goodness, for a boy who was so scared and shy to see the
Thollens again, you certainly fell into the role of little puppy dog once you
actually saw them again--especially when you saw Sarah."

"Aunt Rose," Timmy attempted, "please I--"

"But perhaps she is good for you after all. Aren't you impressed with what a striking young woman she has become? Don't you
wish that someday you might be as socially presentable as she is--in your own
little way, at least?"

Timmy thought long and hard about what the least problematic way to respond
might be. "...Yes, Auntie," he said finally, not wanting to argue and knowing
that she wouldn't allow him to speak enough uninterrupted words to try and
explain how he really felt anyway. So he may as well just agree with her. And,
besides, despite the general madness of his aunt's apparent plan to reform him,
he DID want to be a presentable member of society again.

"That's a good boy. I think little Sarah is a very good role model for you. On
the other hand, I heard her mother invite you over to their house alone. I want
to warn you that I definitely DON'T think you are ready for such an adult
interaction."

"Adult interaction? Aunt Rose, Mrs. Thollen just--"

"Whether she just wants to chat with you about old times, or whether she wants
to pull your pants down and take advantage of you--and I personally suspect that
it's the latter--I forbid you to see her without Sarah or myself present."

"What?!" Timmy yelled, confused by so much of what he was hearing. "First of
all, I'm not interested in Mrs. Thollen and she isn't interested in me that way.
And--"

"She seems like a pedophile to me," Aunt Rose declared.

"Pedophile? But... What?!" Timmy was so confused. Was his aunt intimating that
he should be considered more or less a "child"? He had yet to even confront his
aunt on the issue of her "forbidding" him, a 26-year-old man, from paying a
social call on whomever he wanted.

His aunt looked down on him and, uncharacteristically, reconsidered. "Maybe I
shouldn't have said that," she remarked. Timmy wondered if she had changed her
mind on Mrs. Thollen being a "pedophile", or whether his aunt simply wanted to
hide her suspicion from Timmy, baseless as it was, in much the way adults don't
want to trouble children by saying scary ideas in front of them.

"Come along now," she said, grasping his hand and pulling him along with her.

"Are we going home, finally?" Timmy asked, plaintively as he looked up at his
tall aunt.

His aunt dramatically halted in mid-stride, bringing the heel of her boot thundering down
on the mall floor so loudly that it generated an echo. Suddenly Timmy was very
afraid. Aunt Rose looked down at him from her imperious height, squeezed his
hand very tightly, and slowly drew her free hand behind her shoulder, as if she
were preparing to backhand him. Timmy winced, closed his eyes, instinctively
brought his head down and covered it with his freehand in a feeble attempt to
protect himself.

But she didn't hit him. Instead she lowered her hand and seemed to soften.
"Timmy dear," she said with a sigh. "No one likes a little whiner. We are not
going home yet. We have one more purchase to make this afternoon. Can you guess
what it is?"

"No, Aunt Rose," Timmy answered, annoyed at all this tedium. He had an idea that
the final stop wouldn't be for anything manly, or anything he would enjoy
shopping for.

They resumed their walk, hand-in-hand, his aunt's hard heels hitting the floor
in a rhythmic way that now imbedded itself in Timmy's mind.

"We need to get you some nice little shoes to wear. Some that actually fit you,
without you stuffing horrid little tissues in them to make yourself look
taller!"

Timmy opened his mouth to say something, but he was silenced by a wave of her
long hand. Once again, he felt super self-conscious, as if all eyes were upon
him as his aunt marched him through the mall.

They entered a shoe store, and moved directly to a glass showcase in which were
displayed several dainty examples of little persons' footwear.

"Are these children's shoes? GIRLS shoes?!" Timmy asked but got no answer.

A 40-year-old clerk behind the counter smiled and asked politely if she could be
of any assistance to them.

"I'd like to see some nice little shoes, practical but slightly dressy, for my
little charge here," Aunt Rose said, and then smiled down wolfishly at Timmy. She loved dressing him up and making decisions for him.

"Of course, Madame!" the clerk replied. "Such a very lovely little person does
deserve something special." Timmy wondered whether these women were simply
insane, or whether there really was a trace of cruel sarcasm in their voices
that he could never quite perceive well enough. The only other alternative
possibility would be to consider that someone like him actually deserved to be
fussed over in this way, as if he really were a futzy little child.

"What size does he wear, Madame?"

That did it. Timmy hated being talked about in the third-person, as if he
weren't there or wasn't capable of speaking for himself.

"I wear a MENS size 9," he said. He usually tried to buy 9.5s or 10s, because
over the years he had worked out how to stuff those shoes just right and still
be able to walk in them, gaining a few inches in height and also having a
perceptibly larger shoe-size (not that it ever helped him in attracting women,
but he could always HOPE...). Truth be told, he believed that he honestly would
have fit into a size 8, or even a size 7.5, but he decided to press his luck by
announcing a somewhat respectable size 9.

His aunt chuckled in a dismissive way, which brought out a giggle and a smile
from the clerk as well.

"He'll take a size 6 in these," Aunt Rose said, holding up what appeared to be a
shiny black dress shoe for little girls. It looked like a little doll's shoe as
it sat in the big soft palm of Rose's elegant hand. It had a strap that went
across the front, secured by a little silver fastener. A little white lace frill
ran along the side and back. Of course, the shoe was totally flat; the sole not
even a centimeter thick.

"NO, Aunt Rose, those look like little girl shoes--The size--I won't even--"

"Oh those will look adorable on him!" the clerk interrupted, then turned to the
box-lined shelves behind her, glanced over the labels, took a box and placed it
before them. With a gentle but weighty hand on his shoulder, Aunt Rose directed
Timmy to sit down on a little stool, which he did, not wanting to cause a scene
or
make things any worse. From the rustling folds of white tissue, the clerk
extracted the elegant, tiny pair of frilled black dress shoes and held them up,
remarking that they were a recent import from Paris.

"They are simply darling," Aunt Rose commented. "The perfect thing for a delicate little fairy like Tim here."

"But, Auntie--"

"Try them on, Timmy," she said with palpable goodwill and optimism.

He did try them on. And, to his horror, they fit. He was made to walk around the
store, feeling shorter than ever without his makeshift lifts. His Aunt Rose
looked absolutely gigantic to him now. His neck barely came up to the level of the brown leather belt that ran around Rose's taught waist. Unable to keep from slumping a bit now due to depression, he noted that at this point he was basically looking into her bellybutton, which showed on her exposed midriff. There she
was, a millionaire superbabe who effortlessly looked like a model--a model whose height
was much closer to 7 feet than 6 feet, thanks only in part to her knee-high heeled
cowboyish boots. And there he was, only about ten years younger than her (in his
reckoning), and yet he looked like a foppish little pipsqueak boy dressed in
girls clothes (or, at best, "GIRLY clothes"). "It isn't fair!" he screamed
silently, thinking to himself not for the first or last time that the very
physical presence of his big aunt--the super-rich, super-fit, supremely confident babe--seemed
to be the embodiment of an insult or cruel joke aimed at his diminutive little
self. She was so tall and so perfect, in every single way, and he was so tiny and pathetic.

"He looks very nice," the clerk remarked.

"Hm," his aunt said, "he'd look a lot nicer if he did something about his
posture. He may be only five feet tall, but it would be better were he a PROUD
five-foot-tall person."

Timmy groaned, sat back down, and began to undo the strap on one of the shoes.

"Oh you shall wear them home, Timmy. Don't you just adore them? They must fit
and feel better than any ill-fitting shoes you've worn in quite some time. You
little boys and the little games you have to play to assuage your
insecurities... But these shoes, on the other hand, fit both your dainty feet
and your appropriate demeanor. Don't you agree?"

"I guess so," he answered meekly, preferring to simply lie and say that he
agreed.

After buying the shoes, Timmy could at least look forward to going home.
Unfortunately, his aunt decided on the spur of the moment to duck into a woman's
lingerie shop. Timmy felt so uncomfortable, not least because his aunt insisted
on continuing to hold hands while she browsed the lacey racks. Timmy couldn't
bear to look at anything. He put his head down, then closed his eyes (not
wanting to look at his new capris or his little girly shoes).

To make matters worse, Timmy also began to feel the call of nature. He had to
pee. At first he thought he could wait until they got home, but his aunt was
taking so long looking at the lingerie. He told himself that he would simply use
the bathroom near the exit of the mall, whenever they left. But the minutes
ticked by and he could bear his problem in silence no longer.

Timmy shuffled his feet uncomfortably, with a full bladder, and said, "Auntie--"

"Please do stop your fussing, Timmy. We shall return home when I am good and
ready! A body like mine deserves to wear the sexiest choice lingerie possible. And I would have thought a boy like you would have enjoyed looking at pretty
lingerie too, but apparently it scares you. Is that right?"

His aunt didn't even look at him while talking, so intent was she on running the
elegant fabrics through her long fingers.

"Here, hold these." She passed Timmy a heap of panties, bras, stockings and
silken gloves that she intended to purchase.

"Aunty, no, I--"

"I just need a few other items of lingerie before we leave," Aunt Rose
continued, unconcerned. "Do behave or I will drop you right here, in the middle
of the store, and give you the sort of spanking that only the very worst bad
little boys deserve." She said all of this to the 26-year-old man as if it were
the most natural conversation in the world.

They wandered around the establishment, Timmy growing ever more physically
uncomfortable and becoming ever more certain that the attractive young clerks
were laughing at him behind his back and whispering among themselves. His aunt
spent five or six more minutes looking at bustiers, selecting a few and then
moving toward a section of "stripper" boots not unlike those Mrs. Thollen was
wearing. She mumbled, "I hope they carry my size... Hmm, I like these, but those heels could be higher..." Finally Timmy could wait no
longer to tell her of his dire condition:

"Aunty, I... I... have to go to the bathroom."

"Well, can't you wait till we get home? You can pee-pee then," she said,
unconcerned. Not appreciating her use of the term "pee-pee", he shook his head
vigorously, and said (in the loudest manner he had ever addressed her) "NO!"

"VERY WELL THEN," Aunt Rose hissed, clearly annoyed, as if the levy was
breaking. She shook her head violently in disgust, jangling her big hooped
earrings in the process. "COME ALONG WITH ME THEN, LITTLE BOY." In one swift
motion she somehow swung all of her intended purchases out of Timmy's arms, put
them on the counter, and swung Timmy himself up high into the air. His mind flew
and he didn't know how many (or how few) of his aunt's gigantic strides were
necessary to reach the bathroom. When they finally reached it, he didn't know
what percentage of the distance was covered with him in the air, with his
little hand and forearm hanging from his aunt's huge clenched fist.

He looked around. "This is a ladies' room!"

"Of course it is, Timmy. Did you expect this establishment to bother maintaining
a little lavatory for men? Where else did you expect me to take you?"

He didn't expect his aunt to "take him" anywhere. He expected her to let go of
his hand for the first time in an hour so he could find his own way to a more
comfortable place for him to relieve himself. Still, he was glad to be near a
toilet--any toilet. A moment later he found himself in the scented privacy of
the most elegant bathroom stall he'd ever been in. From beneath the door he saw
his aunt's brown leather boots tapping impatiently. It was hard for him to go
under the circumstances. He felt so self-conscious and rushed, even though he
really had to pee.

Nevertheless he took down his capris and pulled down his new silk panties and--
saw to his great consternation that he had a raging hard-on. It wasn't the first
time he had developed an erection for no ostensible reason. He recalled a few
lonely bus trips and train trips in which, over the course of hours, the
rhythmic motions of the vehicles had given him hard-ons for no sexual reason
whatsoever. But all he had been doing over the last hour was trying NOT to look
at lingerie. And he hated being in the presence of his aunt. Nonetheless, the
rock-hard penis staring up at him caused him no shortage of troubling questions
about his own psyche.

"I don't hear any tinkling!" his aunt bellowed from behind the stall door. Timmy
shivered. He heard the outside door swing open and shut. Someone else had
entered the bathroom. Great.

"Do you need any help in there, Timmy?" his aunt asked, clearly annoyed.

"N-no," Timmy replied meekly, trying to keep his voice down. Great, now whoever
had just entered the bathroom would know that a man was in here--a man who
evidently had problems going to the bathroom by himself.

Rather than risk a "fountain shot" of urine, some of which might get on his body
or his "nice new clothes", Timmy decided to sit down to pee. With all his
strength he tried to pry his erection down as far as it would go. Gosh this was
painful. It was as if his erection was the strongest muscle in his body; or at
least it seemed stronger than his thin arms. He also tried to arch himself back-
-anything to get his aim down low enough to hit the pot. Finally he began to
urinate, slowly but safely.

"I STILL don't hear anything!" his aunt bellowed again, her exclamation shocking
Timmy and causing him to break concentration. His penis sprang upright and a
fountain of urine began to splash all over his body and clothes. He tried to
control himself and stop peeing, but he couldn't.

"Timmy! Timmy! Are you okay?"

He wished Aunt Rose would shut up. Finally he was able to stop peeing. His
erection had actually died down, probably because of all the shame he was
feeling. But it was too late; he was covered in his own piss. He stood up and
turned around and was finally able to pee like a normal man, right into the
toilet, though there was not much left in him. He was already drenched, and it
had soaked into his clothes enough for it to be noticeable, visually and
olfactorily. He thought he would die or pass out from shame.

The next thing he knew, his aunt's hands were on his shoulders and she was
crouching down to look him directly in his face. He didn't know if he had
actually opened the stall door himself or if she had somehow broken the lock to
come in and get him. She shook him, not maliciously but in an attempt to bring
him back to consciousness.

It worked. He cast wide eyes around the bathroom and crimsoned as he saw,
standing at one of the sinks, a tall teenage girl with long platinum blond hair,
wearing a dangerously short clingy black dress and calf-high red booties with 4-
inch heels. Timmy estimated her to be 18 or 19. The young beauty was washing her
hands and looking askance in his direction.

"Timmy, look at me," his aunt said, scrutinizing him very seriously. His aunt's
face came into focus for him. Her hard, dark features looked genuinely
concerned; her dark lips were pursed. It was the first time Timmy had to admit
to himself that his aunt really did have the face of a gorgeous supermodel.

A dozen feet off, the tall teenager had stopped washing her hands and had turned
to use a towel.

"Are you okay?" his pretty aunt asked.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm sorry. I just couldn't hold it down," Timmy said reflexively.
What he couldn't hold down was his raging boner, but thankfully his aunt would probably
interpret the statement as if he simply lost control of his bladder.

"It's okay," Aunt Rose said tenderly. "I guess this was all a lot for you to
take in all in one day, huh?"

"Uh...yeah." He did feel some relief. At least his aunt wasn't mad at him. At
least she wasn't carrying out her earlier threat to spank him in public.

"Come on," she said. "I'll get you cleaned up in one of the sinks here."

"What?! No! I--"

His aunt had already wrapped her hands around his wet, stinky, sticky body, and
had lifted him at arms' length up in the air. As she carried him over to the
sinks, Timmy noticed with much embarrassment that the hot young girl was still
there, looking at herself in the mirror, fixing her black sunglasses so they
balanced on top of her blonde head, and tugging on the hem of her black dress as
if in a hopeless attempt to make it reach more than an inch or two lower than
her crotch.

As Aunt Rose set his butt in one of the sinks and methodically began to pull his
urine-soaked clothes off, Timmy found that he was too shocked and humiliated to
say, much less do, anything at all. The seconds passed like hours as he was
locked into a slow-motion opera of shame.

He heard the clicking of heels and saw the blonde girl's face above him, next to
the face of his aunt but several inches below it.

"Uh. Is he okay?" the girl asked in what Timmy thought was a very stupid-
sounding teenager voice.

"Yes, he'll be fine," Aunt Rose answered, turning on the faucet now that Timmy
was--to his horror--completely naked. He closed his eyes and the next few
utterances almost totally shattered his mind.

"Oh wow," the girl said. "he's got some cute little baby panties... Uh. Huh.
Look. He's got a little boner."

Timmy cracked an eye open and bravely looked down. He did indeed have another
raging erection. Was there to be no end to the indignities being heaped upon
him?

His aunt just sighed, then squirted a heap of bubbly hand soap into her gigantic
cupped hands. The girl had taken out a cherry red sucker and had put it in her
mouth. His aunt began to soap up his thin body, removing any urine or scent of
urine from him. Timmy squirmed and shivered as his huge aunt's freakishly long
soft hands fingered his body and massaged the soap suds all over his naked skin.
He watched the blonde teen as she listlessly surveyed the process, slurping on
her lollypop and occasionally clicking it against her hard white teeth.

Finally his aunt soaped up his dick. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was not a
long process. Timmy got no relief or release from it and was mercifully glad
that his aunt did not spend much time on it. As his aunt reached under him and
guided him under the faucet so as to rinse off the soap, the teen girl asked,
"Uh, should I get a towel?"

"That would be very helpful," Aunt Rose said, keeping her eyes on Timmy. Her
every word and glance seemed to say, "I am so disappointed in you, nephew. You
are just... nothing. So pathetic". A small but growing part of him was beginning
to agree with those implied sentiments.

His aunt lifted him high into the air again and set him down on the bathroom
floor. He noticed that he still was wearing his new little flat-soled dollshoes.
Apparently those didn't get peed on. Other than that, he was naked. Suddenly a
shadow fell over him and he felt an immense fluffy white towel being wrapped
around him. "Thanks," he told the hot blonde girl, looking up--way up--at her
blank-staring face. "Another typical teenage idiot," he thought to himself, spitefully,
desperately searching for anything to make his own broken ego feel a little better.
"Aside from the fact that she's like 5'11" or whatever. I guess THAT's not all that typical of a teenage girl." He looked down again.
There were his stupid little dollshoes--completely flatsoled and teeny tiny. And
there were the big teen girl's hot red leather booties with their thick 4-inch
heels. They looked so powerful, dangerous, and sexy compared to Timmy's embarrassingly tiny feet and his shockingly thin legs. The comparison was made worse by the girl's legs--long, shapely, toned and naked--rising so
high above them. And then lastly there were Aunt Rose's big shiny, modest-heeled
leather boots, which dwarfed Timmy and reached up to his crotch almost, even
though they didn't even reach his aunt's knees.

After his aunt helped him dry off she began looking in their shopping bags for a
clean outfit for him to wear.

"Wanna sucker?" the girl asked him.

Timmy wanted to tell her "No! Why are you still here? Get lost!" But instead he
just said "Sure."

The girl began fishing around her purse, which appeared to be made of the same
red leather as her high-heeled booties. In another time and place, Timmy might
have tried to strike up a conversation with the girl by complimenting her on her
matching fashion sense. But such a situation was hopelessly distant from his
current position.

"Oh poo," she said finally. "Don't have any more. But. Uh. Here. You can have
this one."

She bent down so her hot face was on his level, pulled the red lolly out of her
mouth with a loud smacking "pop" and then shoved it into his mouth, which, he
realized, had been gaping open in awe of the very leggy female specimen before
him. He dumbly sucked on the lolly and savored the cherry-flavored spit that was
already on it. The girl chuckled stupidly.

"What do you say, Timmy?" his aunt warned him.

"Uh, th-thank you," Timmy said.

"For what?" his aunt prompted.

"For e-everything," Timmy stuttered shakily, uncertain and humiliated.

Still kneeling beside him, the girl smiled a toothy grin, giggled a spitty
giggle (some lollypop saliva evidently still in her mouth), and then pinched
Timmy's cheek with a strong thumb and forefinger whose nice shapely nails were
painted cherry red. Timmy was very much aware of his erection, which was now
throbbing even more dramatically than his heart was. Then the girl stood way up,
smiled again, showing her perfectly white teeth, and left the bathroom. Timmy
couldn't help but admire how good her tight ass looked in that short black
dress. He thought back to how Sarah had jammed him against a wall with her ass;
it was humiliating, but he wished he could get the same sort of treatment from
this older, blonde girl.

He turned to his aunt, half wanting to bury his head in her exposed stomach. She began
to help him put on yet another new outfit that looked more like something a little
girl would wear than something a 26-year-old man would be caught dead in.

"Don't worry, Timmy," his aunt said sweetly, adjusting his girly choker collar
and smiling down at him with her wide dark lips. "It's only the first day.
You'll hold up better, later, under the yoke of femininity." What did she mean
by that, Timmy wondered? Instinctively, he knew what she meant, but to put it
into words...? Before he could think about it much, she continued, "You'll soon
change your mind about your life and about what it means for you to be a little
male--a little PERSON. You'll change completely before I've finished with you.
Of that you can be certain. And all of the strong women you encounter in your
life will help out. I'll see to that. You shall become the sort of male to whom
women can't help but want to aid and guide--based not so much on a motherly
instinct, but based on... some other sort of pity and compassion." His shoulders
slumped in hopelessness as she plopped his little sailor hat back on his head.

They stopped by the wrapping desk to retrieve his aunt's many packages of
expensive lingerie, and then took their departure from the mall. Much to Timmy's
relief, they were headed back to their home, back to his aunt's mansion.



* * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *



Chapter 2: Under Brooks' Thumb / Under Martha's Bum

As they entered the front door of the mansion they called home, Timmy and Aunt
Rose were greeted by Brooks, their French maid.

The twenty-something girl was actually of typical American "mutt" descent,
though she sometimes stressed that she was half French-Canadian. She didn't know
a jot of Francais, but still she dressed in the classic French maid style: black
and white with lace trim; black pantyhose running up under a skirt that ended at
mid-thigh; and shiny black shoes with a two-and-a-half-inch heel, which added
unnecessarily to Brooks' already imposing six-foot stature. Though she had never
shown much skin in Rose Nordgren's house, one could tell that Brooks
Ursula Fraser was quite solidly built and athletic.

Timmy had never known what to make of this maid situation. On the one hand, his
rich aunt seemed flighty and pretentious enough to want a real maid. But on the
other hand Brooks herself seemed to take the job and its dress-code as a bit of
a fun joke, as if she were wearing a maid COSTUME rather than a uniform, and as
if she were play-acting rather than working. Not that the girl didn't clean and
perform other maidly duties--she did--but she often did so with a coquettish
wink and a lackadaisical air. His aunt seemed to enjoy the younger female's
spunky attitude, however, and Timmy got the impression that she was taking
Brooks "under her wing" so to speak.

Brooks had dark hair that didn't quite touch her shoulders, green eyes, and a
pretty face that nonetheless slightly reminded Timmy of a pug dog's. Timmy had
never seen her out of her maid clothes, but her attitude seemed to suggest that
she was a tough girl who had grown up on the street, who could handle herself
and yet still retain some conventional feminine allure. Her "iron lady"
exterior was not infrequently broken by laughter; Timmy had noticed that Brooks
and Aunt Rose had shared many jokes together, many of them inside jokes that he
did not understand. For his part, during the few months Timmy had been living in
his aunt's mansion, he hadn't gotten close to Brooks or engaged her in any real
conversations. Secretly, as you might expect, he was attracted to her and masturbated to the thought of her no less than five times a week; but after
the death of his parents, and after his release from the sanitarium, he simply
wasn't in the mood to pursue any female. Besides, for all he knew, Brooks
thought of him as a little oversensitive pipsqueak who needed his aunt to take
care of him. And that was even before he came home dressed in his new clothes.

At the moment Brooks' pretty pug face registered reined excitement and approval
over Timmy's transformation. Dressed in little girly clothes--a saffron
cardigan, pink leggings, his little sailor's hat, and his little dollshoes--
Timmy had already been through the psychological wringer at the mall. He just
wanted to retreat to his bedroom, take off these embarrassing clothes, throw
himself on the bed and cry himself to sleep. But this was not to be. So anxious
was he to return home from his aunt's shopping expedition, he hadn't even
considered the fact that he'd have to face Brooks the maid in his new post-
"makeover" condition, or what that would mean. Apparently, it would mean
enduring another humiliating conversation between tall imposing females, in
which he was spoken over (literally) as if he were a mute object.

Brooks choked back a gasp of delight when she saw what Timmy was wearing.

"Isn't he sweet now, Brooks?" his aunt asked brightly.

"Oh INDEED, Ms. Nordgren," Brooks replied smartly, with a self-satisfied and
mock-professional aura that she sometimes assumed when her employer was present,
as if Brooks were pretending to have gone to charm school. "I just love him this
way," she added in a more normal casual tone. Then she looked down at Timmy and
stared into his eyes, scrutinizing him in a way that made him even more
uncomfortable.

Standing between these two women he felt--not for the first time that day--like
he was a specimen on a slide being studied under a microscope by female scientists. In spite of
himself, he slunk his head down, couldn't help grumbling a bit, and noted with
some annoyance that the level of his downcast gaze fell naturally on his aunt's
taut exposed midriff or on Brooks' modest bust. He didn't know where to look.
From above he heard both women chortle.

"I take it he's having a bit of trouble adjusting?" Brooks asked his aunt.

("Did she already KNOW that Aunt Rose was going to do this to me?!" Timmy
wondered silently, with growing anger. "And, again, here are women speaking of
me in the third person. But I'm right here!")

"Yes... He is having a little trouble..." Aunt Rose said with perceptible
compassion, putting her long hands on each of Timmy's shoulders and beginning to
knead them lovingly. "Our poor little guy has already been through so much. And
he doesn't like what I'm putting him through now. But he knows that eventually
it will be for the better."

("I DON'T KNOW that," Timmy thought bitterly. "I don't even THINK it. Whatever
wackjob feminist or psychological theories she's been reading... I don't want to
dress like a little pansy!")

"He probably thinks he looks like a girl," Brooks said, almost as if she were
reading his mind. "Is that right?" Speaking to him directly (finally), she put
her right hand under Timmy's chin and tilted it up so that he would look into
her eyes, which were more than a foot above his own.

Timmy noticed that Brooks had smooth but strong hands, and very huge fingers,
not as long as his aunt's but probably more powerful. Her nails were almond-
shaped and painted a dark metallic purple. He had never noticed anything like
this before; every other time he had seen her, she had been wearing dainty white
maid's gloves. He stared up at her, wide-eyed and scared and self-conscious to
the point of speechlessness.

"Hm?" Brooks goaded him again, waiting for an answer. "Do you think your aunt
has dressed you like a little girl?"

After a moment Timmy replied "No..." in an unsure, humiliated tone.

"Good!" Brooks said cheerily and with a smile. "But I guess that means I don't
get to call you 'Tammy' instead of 'Timmy'! And I was so looking forward to
that!"

This brought forth some hearty laughs from Aunt Rose, between which she uttered
"Little Tammy! How adorable!", and she reflexively clutched his shoulders
strongly until her laughter subsided.

Meanwhile, Brooks was smiling down silently at Timmy, and her hand was still
under his chin. He felt as though she were slowly digging her strong thumbnail
into him, so he shot his own little hands up, planning to try to pull her hand
off of him. The moment he did this, however, she seemed to withdraw her cutting
pressure. But she still held her hand there under his chin, almost daring him to
feel her one big hand with his two little ones and to test his strength against
hers. Not wanting to know if he could beat her, even with a two-to-one hand
advantage, Timmy just froze and stared at her with a quintessential "rabbit in
the headlights" expression on his face.

"What a pretty little outfit you're wearing," Brooks mused, a teasing lilt in
her voice as she began to rub his chin with her big thumb in a slow circular
fashion. "Pretty, pretty, pretty..." Timmy stared up at her, petrified. She gently set her entire thumb over
his mouth and slid it down so that it brought his lower lip down. "You are just
adorable," she concluded, then brought her thumb down further so that his lip
snapped back up with an audible "plop". He was at a loss. She suddenly raised
her eyebrows and gave him a provocative look.

Aunt Rose had set their shopping bags aside and was preparing to carry her own
purchases to her room. She had bought almost as much for herself as she bought
for Timmy's new wardrobe. As Brooks turned to help his aunt sort through the
shopping bags, Timmy was informed that his dinner would be served momentarily,
since Brooks had already cooked it.

The meal, for Timmy, was asparagus in olive oil and vegetable rice pilaf.
Another typical meal for Timmy. Meanwhile, he saw his aunt drinking an extra large soy
protein shake before her nightly aerobics workout. And he saw Brooks preparing a huge
plate of barbeque ribs that she would eat in the servant's lounge that was kept
for her in the mansion.

He picked at his dish, knowing that he was expected to eat it all. Until now,
his practice was just to "go with the flow". He didn't like vegetables, but he
had been willing to do whatever his aunt had thought was best for him. He was,
after all, really shrimpy, and he liked the idea of getting in shape. His fit
aunt obviously knew a thing or two about diet, and when he saw her thin but
imposing figure in her workout clothes the first time, when he watched her flex
her long body into all sorts of yoga poses, looking for all the world like she
could easily stand in for Catwoman or Uma Thurman in "Kill Bill" -- or maybe
take both of those women on and WIN fairly easily -- he was so impressed that he
consented to follow the dietary rules she had set for him. But the thing was...
he was not getting any bigger. Oh, he didn't expect to grow taller, but he was
still so far underweight. His aunt had warned him, however, that he may
actually lose more weight at first, once whatever little fat there was on him
had disappeared, before new healthier body-mass could grow. That sounded
reasonable enough to Timmy, who had no experience in these things. He tried
exercising once a few weeks ago, but the next morning his arm and shoulder
muscles felt pulled out of joint. And he had only done one set of twenty reps
with 10-pound dumbbells. His aunt sternly told him not to try exercising again
anytime soon. Though never exactly excited about any of it, he had at least
been agreeable to anything she proposed for him. But tonight he sat looking at
his great feast of asparagus and rice, picking at it disinterestedly for over
half an hour before it was gone.

Almost the second he had eaten the last piece of asparagus, Brooks appeared with
a glass of water and his daily dose of after-dinner diet pills. ("Strange that
she knew the exact moment when I was finished eating," Timmy thought. "It really
is like these women have gotten inside my head. I'll be glad when this day is
over.)

"Drink up," Brooks said, as she offered him the glass and the pills. The glass
was held in her huge left hand, the metallic purple nails clenched like a dragon
claw. And the four pills, which he always had trouble swallowing because they
felt so big in his throat, looked so small placed in the center of her smooth
right palm.

"You have really big hands," Timmy said, taking the glass and pills. He never
would have said something like that to Brooks before, but at this point he had
been so overwhelmed by so many details of the day that he was exhausted. His
strength and willpower were gone, but so were some of his inhibitions. For a
young man--really a 26-year-old boy--as timid as Timmy, losing inhibition meant
risking a casual remark to the maid.

"Oh, you like?" Brooks said happily, holding her hands up before her face,
showing Timmy all ten of the beautiful dark purple nails.

"Yeah," he said. Another daring move for him, to insinuate that he liked
something about a girl. He began to hope that the conversation didn't go any
further, for fear of screwing something up, and he started to sip the water and swallow the pills one by one. But
rather than go away, as she would have any other night, Brooks remained standing
before him smiling down, waiting in silence for a minute or so until he finished
taking his medicine and could give her his full attention again.

"What made you remark on my hands?" Brooks asked, crossing her arms across her
chest as Timmy set the empty glass down.

"Um," he squirmed a bit in his chair, and offered her the glass, hoping that she
would take that as an excuse to return to doing the dishes or whatever. For some
reason, he did not want to stand up in her presence again tonight. He was sick
of height comparisons. "Well, you always wore gloves before," he concluded.

"Yes I did," Brooks agreed, taking the empty glass from him but giving no hint
that she was preparing to leave. "Today is different, though."

He didn't take the bait and reply. Still she stood there.

"Don't you agree that today is different, Timmy?" she continued, seeming to
extend her gaze to indicate his new pansy clothing.

"Oh. Uh. Yeah," Timmy said and felt some shame. His own stupid responses
reminded him of the stupid blonde girl with the nice ass whom he had seen in the
women's room earlier that day.

"Today your aunt told me that there would be a lot of changes," Brooks said,
smiling with self-satisfaction. "And one of those changes is that I don't have
to wear white maid gloves anymore."

"Oh."

Finally Brooks turned to leave, but as she walked out of the room, her heels
clicking on the hard floor, she called over her shoulder: "And there might be
some other changes too." The enigmatic line made Timmy feel anxious. By this
point, however, he was too exhausted to feel much active fear.

Moments later, he was climbing the spiral staircase to his room. He dramatically
stripped off his loathsome new clothes, dropped them to the floor, and stepped
into his personal, luxurious bathroom and shower--one of the better perks of
living in his aunt's mansion. He started the boiling hot water and soon turned
the large marble and linoleum shower stall into his own private sauna.

Resting against the wall, he let the steam fill the room, took a deep breath and
tried to relax. He thought about all that had happened to him that day. His aunt
dragging him to the mall under spurious pretenses, imposing a new dress-code on
him--"Similar," he thought, "to how she tricked me into changing my diet." And
then there were all the women, and girls, who had pinched him: pinched his
cheeks, pinched his ass, pinched his nose. They treated him like a little child.
And why not? He had wet himself like a child. He looked like a child, kind of.

Steam had filled the shower stall and the rest of the giant bathroom as well. Such a big bathroom for so tiny a guy.
Timmy crouched down on the floor and sat near the place where the hot water was
falling from the showerhead high above. He breathed in the steam and every now
and then a stray drop of hot water would sting his naked body. It was not an
unpleasant sensation. Timmy felt quite at peace with himself, despite the
thoughts running through his head. He was finally in a place in which he could
detach from everything and just think about all that had happened.

He thought about Sarah and how big and tall she was now. She must be like 5'8",
he figured. He felt like a little twerp in her presence, especially when she
mashed her strong dancer's body against him. He couldn't believe that she
invited him to her Sweet Thirteen party. It was absurd. He couldn't actually
imagine himself attending. That wouldn't really happen; he was sure.

And he thought about Mrs. Thollen, Sarah's mother. "Martha," he corrected
himself. "She told me to call her Martha." And she invited him over to her house
when Sarah wasn't there. He actually wanted to do that. Even something as
mundane as having tea or coffee with that plump, middle-aged busybody appealed
to him, if only to make himself feel like a sociable adult again. And he
wouldn't even tell his aunt that he was going to visit her.

His aunt. He didn't know how he felt about Rose. Everything about her was so
strange and intimidating. He lived under her roof and he was beginning to feel
like he lived under her rule as well--a rule that was much harsher than he expected at first. Aside from her astonishing height, everything about Rose Nordgren
screamed "New Age health nut", not fascist "feminazi". And yet look at what she
had done to him today. Look what she had reduced him to, with very little effort on her part. She had simply decided that it was time to strip away every illusion of power and agency on his part, and that it was time to dress him like the weak pansy that he was--and so it was done. Reality bowed to her will as eagerly as any man would. "But look at what she's done FOR me as well," Timmy
thought. She had taken him in and given him so much. "And today she had to wash
my
urine-soaked body," he noted, disgusted with himself.

Sitting naked in his makeshift sauna, the scenario of his earlier "bath" played
itself out over and over again in Timmy's mind. In the bathroom of the lingerie
store, his young aunt had just lifted his tiny body up like it weighed nothing,
and
she had washed him naked in the sink as if he were a little baby. Timmy began to
feel a stirring in his loins, so he consciously decided to think of something
else.

He looked down at his thin arms and legs. Jeez he had gotten tiny. He was always
on the slim side, but he never had such little chicken arms.

He finally stood up and pulled himself together, putting his arms across his
chest and rubbing his shoulders, almost giving himself a "self-hug" so to speak.
He turned off the hot water and grabbed a towel. The bathroom was still full of
steam. He couldn't see anything. For a moment, he feared that one of the
giantesses in his life was going to appear out of nowhere, coming at him through
the fog, and attack him at his most vulnerable. But, no, he was alone now, and
he valued his aloneness very, very highly.

He dried himself off, wrapped the towel around his waist and wiped the steam
away from one of the mirrors. He looked at himself. He didn't look like a young
boy, but he still had a boyish charm. He noted this and felt good about himself.
Maybe life wasn't so bad after all. Maybe things would be okay eventually, after
he could get his life back on track and could get himself together enough to
move out of his aunt's mansion.

Stepping back into his bedroom, he instantly knew that something was wrong. The
clothes he had discarded before going into the shower were now gone. He supposed
that the maid could have taken them, but Brooks had never done that before.
Going into his room unannounced and taking away his dirty clothes was not part
of her usual routine. But, he supposed, perhaps such an expansion of her duties
was part of how "things had changed." It didn't really matter; he would simply
make sure to lock his bedroom door from now on. And, in a way, he didn't want to
look at those clothes again today, anyway. So he was glad they had disappeared.

He yawned as he walked over to his closet. He just wanted to put on an old
reliable pair of boxers and go to bed. Opening the closet door, however, he
received a shock that caused him to let out a high-pitched yell--a yell that
might kindly be called "boyish", but could certainly not be called "manly".

All of his old clothes were gone. No new clothes were in their place, however.
Not yet, at least.

Timmy turned and examined the rest of his room. In the passing seconds, he
couldn't find any other notable alterations. Of course, he hadn't brought much
with him when he moved from the sanitarium into his aunt's mansion, but all of
his books and magazines were still there. No clothes however. Still naked, he
put his hands on his hips and turned this way and that, confused about what to
do. The expression "like a chicken with its head cut off" came to mind as he
felt totally aimless. Should he put his towel back on and make his way
downstairs to ask where his clothes went?

Before he had time to think about doing that, he noticed two tall figures in his
doorway. Aunt Rose and Brooks, of course. His aunt was dressed in her yoga
workout clothes: a turquoise spaghetti-strap top that (again) showed off her midriff
and her nice but modest cleavage, and tight form-fitting white spandex workout
short-shorts that hugged her crotch and super-tight buns, revealing her
unbelievably long tan legs. She looked taller than ever, and her legs in
particular fascinated Timmy; such glistening pillars of perfection. Brooks,
however, was evidently going for a caculatedly trashy look, dressed in ripped
jeans and a leather jacket that was studded with rhinestones; she looked like she
was about ready to leave the mansion for the night and go back to her apartment.
Both women had annoyingly whimsical expressions on their faces. They said nothing
but just gazed down at Timmy with slight smiles, and this annoyed Timmy all the
more.

He boldly marched right up to them, not caring that he was naked and not caring
how silly he might have looked, a tiny little male marching up to two very tall
females like that. His aunt's head nearly touched the high doorframe. Brooks was
not as tall, but she still stood a good six feet, not counting the 3-inch
heels she was wearing, and her shoulders were very wide. It was a scary sight,
to be confronted by such women, especially when you're a little naked man who
has just come out of the shower, but Timmy faced them, his frustration giving
him a bit of courage. Or was it foolishness?

"Where are my clothes?!" he said in a tone that he knew would be considered
rude, but he no longer cared.

"Brooks took them down to wash them," his aunt calmly replied.

"Not those clothes," Timmy said impatiently. "You know what I mean. My real
clothes. My own clothes. My old clothes. You know what I mean! Stop playing
games with me!"

"Brooks has your dressings for the night and she was just returning with me to
place them on your bed before she left for the evening. That's when we heard
your horrid scream."

"We thought maybe you hurt yourself and needed help," Brooks added. "But here,
here are your clothes."

She shoved a fistful of fabric at him, a purple and pink blur. He took what she
offered and spread it to reveal some fuzzy pink sweatpants and a delicate purple
negligee.

"I'M NOT WEARING THESE, YOU CRAZY BITCHES!" he screamed and shoved the clothes
back towards the women. He turned and began to run back--where? There was
nowhere to go except back into his bathroom, and even in his distress he knew
how pathetic that would be, to go hiding in the bathroom. He ran to his window,
looked out at the night for a few pointless seconds, and then turned back around
in confusion.

The women had advanced further in. His aunt sat on his bed, and Brooks had
closed the door behind and was walking towards him, holding the pink sweatpants.

"Be a good little boy," Aunt Rose said, disarmingly calm, "and let Brooks dress
you for bed. Come on now, you're holding her up. She has to get home."

"It's not her job to dress me," Timmy said in a voice much quieter than he would
have liked it to be, but he was so exhausted and weak.

"Actually, uh, YES," Brooks replied arrogantly and stepped close to him, "IT
IS."

Timmy shot his aunt a quick glance, as much to say "It is?" as to say "Help me!"

But Aunt Rose just looked on as Brooks the maid began to manhandle Timmy. He put
his arms up to defend himself, but both twig-like arms fit very easily into just one
of Brooks' giant hands, and there was even room for her to keep carrying the
clothes as well. Timmy looked helplessly at his little arms held by Brooks'
mighty hands, her scary metallic purple fingernails dangerously close to his
delicate paper-thin skin. She smiled down menacingly at him, and her grip was so strong
that he knew that should she desire she could easily snap his arms like the tiny
branches of a sapling. He winced in pain and fear as she dragged him over to his
bed. He didn't even try to fight back, so scared was he of what she might do to
him if he resisted.

Brooks smiled wide and effortlessly hoisted Timmy up into the air, let go of his
now aching forearms, and bounced his little naked body onto the bed. He landed
next to the long shapely bare thighs of his aunt, who was still sitting there.
Disoriented, he tried to collect himself, looked up, and suddenly noticed that
Brooks' leather jacket wasn't zipped, and that she wore no shirt beneath it. It
looked as though all she was wearing under the jacket was a black leather bra.
This only further confused Timmy, at the worse possible time.

Both Aunt Rose and Brooks began to lay their hands on him. He flopped this way
and that, tried to roll himself away, and grunted in frustration.

"Timmy!" his aunt declared authoritatively. "If you continue to behave in such
an ill-mannered fashion, you will receive sound punishment the like of which
you've never undergone at the hands of such strict disciplinarian women! We are
both more than capable!"

"Shut up!" Timmy whined, still trying to struggle away though his aunt had
placed a firm hand on his back and was holding him face-down into his bed. "Shut
up! I don't care! I hate you!"

"That is ENOUGH from you! I do not tolerate outbursts such as this! Brooks will
now discipline you as I have instructed her!"

Timmy suddenly froze as he realized the precarious, hopeless situation that he
was in, especially now that the "shit was going to hit the fan". He felt two big
claws grab him--Brooks' hands--and cruelly turn him over in a dangerously harsh
jerking motion. Before he knew what was happening, Brooks was on top of him, the
shapely ass of her jeans pressing down on his crotch, and her imperious--but
still sexy--pug face sneering down at him. For a moment this view crystallized
itself, and the old cliché line "You're beautiful when you're angry" popped into
Timmy's head, a remembrance which at the moment only further distracted and
annoyed him.

The next thing he knew, it seemed as if they had switched places; now Brooks was
below him and he felt as if he were being lifted upside-down by one of his
thighs, which Brooks had wrapped one of her hands around. Then he was face-down
in Brooks' lap. Since she had always been in her maid's outfit before, he never
noticed that she had such bulging thighs, but there her big thighs were, covered
by her fashionably trashy ripped acid-wash jeans. Finally he oriented himself
mentally and realized that Brooks was simply sitting next to Aunt Rose on his
bedside; he was draped face-down across Brooks' lap and his face had suddenly
been rammed against the side of his aunt's bare thighs, which were not as
bulging as Brooks' but were longer and perhaps more shapely. Despite the
frenzied situation, he noted that his aunt's tanned skin felt nice and smooth
and warm against his cheek, and momentarily he thought that he'd much rather be
draped over her lap, if he had to be over anyone's; if he had to be punished,
he'd rather his aunt punished him. She didn't seem as mean and rough as Brooks.
And at least Aunt Rose was somewhat older than he was; Brooks was a few years
younger than him, a perception which added to the insult and shame of the whole
affair: quite something to live down, being beaten by a woman who was younger than you.

"You know what comes next, don't you?" a voice asked. In his alarm, he couldn't
even tell which female the voice belonged to. He winced and prepared for the
worse spanking of his life, the first spanking he had received in twenty years.

Instead, Brooks flipped his naked body over. At first he was relieved that he
wasn't actually going to get a spanking, but instantly a new horror began to
dawn on him as he instinctively raised his head and noticed that he had
developed another inappropriate, unwanted hard-on.

"Nnnn--!" he uttered, his thoughts a blur as Brooks' big left hand pressed on
his chest, holding him down and in place. She then brought her right hand up and
flashed it in front of his face, smiling down maliciously at him as she flexed
her hard-edged fingers for him. With her nail polish, they looked like five
purple-headed snakes, and they promised to prove just as deadly.

Suddenly Brooks shot her right hand down to Timmy's testicles and began to
squeeze and pinch. Timmy screamed. Brooks laughed, and Aunt Rose gently took one
of his frightened little hands in her big hands, gently massaging it and
intoning a low "Shhhhhh" sound.

First Brooks pinched Timmy's ballsack with her thumb and forefinger. Then she
placed his (inexplicably still hardening) penis in between two of her knuckles
and squeezed until Timmy ran out of breath screaming. Then she grabbed his
ballsack with her whole hand and simply crushed it, her nails digging into the
surrounding flesh. Then she grabbed the tip of Timmy's penis between her thumb,
fore, and middle fingers, and gave it a sharp, targeted three-pronged squeeze.
She then gripped Timmy's rigid little penis as if it were a joystick, yanked it
around a few times, very wildly, and then squeezed it so hard, digging her nails
in violently, to the point that Timmy was afraid she was going to slash his
member apart or dissect it from his body. She repeated this series of techniques
several times through.

The worst was when she methodically adjusted the length of his penis between her
thumb and the side of her index finger. "LOOK!" she barked at him, and Timmy
fearfully tilted his tearstained face up. He observed that Brooks' thumb, with
its creamy white skin and egg-shaped purple nail, was substantially longer,
thicker, and just plain bigger than his fully erect little penis. "SEE IT? SEE
HOW MUCH BIGGER I AM?" Brooks demanded authoritatively.

"Y-yeah," Timmy said
weakly.

"GOOD. NOW WATCH!" Between her thumb and the side of her index finger,
Brooks gave Timmy's little penis an insanely hard, sharp squeeze. Timmy threw
his head back and screamed louder than he ever suspected he could scream,
closing his eyes and trying with all his might to hopelessly wiggle out of the
situation, to no avail. Brooks did not let up on the pressure one bit, and
indeed she continued to press on further, a sadistic smile creeping ever wider
across her pretty face, the face of a streetwise modern young woman. The
underside of Brooks' thumbnail aligned with the tip of Timmy's penis, and she
took care to apply progressively intense pressure in that exact spot, crushing
the head of Timmy's penis and mashing it down as far as possible into the side
of her strong index finger, which caused Timmy the most pain he had ever felt in
his life.

By the end of it, Timmy had cried and screamed himself hoarse and had no idea
how much time had passed. The torture was too great. When it was over, he had
trouble even realizing it, having gotten accustomed to the thinking that there
was no way he would survive it. He shook nervously, like he had just suffered
longterm trauma. He was weak as a kitten and shivering with anxiety. He didn't
realize that he was being dressed for bed until Brooks pulled the waist up on
his new pink jam-jam bottoms. As Aunt Rose pulled the purple negligee over his
head and adjusted it he found himself taking great comfort in her continued
"Shhhhhh" sound. And he hugged her tight after she looked him in the eyes and
told him "I know, Timmy. I know. It's over now. It will be okay."

He had wrapped his arms around Aunt Rose's shoulders and was instinctively
moving onto her lap. He still shook neurotically. Meanwhile Brooks had turned on
his bedside lamp and had turned off the main room light.

"Okay. Okay. It's okay," Aunt Rose said to him, getting up off the bed and
carrying him in her long arms. He found himself wrapping his legs around her
chest and gripping her shoulders even tighter, obsessively. He pushed his little
face against her cheek and was about to kiss it when she told him: "I'm giving
you back to Brooks now--"

He panicked and began to fuss and cry wordlessly, exactly like a baby.

"NO, TIMMY, HUSH," his aunt said firmly but with no anger. "She's not going to
hurt you. She's done hurting you."

"Th-th-then what?" Timmy asked meekly, turning in Aunt Rose's grasp to look at
Brooks, who was holding out her brawny arms for him expectantly. She had taken
off her jacket and was dressed only in those ripped blue jeans and--just as he
suspected--a black leather bra. ("What is wrong with these women?" Timmy
thought, now able to think a bit clearly again.)

"You've had a big day," his aunt said. "A hard day. It had to be done. These are
just like birth pains. But you've got a LOT of anxiety, Timmy, I know."

"Y-yeah," Timmy said, and shivered one more time.

"Brooks is going to help you relieve some of that, sweetheart, so you can have a
good night's sleep."

Timmy was confused but docile. His aunt passed his little body over to Brooks,
and Timmy noted that the younger woman's embrace--her whole body, really--was a
lot harder than his aunt's was. Her body was a symphony of tight muscles and her shoulders and biceps looked particularly impressive. Brooks held him with one arm and pulled the
bedsheets down with the other. She calmly sat down on his bed again and placed
him in her lap.

"Nnnn!" Timmy uttered, beginning to become very fearful again.

"Timmy, hush," Brooks said. She guided her left hand underneath him, crept it
under his pink jammy pants and moved it down directly beneath his naked butt so
he was literally sitting in the palm of her big hand. With her right hand, the
hand that had destroyed him just a few minutes earlier, she approached the front
of his pants, slid her hand in, and grasped his aching penis, which was still
somewhat hard--only this time she grasped it much more gently, like it was a delicate injured little animal. Timmy moaned
uncertainly, half in overwhelming nervousness, half in relief.

With her smooth, hard right hand, Brooks fingered Timmy's penis delicately,
curiously, tapping it rhythmically, rubbing it affectionately, slowly running
the backside of her deadly nails along its length. Timmy moaned again and
gyrated his hips a bit.

With her other hand still under his butt, Brooks lifted Timmy up towards her
mouth. He stretched his head towards hers like a baby bird begging for food from
its mother. She smiled a big white smile and totally embraced his lips within
her much bigger mouth, sucking on the front of his face and lapping her tongue
first against his lips and then forcing it down his throat. Meanwhile she
continued to play with his penis and he continued to gyrate his hips more
insistently.

Suddenly, however, he felt that she was withdrawing her right hand from his
penis and taking it out of his pants. He moaned with dejection and gyrated his
hips in a bit of a tantrum. She kept his lips locked within hers as she guided
herself back onto his bed in a smooth, controlled motion. Now she was lying on
his bed and he was lying facedown on top of her. She stopped sucking his face,
smiled, gave him one more peck on the lips, and told him: "Little boy, time to
dry hump."

Timmy moaned again, resigned to something less than what he had begun to hope
for, but still in anticipation for some release. Through their clothes, he
humped Brooks' front side with much friction. Brooks had now placed both of her
hands under the backside of Timmy's pink pants, and she was squeezing Timmy's
butt and pinching it with her hard fingers, sometimes giving him sharp but
exciting little pains whenever she happened to pinch a bit of his flesh with
just her nails.

As orgasm approached, Timmy moaned like a little animal and sloppily kissed
Brooks' lower neck (which was where his shorter stature had placed his lips; his
little feet ending at Brooks' knees) until there was spit running down all over.
As he came in his pants, Brooks' clutched him to her very strongly and raised
her knees up to better envelop his spasmodic body. She squeezed him in every
conceivable way as he came.

And then his body seemed to deflate a bit, as he exhaled with enormous relief.
He breathed deeply again and audibly blew out a stomach-full of air, becoming
exhausted dead-weight lying atop of the much larger, still alert female form
below him. Brooks tilted her head up a bit and smirked down at the spent male
whose head happened to be using one of her boobs as a pillow.

After an all-too-brief ecstasy and the moment of silence, Brooks
guided Timmy's body under the covers. Through his pink pants, which now had a
little wet tent in them, she gave his shrinking cock a final, affectionate
squeeze in her mighty clawlike grip. This had the effect of smearing the
ejaculate around; and if Timmy had been more cognizant, the chill, moist
feeling would have embarrassed him. Then she pulled the covers up and over him,
gave him a peck on the cheek, said "See ya tomorrow, boy", collected her
jacket, tossed her head to the side to get a wisp of her dark hair out of her
eyes, and finally left the room to go walk the hard city streets back to her
apartment.

His aunt looked down at him, said the word "Adorable", turned off his lamp, and
left the room as well.

Timmy lay there, frozen in silence. Vaguely, he wondered what was going on. He
had never had so much intimate contact with so many different females, all in
one day, and yet the nature of the contact seemed to do nothing but challenge
his male ego and debase his already wounded self-esteem. Twenty-four hours ago,
if Timmy had been told that in the next day he would have been rubbed against,
washed, fondled, and masturbated by various females, all of them with sexy faces
and nice bodies, he would have been overjoyed and would have expected his libido
and confidence to receive some much-needed shots in the arm. But the events of
the day had played out in a vastly different manner, and instead of renewed
confidence he was left with unsettling questions.

Specifically, he wondered why Brooks and Aunt Rose hadn't changed his pants or
cleaned him off before they tucked him in. Focusing on this one issue, after a
time, exhausted as he was, he began to think that perhaps they wanted to--not
exactly shame him--but to leave him soaking in his own sperm as a way of proving
their dominance over him. Or rather of proving to him that they were dominant
over him. Maybe that would be a better way of wording it, he thought. When he
noted that his crotch was wet with his own messy come, did he not have to admit
the fact of women's dominance over him? For women had taken control of him,
manipulated him, and put him in this position, with all that it signified. A little dork who was more than happy to jizz all over himself and be tucked into bed by a younger woman who abused him and then called him "boy". He began to conclude after many minutes had passed that there was some logic at work, to train him--

Suddenly he became aware that he was not alone in the room. The door had cracked
open and, despite the darkness, he sensed that a figure had entered and was
standing over him. In the dim light he could tell that it was his aunt, for the
shadowy shape was exceptionally tall, slim, and it moved with grace. She wore
only a white bra and panties--were they not white, he would not have been able
to make them out. He still could not help but admire her body; maybe it was just
his
imagination augmenting all that it could in the darkness, but he was suddenly
very taken with the outline of the statuesque body he was seeing. This was a perfect goddess who had come to visit him.

His aunt bent down. "My little man," she said in a low voice.

("She must think I'm asleep," Timmy thought. "So I'll pretend to be. This is...
kind of weird." But it also, somehow, began to thrill him.)

She rubbed her nose gently against his cheek. She breathed on his ear, blew a
gentle breath on it, then kissed the ear, then licked it and giggled twice,
softly. It was the first time he had ever heard his aunt giggle that way. Usually she seemed far more stately, but for a moment she almost seemed girlish. Why?

Timmy was aware that his erection had returned. He was also aware that the front
of his pajama pants was very sticky, and his penis was probably stuck to his
pants in a way that would be very painful to separate. He toyed with the idea of
telling his aunt about this now, asking if she could help him with this
predicament, but decided not to. He could not help but squirm, however, when he
felt his aunt set her big hand on top of the covers in the spot directly above
his groin. She slowly gave that area a long hard stroke.

"You are mine to train and control. I'm going to make you into my nice little BABY," Rose Nordgren said to Timmy,
unknowingly lighting her nephew's mind on fire. "And then I'm going to give you
to the world. To prove that I can."

She gave him a long tender kiss directly on the lips before turning and leaving
the bedroom.

Timmy's mind began to race, but at the same time he felt as if his aunt's lips
had been laced with a sedative or something, because he coincidently began to
feel the pull to drift off to sleep. To fight both contrary impulses, he rolled
over on his stomach. He didn't want to think about Rose, but he still wanted
to try and set things right in his mind; he didn't want to go to sleep
yet, because he felt that in doing so he would lose the thread of his thoughts
forever, and he needed to make a stand now if he was ever going to have a chance
of winning his life back. He needed to figure out what exactly was happening to him, why and how. He needed to go over the clues in his mind now, while these formative experiences were still fresh.

But on his stomach he felt a renewed growing wetness. His come. He had gleefully
ejaculated in his pink pants simply because Brooks told him to, and because she
presented her luscious body for Timmy to dry-hump. As if he were a dog. But he
couldn't help it then, and he couldn't help it now, as his hands crept down
beneath him and he began to dry-hump the sheets. But it would be shameful to
think of Brooks, his torturer, again.

So as he began to masturbate he stopped thinking of Brooks and let a different
tall figure appear into his mind. An outline. Lithe and thin. So tall. It was
his Aunt Rose. No one else could be so tall and fit.--But, no, he decided, and
even though he was halfway sleeping now, halfway dreaming, he willfully forced a
change in his mental vision. He blurred out his aunt's face--continued to hump
the sheets, still feeling the wetness of his past ejaculate--but then the face
of the figure was replaced by... Sarah's face. It was not Sarah as she was now,
but Sarah as she would be maybe ten years from now, when she was fully grown. He
imagined her as tall as his Aunt Rose. He imagined her face as so adult, with
model-like features. The figure in his mind opened her arms to him, and in his
mind he jumped into them. He threw his arms around this grown-up (grown WAY up)
Sarah, and she put her hands under his butt, holding him up, and kissed him on
the cheek. He wrapped his legs around her and began to hump her body in mid-air. "I've got you, Timmy," the female vision told me. "You are safe and it is safe to come in me."

After a few moments, Timmy came again, in total ecstasy, soaking his crotch with
another round of wet ejaculate. His mind went blank and he fell asleep.


*****

He was awakened the next morning by a knock at his door. Before he could answer
it, Brooks walked in. She was wearing her maid's outfit again, but it was now
sleeveless. As Timmy's mind snapped into focus, the first thing he noted was how
big and solid (but still distinctly feminine) Brooks' biceps were. This was only
the second time he had ever seen her bare arms, the first being last night, and
last night they didn't look quite THIS big.

He sat up in bed.

"Sleep good?" Brooks asked, a hint of bad attitude in her voice letting Timmy
know that their current interaction could go either way for him, depending on
how cooperative he was going to be.

"Y-yeah," Timmy said, not wanting to rock the boat, with painful memories of
last night flashing back through his mind. From now on he knew: this young woman could totally destroy him.

"Good!" Brooks declared. "Now time to get up."

He noticed that she was carrying a clipboard, some clothes, and a few other
items that Timmy couldn't make out yet. She set them all down behind her and
bent over Timmy's bed. He became self-conscious and moved his body under the
covers in an indistinct manner, making it look like perhaps he was preparing to
rise but also wanting to just put his head under and disappear.

"Timmy, get up. When I say it's time for you to get up--you get right up.
Promptly. Not like a scared little baby who doesn't know what he wants to do."

Brooks' remark shamed Timmy. He sunk his head down, crawled out from the covers
and stood next to her on the floor. He looked down and into the corner of the
room, not wanting to meet her cold, evaluative gaze or acknowledge their size disparity.

"Okay, COME on," Brooks said as she put her hands (gloved again) on Timmy's
shoulders and guided the spaghetti straps of his negligee over his head. He
cooperated, lifting his arms up so that she could take the garment off him,
revealing his bare, thin little chest. Then she turned her attention to Timmy's
pink pants.

"Do you want to remove them or shall I?" she asked placidly.

Timmy hesitantly brought his small hands up to his waistband and began to pull
his pants down. Before he had gotten very far, he sensed that his penis was most
definitely stuck. It had been plastered to the fabric by his dried come.

"Um," he said, and Brooks knew exactly what the problem was.

"I thought so," she said. "And you probably came again in the middle of the night, didn't you? Like the horny little comebot you are."

Brushing aside Timmy's little hands, she moved her big white gloved hands into
position.

"Okay, think happy thoughts, little man," she said. Timmy closed his eyes. A
moment later he felt a single second of sharp, excruciating pain as Brooks
yanked his pants down to the floor with a single thrust, as if she were
performing a magic trick. As a result, his raw penis bobbed up and down a few
times before settling.

"Hm," she said, looking at his dick. "Let's see it. Did I leave any marks or
booboos?"

Timmy obediently reached down and turned his penis all around so they could
inspect it. He was surprised that the punishment she'd given him last night
hadn't left any scarring. Her nails had felt so hard and sharp, and she had dug
them right in so viciously. There were some slight marks and shallow gouges in
his shaft, but amazingly the skin hadn't been pierced. There were a lot of
bruises, however. His penis looked beaten and swollen. But the organ did not
appear to have been as destroyed and decimated as he felt it had been. His
sense of manhood was evidently more injured than his manhood itself.

"Hm," Brooks said thoughtfully. "Not that bad."

She reached behind her to retrieve a tube of antibiotic ointment.

"This will help soothe you. It's got aloe and menthol in it too."

Timmy's mind, still sleepy, began to process and anticipate what apparently was
about to happen. He still had great reservations about Brooks, and did not like
her new position as his ersatz governess--but he most definitely and eagerly
began to anticipate her rubbing that ointment onto his testicles.

Brooks removed her white gloves and he saw the powerful bare hands that had done
so much to him the previous night. The purple nail-polish had been removed,
however, and replaced with a shiny black polish that had little silver sparkles
in it. Timmy began to harden as he imagined those hands methodically working the
cooling salve deep into his aching dick and nuts.

She squirted a golfball-sized mound of ointment into her palm and held it out to
Timmy. Timmy stood on his tiptoes and stretched towards her eagerly and rigidly.
But she made no further movement and just continued to hold her palm out towards
Timmy.

She snickered, then said "What? I'm not going to do it for you. Here." She
thrust her upturned palm towards Timmy again.

With visible disappointment Timmy sunk back down, dropped his shoulders, and
hesitantly scooped some of the ointment from Brooks' big palm onto his little
baby hands.

"Rub it in good," she instructed him. He did so, and just as Brooks predicted
the aloe and menthol ingredients had an exhilarating effect on Timmy's wounded
member.

"That feel good?" Brooks asked.

"Yeah..." he said, silently noting that it would have felt even better if it was
being administered to him by a young woman like Brooks. Of course, he had a
raging hard-on by this point.

"I bet it does feel good." She began seemingly to pose for him provocatively.
She put a hand on her hip and thrust her chest out. She shot him sexy glances.
She licked her lips hungrily. "Don't forget to rub it into your little ballsack.
I did quite a number on that too."

Rock hard, he scooped the remaining mass of ointment onto his hands, squatted
and bent his knees a bit so he could get better access, and like a little monkey
began rubbing his scrotum as his greasy penis strained upwards toward the heavenly figure above him.

"Good job," Brooks said when he was done. "Now go wash your little hands off."

He obeyed, going into his private bathroom. While soaping up, he looked at
himself in the full-length mirror. He didn't know what was happening to him. His
usual instincts told him to grab a towel and wrap it around his waist. His
deeper instincts simply told him to go back into his bedroom and, like a horny
puppy, just start trying to hump Brooks' legs right then and there. He wanted
release again.

Instead he simply returned to his bedroom, naked as he left, and saw that Brooks
had placed a portable scale in his room, a model complete with a tall vertical
bar meant for measuring height. She began to write and mark the date on her
clipboard.

"Okay, Timmy," she said in a no-nonsense professional manner, not looking at him
while she was writing notes. "This is what we have to start doing every month.
Please step on."

"Um," Timmy said, but slowly and uncertainly stepped on the scale.

He and Brooks both watched the numbers below whirr by.

"One hundred..." Brooks announced, "No, wait... Oh, okay: One hundred pounds...
and a quarter. One-zero-zero-point-two-five." She noted the figure on her
clipboard. Only 100.25 lbs.

Timmy had been under the impression that he weighed a good 105 lbs. He thought
back, though, and couldn't remember the last time he had weighed himself. And,
besides, he was completely naked right now. Probably when he weighed himself the
last time he was wearing clothes. And clothes could weigh five pounds, easily.
So that must be the explanation.

Next Brooks began to adjust the height tab.

"Okay, Timmy. Stand up nice and tall for me."

Timmy hated moments like this. He thought about standing on his tiptoes, but the
idea came to him too late, and it probably wasn't a good idea to try cheating
with a girl like Brooks around. She was too indomitable and strict. She seemed very serious about this process, and if Timmy tried cheating and she caught him, she'd probably beat him up.

"Jeesh," Brooks said dismissively to herself as she finished measuring, fixing
the horizontal tab so it just touched the very top tip of Timmy's head. "Five
foot... and three-quarters of an inch."

"What?!" Timmy squawked.

"Five-zero-and-three-slash-four," Brooks recited as she marked down the
measurement. "A full FOOT shorter than me."

"No!" Timmy protested.

"See for yourself," she said, a sly smile creeping across her face.

Timmy stepped back and looked up at the lines on the device. Sure enough, the
bar only set at 5'0.75". It was actually closer to the 2/3 inch mark, but Brooks
had read it wrong--or perhaps she had been generous--in saying that it was more
like 3/4s of an inch. Timmy didn't like this one bit.

"Hey, don't be sad," Brooks said as he stepped off the scale. She crouched down
to look him in the eye. She actually crouched down so low that she had to look
up at him. "If you're a good little boy, things will work out all right."

"Yeah..." Timmy said, unsure how to respond because he was unsure what she
exactly meant. He looked down and away, into the corner again.

"Can I have a kiss?" Brooks asked suddenly, and turned her cheek to face him,
pointing to a spot on it with her big, black-nailed index finger.

Timmy leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Aw, that's my special boy," Brooks said, and Timmy thought he could detect a
hint of sarcasm in her voice, but wasn't sure. She stood back up to her full
height, which Timmy realized was about 14 or 15 inches higher than his own,
since she was wearing heels. Meanwhile he was barefoot. ("Too bad boys
don't wear high heels," Timmy thought morosely. "I could actually use them. And
I estimated she was about 6-foot even, but I guess she's closer to 6'1". Why do
I always seem to underestimate women while overestimating myself?" he wondered,
cursing his default male egocentrism.)

"Okay, one more thing," Brooks said, turning back to her clipboard and writing
down a few more notes. Timmy wished he could know what she was writing. She
looked down again, paused, crouched and set her eyes on his penis. It was still
quite erect, but not fully. She slowly brought her right hand close to it,
paused, then tapped the head of his penis with the tip of her index finger,
making a "Boop!" sound as she did so. Then she stood back up again, wrote down a
final note and turned to Timmy.

"Okay, that's it for this month," she said with a smile. "Now you can put on
some nice new clothes and join your aunt for breakfast. It's going to be curds
and whey for you this morning. Yum."

"Yeah," he said, still unsure of himself. ("Good for a growing boy like me," he
thought, with annoyance.)

Brooks left, her modest heels clicking on the way out, and he turned to examine
the clothes she had left on his bed. A pink halter top. Red lacy panties. And a
white skirt with vertical ribbed folds all around it. He put on the clothes--
What else could he do?--and left his room to go have breakfast.

*****

The next couple weeks passed--unbelievably for Timmy--without any major
incidents. It helped matters immensely that Timmy neither tried to leave the
mansion nor was bidden by his aunt to accompany her outside. Despite the changes
in his dress-code, the fourteen days that followed seemed quite like the first
three months Timmy had spent with his aunt. He ate the vegetarian food that she
had selected for him. He still lazed around the house, ambitionless, watching TV
and reading magazines. Brooks still cooked and cleaned for him, although she did
treat him in a slightly sterner manner than was proper for a servant. But things
were relatively normal. Every now and then Aunt Rose, or sometimes Brooks, would
make a passing remark to "the change" that had been instituted, "the change"
that Timmy was presumably undergoing, but aside from the assortments of pansy
clothes that were laid out for him each morning, Timmy was pleased to find an
utter sameness in his existence.

He had, of course, thought about how he could ever leave the house again, after
all of his old clothes had been confiscated. He made steps toward solving this
problem by ordering a new ensemble of clothes online. He ordered some real
clothes for himself, clothes for a young man; he did not skimp on expenses,
either. He had some money saved away, and since he didn't pay rent and his aunt
bought all of his vegetarian cuisine, he felt it was time to splurge. He ordered
some nice $80 fitted button-up shirts, $100 khaki pants, $90 stylish jeans, $200
suede-leather boots with zippers on the side, a $50 leather belt, a nice winter
hat and gloves, a nice winter jacket, and even a tiny container of cologne. He
took his chances, ordered the clothes and had them shipped right to his aunt's
mansion. And, as luck would have it, on a certain morning a week or so later,
his aunt had left for the day and Brooks was busy doing laundry when the
delivery man dropped the large package off. Timmy hurriedly brought the box up
to his room, not without difficulty, and hid it under his bed. He didn't know
when he would work up the courage to leave his aunt's mansion again, but now at
least he had proper clothes in which to be seen in public.

Later that evening, he tried on the pair of new leather boots--new MENS leather
boots--and found that they fit him well enough, without him stuffing them with
tissue paper. For whatever reason, perhaps because his aunt had shamed him so in
the shoe store a few weeks ago, he consigned himself to order a smaller, more
appropriate size--in part because the boots themselves had a 1-inch heel, and that was adequate compensation in his mind. As long as he
was more than a smidgen over the 5-foot mark--that was the important thing. He
still wished he was taller, however, and the recent revelation that he was
actually shorter than he had thought he was stuck in his craw.

He even mentioned this issue to Brooks and his aunt one day, when they were all
having lunch. (Yes, the maid was allowed to eat with them now, even though she
ate such large pieces of meat, which Timmy always eyed longingly.) The two women
were admiring each other's shoes, Brooks' new red pumps with their 3-inch heels,
and Aunt Rose's new black thigh-highs with their 4.5-inch heels. Timmy
involuntarily sighed during their discussion. They turned to him and asked what
the matter was.

"Heh," he said. "Well, it's just that... neither of you need heels. If anyone
does, it's me. But--" he hurriedly added, "that's not an invitation to force me
into high heels or platforms!"

Both Brooks and Aunt Rose smiled at him good-naturedly. They all had a bit of a
laugh together, Timmy included. His aunt then gave a brief speech about how she
simply liked the style of high heels and how they made her feel elegant and
confident. Brooks agreed with her sentiments, adding "I just think wearing heels
is HOT", and then she asked Timmy, in a serious
manner, "Your height really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Well," Timmy began. "Yeah, I guess it does. Between the two of you I feel...
just like I'm nothing. And when you're in heels like that, it's just like it
adds insult to injury."

This provoked an "Awww!" from both women. Aunt Rose said she couldn't believe
how insensitive they were being. Timmy quickly told her not to worry about it,
that it wasn't her fault, and that he didn't seriously think their wearing heels
around him was a deliberate dig. At this, Brooks and his aunt exchanged a smile.

The conversation concluded when his aunt pushed her empty plate away from her,
stood up to her full 6'11.5" (in heels) height, and walked away while informing
Timmy: "Well, if you ever would like
to go for some heels to improve your height, just let me know. The stores we got
your new wardrobe from do sell heels for little people--including little boys."

Nothing more was said on the subject, and in the following days Aunt Rose and
Brooks both continued to clomp around the mansion in their fabulous heels. It
did not annoy or intimidate Timmy TOO much. They were already so much taller than him anyway.

Meanwhile, though he hid it, and though no other physical interactions had
occurred between them, Timmy was developing quite a crush on Brooks. Several
times a day he remembered the night in which she punished him and then allowed
him to dry-hump her. He replayed the events over and over in his mind,
especially when he masturbated in his room or in the shower. He remembered how
she totally destroyed and belittled his cock, and then how she stroked it and
allowed him to take pleasure by pathetically dry-humping her.

When Brooks got a new haircut--even shorter than before--Timmy did everything he could to
compliment her on it and let her know how good she looked. It had been very long
since Timmy had fawned over a girl this way, but all of his efforts went for
naught. Brooks would still have conversations with him, but whenever his
utterances approached flirtation territory, Brooks seemed to put up a wall,
mutter a "Thanks" in exchange for Timmy's compliment, and then proceed to return
to "maid" mode, and exit the room with a dirty dish or something. Usually the response was "Thanks" but once it was "Yeah, I know I'm super hot; I got it" and Timmy didn't compliment her again after that.

One night, very late, when he was sure that his aunt was sleeping and that
Brooks had left to return to her apartment, Timmy snuck into the lounge room
that was kept for Brooks in the mansion. This was where she rested and hung out
during the day, when she didn't have any housekeeping duties to perform. There
was a cot in the room, but as far as he knew Brooks never spent the night here.
Maybe she had napped in it a few times. Timmy, dressed only in his little pink
silk panties, imagined Brooks' gigantic, athletic form curled up on the
relatively small cot before him. There was also a couch, a desk, a coffee table
and a small refrigerator in the room. Timmy hurriedly checked the fridge. He was
disappointed to find that it contained nothing that he could get away with
stealing. Sure enough, there were several meat products here, but the package of
microwavable chicken wings had not yet been opened. And there was a big stick of
beef jerky, but only one of them. Brooks would know if anything was missing, and
she knew that he was the only one in the house who would have had deigned to eat
meat. There was a half-full 20 oz. bottle of Pepsi there, however. Timmy twisted
the cap off, put it up to his lips and licked and sucked the mouth of the
bottle, imagining how Brooks' big mouth had been around the same piece of
plastic. He took a small swig of soda, hoping that perhaps some of her saliva
was in it, and then put the bottle back.

On the desk he found a framed picture of what looked to be Brooks, her mother
and father. Her mother was quite a bit shorter than she was, though the facial
resemblance was there; so her mother was not unattractive. Brooks' father wore
sunglasses and a baseball cap, and looked to be around 5'8". So the daughter was
the tallest one in the family, taller than her two parents, one on either side
of her in the picture, and she had her long hands around their shoulders. Timmy
wondered what it was like when Brooks outgrew her parents. She probably outgrew
her mother when she was in grade school. Her father she probably outgrew when
she was in junior high at the latest. Timmy imagined a teenage
Brooks Fraser, feeling her oats and yearning to run the streets at night and
claim whatever sort of fun she might get into; no way could her smaller parents
have held her back. Timmy wondered how a daughter could grow so much taller than
both her parents. But it was not an unusual occurrence; it was happening fairly
often now. Boys had always often outgrew both their parents; and as often as not
girls would outgrow their mothers. But now for the first time in history, a not
insubstantial percentage of girls were outgrowing their dads as well. The exact
statistics of this were of course impossible to come by, but everyone nowadays
was slowly becoming aware of this new emerging state of affairs.

Timmy held the framed picture and noticed that when it was taken Brooks' dark
hair was much longer. It was long and wavy. Timmy instinctively liked it better
that way. He liked the incredibly short haircut she had now, too, even though he
had grown up thinking of girls with short haircuts as "dykes". But there was
something about a female with such long flowing hair. So few women let their
hair grow long anymore. Things were changing, styles were changing and women
were changing with them. He was insanely attracted to the Brooks he got to see
everyday in her maid costume, but just for a moment he wished that he could have
known the younger Brooks as she appeared in the picture, for in her earlier days
Brooks seemed more conventionally feminine in a way that made Timmy feel safe and
secure in his masculinity.

He had developed a raging hard-on, however, and he needed to do something about
it. He grabbed some tissues from the desk, set the framed photo on the side of
the cot, got down on the sheets, and began to masturbate away, imagining again
that Brooks' big body had once slept in this very spot. He wished she was there now to sleep on top of him. He would have loved to feel her big body crushing down upon him. He looked at the
photograph as he wanked. Would he ever really get to have sex with her? He sure
wanted to. Would he ever really get to have sex with anyone again? He came while
focusing on Brooks' lips, which in this picture were drawn up into a twisted,
sneering smile and were painted a dark purple. He wanted her to rule him.

*****

Two Sundays after getting the invitation, Timmy decided to take Martha Thollen
up on her offer. He wanted to visit the woman. He would dress in his new
clothes, the MENS clothes that he had ordered and hidden under his bed, and he
would sneak out of the house when Brooks wasn't looking and when his aunt wasn't
around, and he would go to the Thollens' house and visit Martha.

The idea excited him. Even though he saw two somewhat younger, much taller,
sexier women every day, he still liked the idea of seeing middle-aged Martha.
Especially if he could do it, well, as a man: as someone who was in charge of his own life and didn't need to ask permission or be dressed in a certain way to meet bizarre feminist demands.

He knew this trip was against his aunt's wishes. And that, actually, excited him all
the more.

On Sunday afternoon he snuck a portable phone into his room (since he didn't
have a cellphone anymore) and dialed the Thollens' number. He hoped to God that
little
Sarah wouldn't answer. He had almost forgotten about her. One of the reasons he
wanted to go to see Martha was to finesse his way out of having to attend
Sarah's birthday party, which was just in a few weeks now.

"Hello?" a female voice answered. It was Martha.

"H-i!" his voice was too loud and it cracked a bit. But he couldn't help it--he
was excited. "Um, h-hi, this is Timmy."

"...Timmy! How delightful for you to call!"

It actually warmed his heart, how Mrs. Thollen carried on. The pretentious
traits that sometimes annoyed him about his aunt, similar things had always
amused him when they came from Mrs. Thollen.

"Oh, yeah, well--"

"Sarah and I were just talking about you the other day! She is very much excited
for you to attend her Sweet Thirteen party!"

"Uh, yeah, that's great, um--" He didn't want to get into this now. He didn't
want to disappoint Martha before he had even been able to pay her a social call
and get out of his aunt's house for once.

"But I hope you won't wait till then to grace me with that private visit you
promised me!"

"Yeah! Um, that's actually what I was calling about," Timmy said. Mrs. Thollen
had done his work for him. He didn't even have to ask. She was anxious for him
to visit her. On a lark, Timmy hoped she was anxious for something more.

"We-e-ell..." Martha mused. "I sup-POSE I might let you visit me tomorrow, in
the afternoon, say?"

"That sounds good!" Timmy said happily.

"Sarah will be gone at school and then at ballet practice, and we'll have the
house to ourselves. For grown-up talk."

"That sounds great," Timmy repeated.

"O-kay!" Martha Thollen's voice said brightly. "So I'll see you tomorrow, around
2:45, say?"

"Yes, yes, sounds good," Timmy said, trying to contain his excitement.

But if you would have told him, a year or even a month ago, that he would be so
excited about visiting one of his parents' old friends, a middle-aged woman whom
he had never considered particularly attractive, or particularly interesting
(although he supposed she wasn't THAT bad), he would not have believed it. How
did he ever get into this lowly position where such a social call could have
become so looked-forward-to, as if it could in someway be his salvation? And
yet, there he was.

*****

It wasn't difficult for Timmy to escape his aunt's mansion. He simply walked out
the door. His aunt--as he had predicated--had left for the afternoon. She was
going to have lunch with whatever ritzy society people she wanted to impress
this time, and then she was going on another shopping expedition to purchase
some more modern "art". She would be gone until the evening. And Brooks was busy
cleaning the pool, the patio, and subsequently she had told his aunt that she
was going to lie in the sun, just as his aunt did sometimes, even though it was
still winter. Momentarily Timmy did think of cancelling his visit. After all,
the chance to see Brooks in a bikini (if she was going to wear a bikini and not
just sun herself in her maid's outfit) was very appetizing. There would be other
opportunities, however, he was sure of it. And taking into account the slightly
chill manner in which Brooks had been treating him as of late, she might not
consent to allow him in her presence while she sunned herself anyway. So he closed the door of his
room, and hoped that would be enough to make it look like he was in there and
did not wish to be disturbed. That in and of itself meant nothing. But he had
hid in his room like that before, many afternoons for hours on end, and neither
his aunt nor the maid had been the wiser.

He got a good night's sleep before the big day, and in the morning he
scrutinized his face in the bathroom mirror. He had planned to shave, but upon
reflection saw that he didn't really need to. It had been almost a week since he
had last shaved, and he had assumed that on this Sunday he'd be showing more
stubble than he liked. But, strangely, he didn't have all that much facial hair
growth. Still, he decided to give himself a fresh shave for the occasion. Why not.

After lunch he splashed some of his new cologne on, put on his new clothes,
looked in the mirror, considered himself "dashing", and dashed out the door
carrying a backpack with some of his pansy clothes in it, which he hid in the
hedges outside his aunt's mansion. On the way back, once he had returned to his
aunt's grounds, he planned to change back into the femmy clothes that he was
expected to wear. There was no way of telling whether or not he could get back
to his room without someone seeing him, so, though he hated to take the pansy
clothes with him, he thought it was a good precaution.

It was a chillingly cold January day, and quite windy. He took the bus to the
Thollens' house. Along the way, he simply enjoyed being in society again,
especially since he was dressed normally. This was the first time he had been
out and about in two weeks, and it was also the first time he had worn normal
clothes again.

He was elated. From a street vendor he purchased a dozen pink roses for Martha,
remembering that pink was her favorite color and that roses were her favorite
flower. This wasn't exactly a "date" that he was going on--he was sure that Mrs.
Thollen didn't view it as such, either--but he thought the gesture couldn't
hurt.

He was in a great mood and was feeling really confident. Whatever would or
wouldn't happen, he was ready and willing for any and all of it. It just felt so
good for him to be out in society again, dressed as a grown man and away from
the watchful eyes of his aunt and the bullying maid. Finally, he felt like he
was in a position of at least moderate power over his own life. But he rang the
Thollens' doorbell and a second later, after the door opened, he found himself
staring directly into a gigantic pair of breasts wrapped in a fuzzy red sweater.
The shock instantly sapped away a good deal of his confidence, at least
temporarily.

He instinctively stepped back, looked up, then down, then up again. It was
indeed Martha who stood before him and, no, she wasn't wearing platform heels,
nor was the doorstep all that high off the ground. He stood there, dumbstruck,
his mouth gaping at the smiling figure before him. Martha was dressed in what
seemed like a makeshift Santa outfit. She wore a Santa hat, under which her
toothy grin beamed down at him ("Like a cracked Mad Hatter grin," Timmy
thought.) Her shoulder-length dirty blonde hair contrasted nicely with her red
sweater, which was so tight that her jutting boobs looked more like a thick
shelf. Beneath the red sweater she wore a matching red skirt with white trim at
the bottom. Between the skirt and sweater was a wide black belt with a big
square buckle. She also wore what seemed to be green leggings that were slightly transparent, and on her feet
were nice black leather boots with modest but chunky two-inch heels.

"Timmy! COME IN!" Martha Thollen said, evidently elated.

He followed her through the doorway and stood in the Thollens' warm entryway. He
had forgotten how cold it was outside and now he began to be enveloped in nice
heat that, he feared, might soon turn oppressive, especially if he became
socially uncomfortable. But he forcefully put those nervous thoughts out of his
mind, and handed Martha the pink roses he had brought.

"For me?" she said coquettishly, taking them with one hand. "Oh you little dear!" She snaked
her other hand around Timmy and with her forearm she hooked him towards her,
into a hug. His face mashed against the side of a boob. It was a noticeably long
embrace. A few seconds in, Timmy thought to bring his arms up to hug Martha
back; he couldn't see anything, but his hands naturally seemed to find their way
to Martha's buttocks, as if caught in the gravitational pull of a huge shapely double-bubble planet. Her butt felt firmer than he thought it'd feel, even through
her skirt and layers; but most of all he was impressed by the size. It felt even bigger than it looked. He
couldn't exactly wrap his arms around her; each respective hand only reached the
midway point of her ballooning buttocks. He had always considered Martha Thollen
to be a "fat-bottomed lady"; her body-type wasn't his favorite, but he had begun
to think that he definitely could get into to it. His face immersed in her
bosom, he began to feel smothered. "What if I can't breathe?" he wondered. "She
really could kill me this way if she wanted. Heh. I mean honestly, I could not stop her." But no sooner had the thought
crossed his mind than Martha let him go. He took a few steps backwards to steady
himself and catch his breath.

"Let me put these in a vase," Martha said and walked away, her still-smiling
vision fixated on the roses.

"Damn," Timmy thought. "She's still so... cracked or something. Like she doesn't
quite know how she's acting but is just so... over-socialized or something.
Still, wow, what an outfit she's wearing. She's crazy for wearing something like
that... but I like it."

His eyes wandered and he took note of all of the framed pictures on the entryway
wall. He had seen most of them before. He remembered this house well and it
hadn't changed much since he last saw it some years ago when he had been hired
to babysit Sarah.

He suddenly saw some tiny penciled markings on the corner of a wall. A height
chart. Sarah's height chart. He instinctively honed in on the highest mark. He
was afraid, but he had to know exactly how tall she was. Way up, next to the
topmost horizontal pencil mark it read: "Sarah age 12 yrs. & 11.5 mos. –
5'9.6"!" This chilled him. "She's over five-nine!" he exclaimed silently in his
mind. "And, the date--her birthday's in just two weeks, so--she must've just
marked that very recently. And it's so like Sarah to write something like that,
with all of the 'point' numbers. I just saw her two weeks ago, though--she
didn't look five-nine then! Tall, yes, but--wow, five-nine. Over five-nine.
Closer to five-ten!" He squirmed nervously and began to really fear the idea of
having to attend this young girl's birthday party. He had to figure out a way of
getting out of that, but at the moment he was simply locked in a state of
dreadful apprehension.

Martha had returned without his realizing it. He was still gazing up at the
height chart when she silently came up behind him and placed her hands gently on
his shoulders. He jumped with a shock, quickly turned around and faced her, or
rather faced the upper part of her chest. Martha giggled and again placed her
hands--which were actually relatively small compared to the rest of her body,
and had nice clean, close-cropped nails--on his shoulders.

"Ah, a little jumpy?" she mused rhetorically. "Yes, Sarah has sure shot up in
height, hasn't she?"

"Y-yeah," Timmy said, unsure of where this was going and not wanting to discuss
Martha's daughter right now. "You, um, you seem taller than I remember too," he
offered.

"Hm. Yes. Well," Martha said coyly. "I'll tell you about that in a little bit.
First of all"--she stepped back--"What do you think of my Santa outfit?" She
smiled her crackpot smile again and raised one of her hands up to her Santa hat,
to hold the white ball vertically upwards.

"You look great," Timmy said. "I was shocked, I mean..."

"I know that Christmas is passed. And, we're Jewish anyway. But we still
celebrate Christmas for the presents and the festivities."

("Yup," Timmy thought. "Same Mrs. Thollen. If it involves buying things, eating
sweets, and making a big public deal of something--she's there. And I know for a
fact that she's only half-Jewish, at most, and doesn't practice any religion.
But calling herself Jewish is just another social marker for her to revel in.
She can be such a busybody. But, what a body...")

"So," she continued. "I thought I might do the best I could and dress up like
Santa and surprise you. Now follow me in and let's sit down and have a chat.
Because we're long overdue."

Timmy followed her. He was glad that she didn't make him take her hand like Rose would have. He
remembered all of the long conversations he had had with Mrs. Thollen during the
era when he would babysit Sarah. Mrs. Thollen would return home from a cocktail
party somewhere, would be somewhat tipsy (though not shamefully so) and would
insist that he stay an extra 30 to 60 minutes. Sarah would have been in bed by
then, usually, and Mrs. Thollen would ask Timmy all about his hopes for the
future and what he wanted to do after college. She also engaged him on the
topics of art, literature, and politics. Timmy always thought that Martha's
views were predictable and silly in a way that was distinctively feminine--in
his somewhat prejudiced opinion, anyway--but still he couldn't say that he
didn't enjoy discussing serious matters with an adult woman. He had never
thought of her sexually, but, at the moment, while watching her big hips and
bigger buttocks sway back and forth, chest-level to him as they walked into
her den, his thoughts eagerly turned in that direction. She was undeniably
quite attractive now.

"I've taken the liberty of pouring us some wine," she said as they passed a
counter on which two glasses stood. Timmy took a glass when Martha's pretty pale
hand offered it to him. And he stared at the dark liquid monotonously as Martha
went on an altogether too long monologue about what sort of wine it was, how she
learned about it, how she acquired it, and what she thought of all of the snobs
and shopkeepers who had anything to do with her knowledge and acquisition of
this particular bottle of wine. Timmy didn't care about wine, but he'd drink it.
Wine in the afternoon with a lonely spinster dressed as Santa Claus (without the
beard, thankfully) and who happened to have a great--and great big--ass. Sure,
he'd indulge as much as fate would allow his afternoon. Why not.

"But I'm probably boring you," Martha said--the first words of hers he had paid
attention to in a few minutes. "Here, let's drink up." She held her glass aloft
and began to make a toast, or at least tried to. "To..." she began. "To...", but
the words weren't coming to her.

"To lovely Jewish women who dress up like Mrs. Claus," Timmy offered, taking a
chance. How awkward.

She laughed. "And to the boys who visit them on cold wintry afternoons!" She
clinked her glass with his and they drank up.

Still holding him up at the counter where the wine was, Martha immediately
launched into a verbal interrogation of Timmy. Where had he been? What had he
been doing with his life? She was sorry about his parents dying. She was very
sorry and had thought of him so much. Was he doing okay? Did he like his aunt?
Did he like living with her? Did he know her all that well beforehand? Where had
she come from? Was he thinking of going back to college ever? Did he know how
smart she always thought he was? Did he mind her saying that she thought he
should do more with his life?

Amazingly, this conversation did not annoy Timmy in the slightest. He was
actually glad to talk about these things with someone. These were topics and
questions that Timmy had long felt much anxiety about, but in truth the answers
to them were rather simple. Even if he didn't know where he was going next in
life, or when he was going, still he could feel much comfort in giving an
account of his recent status.

Most of all, he was so grateful to finally find himself in conversation with a woman who cared about what he had to say and who seemed interested in his feelings. Martha didn't want to control Timmy or tell him what to think. Martha seemed to respect him. In just a few short minutes, this did wonders for his self-esteem and made him feel better about himself than he'd felt in many months.

The minutes flew by and Martha refilled their wine glasses a second and a third
time. Absentmindedly, Timmy began to lean against the counter. Though he was
small and weighed little, he could hold his alcohol quite well. So he wasn't
drunk or anywhere near it, but he was quite relaxed.

"Oh poo," Martha said, finding that the bottle of wine was empty. "Well I
suppose we've had enough for the moment anyway. And--look at this, how rude of
me--I've kept you standing all this time! Come this way, please, Timmy, and
let's sit down."

"Oh, okay," Timmy said, following her--and she DID grab his hand this time. "But
I've been fine standing, Mrs. Thollen, so don't worry about not--"

By this time she had led him toward a corner of the den, right next to a roaring
fireplace. There was only one chair, however: a big overstuffed leather
recliner.

"Um, where will you sit?" Timmy asked, as Martha paused.

"Why, in the chair," she responded, looking down at him with amusement.

"And where do you want me to...?"

Suddenly Martha walked over and sat down with a dramatic, exhausted sigh. She
smiled at Timmy--even sitting she was almost eye-level with him--then patted her
thighs with the green tights on them.

"Come sit on Santa's lap, little boy, and tell her just what you want."

Timmy was embarrassed, but his dick sprang to attention.

"Unless," she added, "you'd prefer we switch places so I can sit on your lap.
But I don't think that would work as well, since your teensy boy body might get
lost under my bottom."

He furtively crept over and pulled himself onto Martha's lap, unsure what to
say.

"Now," Martha began, looking down at him in an almost motherly fashion. "First
thing's first. A few moments ago you called me a naughty name."

"I-I did?" Timmy asked. He suddenly hoped that this lapsitting session wasn't
going to turn into a spanking session.

"Yes. You called me 'Mrs.', 'Mrs. Thollen.'. That's not what you call me
anymore. You know that."

"Oh, r-right," Timmy said. "M-Martha. I call you Martha now."

"Yesh!" she said, and snuggled him close to her, the big red "shelf" of boobs
covering Timmy's torso, its expanse reaching down to his crotch as he sat
sideways on her lap.

("Should I start trying to make out with her?" he asked himself. "Should I start
playing with her sweater? With anyone else, I'd know for sure that she wanted me
to go for it. But Mrs. Thollen is so cracked. She always kind of treats people
as if we were all precocious children or something--herself included. She kinda
acts like a precocious child herself. No wonder Sarah has acted the way she
always has--I... I'm not sure what to do here.")

"There is a rule for sitting on my lap, however," Mrs. Thollen declared in a
mock-serious tone.

"W-what?" Timmy asked hesitantly. He hoped the rule was that he had to help her
take off her sweater so he could start sucking her big basketball tits.

"You must take off your shoes or boots," she replied.

"Oh, o-okay."

Timmy reached down and undid his expensive new boots. He'd be losing an inch of
height now. He noted that she had left her boots on. ("Not fair," he thought.
"But, then again, everything involving these women nowadays isn't fair. They
just dictate the rules as they want and we--or at least *I*--have to obey.")

"That's a good boy," she said after his second boot had dropped unceremoniously
to the carpet below. Then she promptly brought her head down next to his and
gave him a peck on the cheek. This confused him but did instantly put him in a
better mood. Her cheek felt soft against his. He wondered why she didn't just
kiss him on the lips already, assuming she wanted this to go farther. He wanted her to make the first move, and the second, and the third, because he was suddenly so unsure of himself again. Moments ago he had been an adult standing and talking to a peer. Now he was a little boy on a mother's lap.

"Now," she said, folding him sideways across her lap, putting one of her arms
against his head and putting the other one under his butt, easily folding his
docile body up into a ball. He felt the size and some of the weight of her
breasts against the length of his balled-up little body. "Now let's get to know
each other better."

Strangely, this line didn't lead to any further action from Martha. She just
beamed down at him, holding him in her arms in silence. The fireplace crackled
away and Timmy felt the heat.

He said, "Um... what now?"

A moment of silence and then she calmly said, "I believe you had a query
earlier? About... my body changes?"

"Oh. Yeah. Um. What happened?"

"You probably remember me as somewhat smaller."

"Y-yeah. I, uh... Even when I saw you a few weeks ago you didn't seem quite
as..."

"Well," Martha noted quietly. "I had my big fluffy coat on then. But, yes. I
have changed a little bit in the last few weeks as well."

"What, um, happened?"

Martha smiled. "I've gotten in better shape, if I do say so myself."

"Yeah. Um. How?"

Martha repositioned his body so that he was sitting sideways on her lap again,
his little socked feet dangling high off the floor. She fished around in a
little pocket on her skirt and pulled out a handful of pills.

"I take these," she said.

Timmy was astounded. "I do too! I recognize those! My aunt--Oh, wow."

Martha smiled at him and put the pills away. "Yesh, yesh," she muttered, in a
babyish voice.

"Wow," Timmy continued. "And they did THIS for you?" He motioned with his hands
to indicate her whole body, but one of his eagerly spreading hands inadvertently
brushed roughly against her boobs. "Oh, I'm sorry, um--"

"It's okay," Martha said dismissively. "But, yes, these drugs are a wonder."

"That's-that's great. I-I've been actually kind of nervous about taking them,
because my aunt gave them to me, to help me to, um, to help me be healthier. But
I've actually lost some weight and--"

"Yes I did too at first," Martha quickly replied. "It happens to some people, to
varying degrees, I'm told."

"Well how long were you on them before, uh, you started to grow?"

"It's hard to say," Martha mused. "But it's different for everyone. I'm sure
you'll start to see a turnaround soon."

She smiled and bounced him once on her knee.

"Yeah, I hope so," Timmy said, looking away.

"It has to burn away all of the bad cells in the body before it can rebuild new
ones." Martha looked at him intently.

"Yeah. My aunt told me something about that."

She continued to look at him, a quizzical expression on her face.

"Um," Timmy continued, so as to break the silence. "How big are you now? H-how
tall, I mean?"

"Ah," Martha mused, "clever boy not to ask a woman's weight. Yesh... Timmy, I am
a hair over five-eight."

"Wow," Timmy said. "That's much bigger than you--"

"Yesh," she interrupted. "I used to be about your height, if I remember. A
little shorter, I think, actually. Though I was perhaps plumper than you in a
few places." She squeezed him a bit. "But now I am somewhat bigger than you
everywhere, in every way. Ahren't I?" she asked the question breathily.

"Y-yeah. You look nice."

"Fenk yew," Martha added quietly in a babyish voice.

For a moment Timmy began to speculate about how tall those same pills might
eventually make him, if they had already made Mrs. Thollen over 5'8". He was
excited and happy, but--"Wow, she's over five-eight. It is kind of scary to see
her like this, so much bigger than me now. And, she looks great, really
voluptuous, but she's got to weigh almost twice what I weigh... I don't really
know what to think about this, especially with how she's acting.")

Suddenly Martha spun him around to face her. He sat on her lap with her boobs
spilling into his chest, and with one of his legs on either side of her.

"Would you like a horsy ride?" she asked.

Stunned, he managed to squeak out an "O-okay."

She positioned him on her hip and began to--for whatever reason--pull down her
green tights.

"Do you realize that these used to be my old sweat pants?" she said, starting to
chatter on as she sometimes had a tendency to do. "They were once quite loose on
me, but now they fit me like tights or leggings. I didn't have any other green
bottoms, and I needed green for Christmas colors for my Santa costume. So, I
decided to wear these as tights. And they are quite tight on my body now. Not
uncomfortably so, but still..." She stopped and turned to him after her
sweatpants had been pulled down, exposing her bare thighs beneath her red skirt.
"I thought you would like a horsy ride better if it was bareback."

She placed him, facing her, on her right thigh and began to bounce him up and
down. She smiled at him and he instinctively put his hands down around her
thighs to balance himself. Wow did they feel big and solid. Large and curvy, not
particularly muscular, soft but definitely not "fat". He estimated that each of her
thighs was probably bigger around than his waist. That made him feel so small.

"Would you like to be bare-bottomed as well?" Martha asked.

Timmy nodded and quickly shot his hands up to undo his belt and pants. But
Martha brought her hands down, one to steady him on his shoulder, the other to
put over his own hands, to stop them.

"IIIII'll do it," she drawled. "You just hold on to the horsy so you don't fall and
hurt yourself. Falling from such a great height--That wouldn't be very good, would it? Nooo..."

He put his hands back on her thigh. It was so weird that she was talking to him
like he was a baby. He wouldn't have accepted that in many situations, and he
resented it a bit even now. But at the moment it wasn't all that important to
him.

"Hm," she noted and paused, as if talking to herself or to no one in particular,
"I think I like being bigger than men." She said it so matter-of-factly, but upon reflection it shattered Timmy's mind. He didn't know how to feel about what was happening. All he knew was that though he wanted Martha to treat him with respect--for she was the ONLY one in months who seemed to entertain the idea of respecting him--even more than that he just wanted her to take care of him, beginning with his penis.

When Martha had undone his belt and pants, she swiftly held him up with one hand
and quickly dropped his drawers with the other hand, taking his underwear along
too, then plopped him back down on her big smooth thigh.

His nakedness, particularly his bare balls, felt so good resting against her
supple thighs. Her thighs felt warm to him, and the sensation against his cold
testicles was amazing. Before ten seconds had passed, his erection was rising
before him and pointing right at Martha's smiling face above.

"Is that for me?" She asked him.

"YES!" he said, exhaling and surrendering himself.

"Awwww..." she replied. "Little boy has a present for Mrs. Claus..."

He squirmed and bucked. She began to reach towards him with her smooth pale
hands, which he anticipated feverishly.

She raised him high with her knee, then clutched his balls with one hand as she
simultaneously clutched his penis with the other. As soon as he felt this much-
anticipated touch, he simply ejaculated before Martha could rub him even
once. He couldn't help it! He moaned and shot a huge load upwards which hit
Martha right on her very cute (though rather large) nose. Secondary
ejaculations hit Martha's chin and her red sweater, dribbling down in thick
white cream.

Martha roared with laughter. Timmy was embarrassed and disappointed. He
continued to bounce up and down on her knee as she shook--not unlike a bowl full
of jelly--until the laughter got out of her system. Then she wiped happy tears
from her eyes and examined a sullen Timmy.

"Oh don't worry!" she exclaimed. "We still have plenty of time! Sarah won't be
home for a few hours. Now... let me see here. I have to change, and--" She
noticed some come still on the tip of Timmy's declining member. "Let's just
clean that off quick."

She lifted him upwards and leaned over a bit so that his penis poked her in the
boob, which daubed the remaining come onto her already soiled red sweater. Then
she picked him up and guided him down to the floor.

He stood without his boots on now and faced her seemingly-even-bigger body as
she got up, took off her Santa hat, and stripped off her sweater, turning it
inside-out in the process. He noticed that she was wearing an extremely elegant,
extremely large, pinkish red bra with all sorts of frills and intricate lace.
Her cleavage was immense and yet her boobs did not sag all that much. He
strained towards her and gyrated in place. He couldn't help it; he was so turned
on by her right now. He felt so pathetic about coming prematurely; he wanted her to take him in her arms and hug him until he came again. She was so immense and curvy.

Martha chuckled at him and then playfully pushed him away with a casual hand
placed on his chest. She didn't mean to be rough, but Timmy nearly fell over.
("Damn I'm light and weak," he thought. "But at least it seems like I'm going to
be getting some more action.")

Martha pulled her green bottoms back up but then unbuckled her belt and took off
her skirt. So she stood in front of little Timmy wearing only her bra, green
tights and black chunky boots. He wanted her much bigger body; it was indeed
voluptuous. Even though he had been living with two extremely fit amazons,
neither Brooks nor Aunt Rose had boobs or buttocks as big as Martha's. Make of
it what you will, but right now Timmy wanted nothing so much as big breasts and
big shapely ass-cheeks. And no one could deliver quantity in those two areas
like Martha could. At the moment, her curvy form seemed to be the peak feminine
ideal.

"Imagine if someone walked in and saw us right now," Martha mused. "What would
Sarah think? Or my ex-husband! Haha! But let's go into the bedroom. For my part,
I haven't gotten off
yet. You still have much work to do for me."

She bent way down and led him through the house by his dick. He was rock hard
again and wished that she would have simply lain down on the floor anywhere so
that he might climb upon her and start humping.

When they reached her dark bedroom, she plopped the clothes down and told Timmy,
"Stay here a moment, dear. I shall return once I wash your spunk from my face.
Then we shall get down to business."

He watched her big sashaying ass as it left the room, then turned his glance
downward and thought to remove the rest of his clothes. His eyes slowly adjusted
to the darkness and he noted that the clock on the wall said 4:17. He really
hoped to be out of here before Sarah returned home from ballet--and, more
importantly, before his aunt or Brooks noticed that he was gone.

When Martha reentered the room he had to look even further up to see her smiling
face. She was wearing her platformed "stripper heels" again, the footwear that
she had been wearing when Timmy and Rose met her and Sarah in the mall two weeks
ago. Standing tall in the doorway, she gyrated sexily and rubbed the shiny
thigh-high pleather boots against each other. She had to stand over six-two in
them, Timmy thought; there was no way she was this tall two weeks ago. Thinking
back, the very notion of Martha Thollen, whom he had always considered a rather
short woman, being over six feet tall, even in heels, seemed nothing short of
insane to him. He noted with pleasure that she still wore her frilly red bra
and skin-tight green bottoms.

She tossed something onto the bed but Timmy didn't see what it was. Then she
walked into the room and backed him up against a wall.

"Hello, little man," she said, staring way down at him and pressing her crotch
into Timmy's chest. Her gigantic boobs now hung over Timmy's head like a roof.
"What do you have to say for yourself, huh?"

Timmy was speechless but found the will to bring his little hands up and start
feeling Martha's big ass.

She suddenly, violently thrust her crotch outwards, knocking Timmy hard against
the wall.

"I think it's time to start playing a little rougher!" she said merrily. Then
she turned around and leaned back, her big ass crushing Timmy against the wall.
Her buttocks were so big, and his body so small, that they reached from the tip
of his chin to the tip of his erection. By this time Timmy had become so
disoriented that the very pressure of Martha's big ass against the wall was the
only thing holding him upright. He made a pitiable muffled sound as Martha
gyrated her ass in a circular fashion, which had the effect of picking his body
off the ground a bit and smearing him hard against the wall.

"I cwould cwush yew like a widdle bug, Timmy!" she said.

When she pulled away, Timmy's tiny body promptly fell in a little pile on the
floor. Martha giggled a girlish giggle more appropriate for a female far younger
than her 40-odd years. She faced Timmy and pulled down her green sweat pants a bit,
exposing her naked thighs and also a pair of frilly reddish pink panties that
matched her bra.

"Would you like some more, little boy?" she asked, slowly spinning around and
showing Timmy her ass-cheeks, the thin line of lingerie in the crack looking so
little. Still balled up on the floor, he imagined that his body could almost
fit within one of her ass-cheeks. Martha was not fat, just voluptuous in the
right places. "Would you like Big Martha to dominate you? Can you think of
nothing else that you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?"

"Yes, I want more," he said, even though he was exhausted.

"Very well! Then put these on!" She turned to the bed and tossed something at
him. It turned out to be a pile of little clothes.

"What are these?" Timmy asked, trying to sort through them.

Martha turned on a dim bedside lamp.

"Mrs. Claus needs her elf," she said matter-of-factly. "And since her elf didn't
bring his elf clothes--NAUGHTY ELF!--elf clothes will be provided for him."

Timmy saw what her angle was.

"These are Sarah's ballet clothes," he noted. He flopped another item over in
his hands. It was a pointy green hat that looked like it did belong to an elf
costume.

"Correction," Martha said, squatting down before the small man, a maneuver that
had an unintentionally menacing effect. "These WERE Sarah's ballet clothes. She
outgrew them a year and a half ago. These were from the days when she was my
little ballerina. And now you are my little elf. Just as little now as she was
then."

Timmy looked at them: little red tights, a white leotard, and two small ballet
shoes.

"I don't think--"

"Oh, they'll fit you," Martha said, cutting him off. "I've no doubt of that. And
I've added one modification." She snatched the tights from Timmy and wiggled her
finger through a hole cut in the crotch area. "For your naughty little Mr.
Willy. Now put them on your little boy body before I put them on your little boy
body for you, and I'm in no mood to be gentle."

He complied, trembling a bit but still feeling sexual excitement. He felt new
shame when he realized that the clothes that Sarah wore when she was eleven did
in fact fit him perfectly. In retrospect, he was glad he stopped babysitting for
the Thollens when he did, when Sarah was 10. He couldn't imagine what it
would have been like to babysit that girl as she outgrew him.

Finally dressed in his tights, leotard, elf hat and little ballet slippers, he
turned to face Martha, his erection poking through the hole, begging for
attention.

She chuckled. "Come here," she said.

He approached her and she moved his little body so that it faced a full-length
mirror.

"Look how cute," Martha remarked.

The contrast between their bodies astonished him. This was a middle-aged woman
who had literally been "on his level" a few years ago. Now she towered over him
by well over a foot, thanks only partly to her audacious platform pleather heels
with silver spikes on them. Her immense chest burst forth from her very sexy
pink lace bra, and her green pants were pulled down provocatively to expose her
big curvy thighs and sexually inviting pink panties. She suddenly added her
Santa hat to complete the ensemble--a fashion touch which for whatever reason
nearly made Timmy's penis explode again right then and there. Meanwhile he stood
with the top of his head barely reaching the bottom of her boobs. And he looked
like an elf, certainly not like a man in his mid-to-late-20s. His thin body looked so
tiny and insecure next to Martha's curvy, voluptuous fortress of femininity. She
smiled down at him and he trembled. But still he couldn't pull his eyes away
from the mirror before him.

From out of nowhere, Martha grabbed a camera and snapped a picture of their
reflections.

"I'll send you the picture and then you and little Mr. Willy can have fun
whacking off to it EVERY--SINGLE--NIGHT!" With these last three words she bent
down and gave Timmy's straining, throbbing penis three sharp tugs.

Then in one mighty motion she simply tossed Timmy, head over heels, onto her
bed. He landed on top of something soft, but didn't know what the object was. He
turned himself around and saw that it was a stuffed animal of Simba, the Lion
King. Next to it was a small mountain of other stuffed animals, most of them
Disney characters. For a second he wondered if Martha had actually taken him
into her daughter's room, but, no, he remembered what Sarah's bedroom looked
like from when he tucked her in years ago when he was babysitting, and this
wasn't that room. It was simply the case that Martha slept with stuffed animals.
What a strange touch, Timmy thought, and then felt Martha's big body pounce upon
him.

He squealed in discomfort as Martha wrestled with him like a predator playing
with her prey. She yanked and bent his body in ways that it wasn't supposed to
bend. She squashed him beneath her curvaceous bulk and shoved his head hard
against various parts of her body, particularly against her lingerie-covered
boobs and crotch.

Then she seemed to sit down Indian-style on her bed and flip Timmy's body
upside-down. He begged her to stop and put his hands on her arms, as if he could
possibly hold her back. Martha was not muscular, and her arm muscles weren't
even defined, but they were big meaty arms, not fat but plump in a very feminine
way, and Timmy could not hold them back in the slightest. Martha bellowed with
laughter at his feeble little efforts.

"How adorable to watch a tiny elf trying to hold back a force of nature such as
myself!" Martha said with relish. Then she brought Timmy's upside-down crotch up
to her mouth and engulfed his swollen member.

She sucked on it so hard that he thought she was going to rip it off. With a
chaotic, fevered mix of pain and pleasure, he began to ejaculate involuntarily.
Martha's sucking mouth instantly sped the stream of semen down her throat in
short order. To Timmy's growing consternation, however, she did not stop sucking
after he came but instead proceeded to suck even harder. She brought her lips
out so that they sucked on just the head of Timmy's penis, and then she further
concentrated her sucking so that it targeted the exact hole of Timmy's dick. The
sensation was extremely painful, as it attacked the very most sensitive part of
the male anatomy right after it had just ejaculated and was thus even more
sensitive. Timmy threw back his head and began to blat, cry and scream.

Finally Martha stopped sucking and brought Timmy's little body down so that he
could lay on her lap again.

"My my," she teased. "What a little baby. But you have gotten off twice so far,
and I've not got off once. Is dat anyway tew tweat your pwrospectiv gwirlfwend?"

Timmy didn't like the sound of any of this, not the babyish voice in which
Martha was talking, and certainly not the intimation that they could perhaps
become a serious, formalized romantic item. Most of the sexual excitement that
he had been
feeling had worn off now. He just wanted to get his real clothes on, and
escape.

But Martha was not about to let him go. With her relatively small pale hand, she
gave Timmy's still-erect dick a long hard painful squeeze.

"Aooooow!" he screamed.

Martha laughed. She put one hand behind his head and crammed his face down into
the bed, straining his back in the process. Then she stood up on the bed and set
one platform heel atop Timmy's back. With this foot she pressed down on Timmy,
forcing his body even lower against her bed. Then she kicked her legs out and
simply dropped her whole body atop him, bouncing against the bed as if it were a
trampoline. She had pulled her green sweatpants back up, and--after the bouncing
stopped--her tremendously large rear-end came to settle upon Timmy's head.
Thankfully for him, his face was against the bed, but Martha soon changed that,
twisting Timmy's body around--almost breaking his neck in the process--and
positioning his face right against her ass, his nose right in her crack.

The green fabric of her sweatpants became awfully wet and sweaty as she roughly
rubbed her ass against Timmy's head. He suddenly felt a sharp pain and realized
that she was again squeezing his poor abused penis with her clever hands. He
screamed but the sound was entirely stifled by the large blubbery expanse that
was pressed against his head.

He began to rub her ass against his head harder, and he feared that he would
have a rash all over his face by the time she was done. Martha's big body
gyrated and squirmed, feeling unstoppable pangs of desire that needed to get
their way no matter how delicate Timmy's body might be, or how insufficient his
manhood was at allaying this feminine leviathan. If a man (or a manhood) was too small to please a woman in the conventional way, then the woman would simply have to develop an appetite for sexual arousal and fulfillment through overall bodily domination over the man. Martha was figuring this out and taking this route: she would simply reach orgasm by rushing headlong into a power-trip domination of Timmy's shrimpy body. And yet somehow she still retained her air of cutesy girlishness. She was raw femininity, with all its wiles and excesses.

She let up and raised her ass, but only to pull her sweatpants down.
Then she repeated the same grinding process with only her elegant pink panties on. This
was at least less rough against Timmy's face. He still had to fight for air, but
Martha's naked ass-cheeks felt cool against his hot face, and the scant fabric
of the panties did not generate anywhere near as much friction as the sweatpants
had. Still, Martha was getting very horny and her juices began to mix with the
sweat on her ass. He felt her squeeze his dick and balls again at the same time
and he felt himself come, though by this time he had lost total control of his
body and bodily functions. He realized that had long since lost all control period and was just along for the ride of whatever Martha wanted to do to him.

Next Martha raised herself again and swiftly took off her panties. She plopped
her now completely naked ass back against Timmy's face and began to gyrate and
grind harder than ever, forcing his nose further into her ass-crack, and
beginning to slide her underside further and further against Timmy's face. He
felt everything from her pussy to the full length of her ass-crack sliding wetly
against his face. His head and nose being in such a confined area, he started to
literally drown in her juices, and the smell was beyond description.

Meanwhile he felt his legs being crushed. Martha had drawn his knees up and was
squeezing his much smaller limbs in between her own, which made his look brittle
and severely malnourished.

Martha roared and moaned as she reveled in her domination over a much smaller, weaker male. Her loins, ass muscles, and pussy muscles played
roughly with what felt like Timmy's entire head. As his penis mustered all
it could for a fourth ejaculation--Timmy lost consciousness.

*****

When he awoke, he found himself alone, sprawled out on Martha's bed. He was
naked, or--no, he felt something on him. A giant pair of sweaty panties--the big frilly
pink panties that Martha had been wearing. As if in a show of dominance and
possession, she had evidently stripped his unconscious body and draped him in
her own underwear, and--he still had Sarah's old ballet slippers on.

He sat up and looked at himself, his thin little legs sticking out of Martha's
panties, which were big enough for him to make a blanket out of. The panties
were so
large and inappropriate for Timmy in a multitude of ways--they seemed only to be
a way for Martha to say "I OWN YOU". He rubbed his eyes and felt sore all over,
like his body had been totally destroyed. He actually checked himself but found
to his surprise that no bones were broken. That in itself was a miracle. She had
totally squashed him and treated him like a tiny living dildo. "But, really," he
reflected morosely, "that was the only way the body of someone like me could
have pleased the body of someone like her."

Suddenly the door opened and Martha burst back in. She was dressed in normal
clothes now: a full length skirt and a black cardigan.

"Wake up! Sarah's home! You have to go!"

"What?!" Timmy squawked. How long had he been knocked out? And where were his
clothes?!

"You'll have to sneak out through here," Martha said urgently, almost yanking
his arm out of its socket as she dragged him out of the room and into a bathroom
across the hall. "There--go out the window!" she ordered him.

"What?! I can't--Why--Where are my clothes?!"

"Oh crap!" Martha exclaimed. "There's no time--She'll see if I go retrieve them
from the den.--Here, wait a second!"

Timmy's mind was a blur. It was so weird to see a mother so afraid of her
daughter finding out about something sexual that she (the mother) did. Usually
it was the other way around. But Timmy certainly didn't want to face Sarah, and
he didn't like the idea of Sarah knowing anything about his visit to Martha.
And, despite the current uproar, Timmy found a moment to curse himself for not
having been able to tell Martha that he wasn't going to attend Sarah's birthday
party.

Martha returned a few seconds later and held out the same old leotard and tights
that Timmy had been wearing while they had sex. "Here. Just wear these," she
said, almost whispering now. Sarah must be close by.

"Wha--? I--" Timmy began.

"There's no time!" Martha half-yelled, half-whispered, and she grabbed Timmy's
little body with one hand and roughly pulled the ballerina clothes on him with
the other. The clothes were still damp--WET, even--with Martha's juices. She
opened up the high, frosted bathroom window and lifted Timmy up.

"N-no!" Timmy said. "It's freezing out there, and--I need money for the bus, and
my wallet is--"

"Okay, here," Martha said, setting him back down and quickly getting out her
wallet. She handed him a $50 bill and swiftly unbuttoned her cardigan, causing
her boobs to bounce in a way that hypnotized Timmy, and wrapped the large
garment around him like a shawl.

"I--"

She put her hand to her lips and raised him up again.

A voice came from just outside the bathroom door: "Mom...?" It was Sarah.

Silently Martha hoisted Timmy to the window, began to shove him out, then
paused. She craned her face towards his and gave him a long unwanted French
kiss, at the end of which she daringly bit down on Timmy's lips. He winced and
gasped; she smiled as she shoved him out the window.

He landed softly in the snow outside. He gathered himself together, wrapped
himself tightly in Martha's cardigan, and turned around to face the Thollens'
house one more time before leaving for home.

The wind howled and he couldn't hear anything, but through the frosted bathroom
window he saw a plump shape that was Martha, and it seemed to be arguing with
another feminine shape. This second shape must belong to Sarah, and it seemed to
dwarf Martha by as much as a foot. Timmy didn't remember if Martha, at the end,
had been wearing heels or not, and there was no way to know if Sarah was
currently wearing heels, but--he didn't want to know. He would find out when he
attended her accursed Sweet Thirteen party in a few weeks. For now, he turned to
make his way home.

*****

He knew he was in for it the moment he returned to the grounds of his aunt's
mansion. His usual pansy clothes were no longer there where he left them, hidden
in the hedges. The trip back, wearing Sarah's old ballerina clothes and wrapped
in Martha's big cardigan, had been hellish enough. And now he would have to
enter the mansion dressed in these clothes. He did not even hold out hope that
perhaps he could sneak to his room without someone seeing him. Of course they
would see him. This was his luck. His aunt had, no doubt, been the one to spy
the clothes that he had hidden in the hedges. She had confiscated them and knew
that he was up to something that, in her opinion, was naughty--because even
though he was a 26-year-old man, he evidently couldn't be allowed to dress
himself or come and go as he pleased.

Morosely, shivering in the early evening winter air, he opened the big mansion
door and was instantly intimidated (though not surprised) by the scene before
him. His aunt and Brooks were right there waiting for him, stern looks on their
faces.

Brooks had evidently received a new maid's outfit and had gotten a bit of a
makeover that day. Her new uniform was not only sleeveless, designed to show off
her well-defined biceps, but also backless, and she now wore calf-high black
leather booties with 4-inch heels. She had gotten a haircut as well, not that
she needed one, and her short dark locks now only reached her neck. She wore a
bit of eye-shadow, and dark lipstick completed the ensemble.

Aunt Rose was, strangely, dressed in an old-fashioned English riding outfit. ("I
didn't know she rode horses," Timmy thought. She looked so imposing, standing
there at her immense height, in what appeared to be calfskin riding boots, with
a generous heel that surely put her past the 7-foot mark. God she was tall.

Timmy seemed to shrink as he closed the door behind him, nervously.

"WELL?" his aunt asked loudly.

"U-u-um..." Timmy said.

This provoked a chortle from Brooks, who put a big glistening hand on her hip.
There were those nails again, painted dark metallic purple like before. Timmy
wished that he could just disappear or die.

"WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF, TIMMY?" his aunt said again, drawing a
riding
crop out and beginning to pat it audibly into the palm of a leather-gloved hand.

"I--I had to get out for a while," he said.

"Uh, WE KNOW," Brooks said, in a very snotty way, then gave him an evil smile,
her perfectly white teeth contrasting menacingly with her dark lips.

"I was--"

"MRS. THOLLEN CALLED A FEW MOMENTS AGO," Aunt Rose interrupted. "SHE WONDERED IF
YOU MADE IT HOME OKAY. SHE SAID FOR YOU TO EMAIL HER WHEN YOU GET A CHANCE, TO
LET HER KNOW YOU ARRIVED HOME SAFELY."

("Oh no," Timmy thought. He knew that his aunt didn't want him to visit Martha.
She had cautioned him against it, and--"I really didn't want her to find out
where I'd been. Damn Martha for being such a motherly busybody!")

Brooks strode over to Timmy and held out a scrap of paper on which was written
Martha's email address. Timmy reached one arm out to grab it but Brooks
immediately pulled it away.

"What are you WEARING?" she asked, and with her other hand began pulling
Martha's big cardigan away from Timmy's still-shivering little body. He made a
half-hearted attempt to keep the garment on him, but within a few seconds he
just gave up, not wanting to play tug of wear with women's clothing and knowing,
anyway, that one of Brooks' arms was probably much stronger than his entire
body. He considered that even one of her hands alone might be stronger than his
entire body.

"Oh...my...GOD," Brooks said as it was revealed that Timmy was wearing a little
girl's ballet outfit. "HOW ADORABLE!"

His aunt smirked. "I see you must have borrowed that from Sarah. How lucky you
are that her baby clothes fit you, Timmy. Perhaps you can borrow more of her
hand-me-downs in the future."

"N-no!" Timmy protested, with an understanding of how pathetic he sounded. "A-
and these aren't her baby clothes! She wore them just a few years ago."

"Well I'm so dreadfully sorry, Timmy," his aunt said, sarcastically. "How rude
of me to say that you fit into baby clothes when you actually fit into the
clothes of a nine-year-old girl. I am so sorry to have inadvertently BELITTLED
you
that way."

With that she took a step toward him and glanced down. He could have given her
bellybutton a kiss without stooping even a centimeter. He gulped and felt far
too intimidated to make the correction that Sarah had been eleven when she wore
these clothes, not nine.

Brooks, who had still been examining his outfit with a wicked smile on her face,
suddenly turned to Rose and said, "Oh, who can be mad at a darling little
fairyboy like this! Are you sure you won't let me fix him supper tonight?"

"Unfortunately," his aunt declared, putting one of her very big leather-gloved hands on
Timmy's trembling shoulders, "the punishments will stand. This little man, who
needs nourishment so badly, deserves no meal this night. Do you hear me way down
there, Timmy?" She leaned way down so that she could look her nephew in the
eyes. Timmy was struck again by how beautiful his aunt was. He hated that those
deep brown eyes were so angry at him, and found himself wanting to kiss his aunt's hot face right then and there and apologize to her profusely. God she was hot. "YOUR PUNY
LITTLE BODY WILL GET NO DINNER TONIGHT. BECAUSE YOU ARE A BAD BOY."

He wanted to cry.

"Aww..." Brooks said, and turned him to face him as his aunt backed away. She
held out the scrap of paper again, but then suddenly stopped short again and
laughed.

"W-what?" Timmy asked.

"Look!" Brooks said brightly and pointed to his crotch with a sharp-nailed index
finger.

Through the hole that Martha had cut in Sarah's bottoms, Timmy's penis stood at
stiff attention.

("Another unwanted boner!" Timmy thought, very annoyed. "Why do I keep getting
these lately, without even knowing that I have them until it's too late and
someone else has spotted them!")

"I think he LIKES it when you yell at him!" Brooks told Rose. Then she shoved her hand toward Timmy's crotch, but only to stuff the scrap of
paper inside the hole, almost as one would stuff a dollar bill in the lingerie
strap of a stripper.

His aunt observed him with her long arms folded seriously across her chest.
"Something needs to be done, Timmy," she said. "We were hoping that you would
take the initiative and proceed along this program I've set for you at your own
pace. I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, Timmy, and trying to take a
more or less hands-off approach. But I can see that things aren't working.
Evidently you need a woman to supervise you every second of the day so that you
do not go off track and get into trouble! For your own good, you need this,
Timmy."

He shivered. Again he wanted to cry. He hated so much of what his aunt wanted to
do with him, but he didn't want to disappoint her. He was caught and didn't know
if he hated her, or loved her, or both.

"I specifically told you not to visit Mrs. Thollen without the presence of
another female there. You disobeyed me, didn't you? Young Sarah was not even
there when you arrived at the Thollen's house, was she?"

"...No," Timmy said, feeling palpable shame.

"And Mrs. Thollen herself--Did she or did she not abuse you sexually?"

"I-it wasn't like that!" Timmy protested. "It was--"

"You are too LITTLE," Aunt Rose said, raising her voice almost to a shriek, "and
MALE, and STUPID, TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE! You are too LITTLE, and MALE, and
STUPID, TO KNOW WHEN IT IS APPROPRIATE TO HAVE ANY SORT OF SEXUAL CONTACT--WITH
ANYONE. Or at least with anyone whom I do not authorize. AND I EXPLICITLY DID
NOT AUTHORIZE YOU TO HAVE ANY SOLO RELATIONS WITH MRS. THOLLEN!"

She paused, her nostrils flaring, and she looked down at Timmy haughtily, as if
he were a dog that had just messed on the carpet for the tenth time.
Appropriately, he actually was so scared that it was all he could do to not pee
his pants. The stature of this woman, her beauty, her high-fashion sense and
total confidence and ability to control any situation--all in all, she was an
astonishingly impressive figure. Even a normal-sized man, even a tall man, even
a captain of industry, celebrity or politician, would have cringed before the
towering person of Rose Nordgren. So what chance did a totally dependent
five-foot-tall pipsqueak have?

"I'm sorry," Timmy said. "I-I-I just wanted..."

"I know what you wanted," his aunt said, her voice soft now, but still
commanding. "But if you wanted to go on a little date--one without the fear of
being raped by a cracked, exploitative woman like Martha Thollen--I could have
arranged such a
venture FOR YOU."

"W-what?"

"If you want to feel like a nice little man who gets to go on a date, then I'm
sure Brooks would be happy to take you on one."

Timmy's mind began to race with confusion. He shot his eyes over to look at
Brooks, who was smiling at no one in particular and rubbing her hands together,
as if she were preparing to crack her knuckles.

Then his aunt put her enormous hands under his chin and forced him to look way
up at her model-like, high-cheek-boned face.

"Would you like that? Would you like go to on a date with Brooks?"

"Y-yes!" Timmy squeaked with difficulty, his aunt's huge hands under his chin.

"Okay, then. I think that actually might be good practice for you. But for now"-
-his aunt pulled away from him--"there is still the matter of your punishment
for what you did today."

Timmy threw himself at Rose's feet. "N-no! No! P-please! PLEASE, AUNT ROSE!" He
groveled, his tears rubbing off onto Rose's riding boots.

"Get up, Timmy," she said calmly. "It won't be that bad. You're only getting
ONE."

He stood shakily to his feet, eager to comply with whatever she demanded of him.
She took her riding crop and held it aloft.

"Please stand up straight, Timmy, and put your hands behind your back. Put them
well away from your penis."

("Oh no," Timmy thought, but he obeyed her.)

His dick still showed through the hole in Sarah's leotard, but it was not as
erect as it had been a minute or two ago.

"Hm," his aunt considered. "Let's get that up a bit, Timmy. Think of how proud a
little man like you will be for a great big girl like Brooks Fraser to escort
you on a night on the town. I'm sure she will behave very chivalrously towards
you. And though she does not quite dwarf you as if you were an irrelevant insect
and she an invincible goddess or titaness--THE WAY *I* DWARF YOU, TIMMY--she
still cuts a fairly impressive pose and I'm sure you will enjoy feeling like a
needy little child in her imperious presence! Yes, I'm sure your little date
next weekend will be quite a delight for you. Certainly it will be a nice
appetizer in your social life, since the weekend after that will be Sarah
Thollen's party. I bet you can't wait to find out how much bigger she has grown
since you last saw her. And I bet you can't wait to find out how absolutely
pathetic a 'man' of your stature will look dressed in your nice little pansy
clothes next to all of Sarah's big teenage friends! Yes, I'm sure you will want
to enjoy your date with Brooks very much before all of that happens and the
vestiges of your male ego are totally obliterated for good. I'm sure you'll have
a nice hard-on for the entirety of next Saturday night!"

By this time, of course, Timmy was rock hard.

His aunt patted the riding crop forcefully several times against the palm of her leather
glove. Then she held it aloft again, paused, then brought it down like
lightning.

With a CRACK! it snapped whiplike against the head of Timmy's penis. He screamed
and fell backwards in pain, hitting his head on the floor.

Luckily, he did not pass out, but his mind wallowed in semi-consciousness as he
felt huge hands (Brooks' or his aunt's, he wasn't sure) lift his little body up
and carry him up the staircase to his room, laying him on his bed.

A few minutes later, when he found himself cognizant and alone, he dragged
himself to his desk and sat down before his computer.

He kept the email to Mrs. Thollen very brief, just told her that he had made it
home okay. He wanted to tell her "Don't call here ever again! And I don't want
to go to Sarah's party!" but he knew that would do him no good. For one thing,
Mrs. Thollen would do whatever she wanted to do. And for another thing, it was
apparent that his aunt had already determined that he would attend Sarah's Sweet
Thirteen, as insane as that sounded.

Then he paused and looked down at his penis. There was a blister on it, right at
the end, where Aunt Rose's riding crop had hit. "Ouch," he said aloud. He hoped
it would heal soon, before next weekend. He could not even begin to know how to
feel about the prospect of going on a date with Brooks. All of these conflicting
emotions--with everything--were simply too much for his little, overwhelmed male
mind.

He suddenly decided to email an old friend of his. A guy he went to high school
with. Jerome. For the first time Timmy realized how little contact he had been
having with other men. He needed to remedy that, as soon as possible, for his
own sanity.

So he opened up a new email window and began to write. His thoughts were a blur,
though:

"Jerome, hi, oh my god man i'm so sorry that i havent kep in touch better man.
Jesus things are crazy here. Im living with my aunt sarah i mean my aunt rose,
sarah's a diffferent girl, lol, anywayyyyyy um`m things are really crazy here
with all of these females and i have soo much to tell you, dude that its just
crazy I don't even know where to start, let's see with marta martha mathre
marthe tholen thollennnnn and brooke brooks whose last name i dont know oh yeah
its fraser brooks fraser or frazer but am going on a date with soon and sara i
mean and tholen sarah rose nordgren Nordegren i mean Nordgren i meannnnnnn
sarah thollen i mean"

He broke things off and looked at the gibberish he had written. He turned off
his monitor and just left things for the morning. But he needed to talk to
Jerome soon.



* * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *



Chapter 3: A Day In with Rose; A Night Out with Brooks

Jerome sipped hot cider and looked at Timmy skeptically. They sat in beach
chairs on the veranda of Rose Nordgren's mansion. It was surprisingly warm for
late January, but even then no one in their right mind would sunbathe. And yet
that's just what Rose and Brooks were doing, sunbathing, laying out on slinky
beach chairs on the other side of the balcony, just out of earshot from Timmy
and his friend.

"Remind me why exactly you DON'T like your situation here?" Jerome asked,
raising one eyebrow and reaching into his jacket pocket to extract a sheet of
paper.

Timmy was dressed in a pink winter coat and pink tights. On top of his head sat
a pink winter hat with a purple poofy ball on top of it.

"Just look at me," he said. "Look at how they--"

"Dude," Jerome said. "I saw how they fuss and fawn over you and how 'cute' you
look. Yeah it's weird, but what's not to like about the situation you're in?"

"Okay, well then how about YOU start dressing this way and--"

"Maybe I would," Jerome interrupted, "if I lived in a mansion and had two
superbabes to look after me all day long." He opened up the paper he was holding
and began to read: "...'things are really crazy here with all of these females
and i have soo much to tell you, dude that its just crazy I don't even know
where to start, let's see with marta martha mathre marthe tholen thollennnnn and
brooke brooks whose last name i dont know oh yeah its fraser brooks fraser or
frazer but am going on a date with soon and sara i mean and tholen sarah rose
nordgren Nordegren i mean Nordgren i meannnnnnn sarah thollen i mean YOU GOTTA
HELP ME!'"

Timmy had buried his head in his hands and Jerome broke into laughter.

"WHAT is the problem, man?" Jerome asked, semi-rhetorically. "Look at those two
fine females over there. WHAT is the problem?"

He gestured to where the long, leggy forms of Rose and Brooks were laid out.
Both women wore oversized circular sunglasses, were flipping through fashion
magazines and listening to their iPods as they sunned themselves. Brooks was in
a skimpy black bikini that contrasted nicely with her relatively pale skin. Her
toenails were painted dark purple, and her feet bopped to whatever music she was
hearing. Rose was more immobile, and seemed to be losing herself in whatever
article she was reading. She wore a brown, earth-tone bikini that nearly blended
in with her caramel skin. Timmy knew that she was white, was pure
Scandinavian in fact, but she was so tan that she could almost pass for several
non-caucasian ethnicities. She looked a bit like Nelly Furtado, he thought. He
still suspected that her vegan diet had something to do with her skintone and
hoped that her insistence that he become vegan too wouldn't turn him slightly
orangey-brown as well.

"But don't you see how humiliating this is for me?" Timmy asked his friend.

Jerome looked at him intently. "What do you want me to do about it, man? You
told me to come over here and look at what you were 'going through'. So I came
over. And I see that you're living in some sort of paradise mansion with two great big
babes, one of whom is your rich aunt who spends tons of money on you, and the
other of whom is the maid--who is apparently going on a DATE with you in a few
days. And you act like this is a problem."

Timmy gestured to his pink attire. "THIS is a problem."

"You could always just--"

"No, Jerome, what I'm getting at is that--This is all part of some scheme or
something. Don't you see? They want me to wear these clothes. Don't you find
that almost... psychotically weird?"

"Look man..." Jerome began. "Stranger things have happened. I mean, if you check
out my wardrobe, I used to dress in baggy pants and oversized white T's. Now I'm
usually in tight jeans and tight V-necks. Because that's what girlies wanted to
see me in. And I look good in them. I don't mind showing off my ass or my body.
I exercise some, so what the hell, you know? It's just fashion. It's better this
way than literally showing my ass-crack like a bum because my baggy pants are
falling down."

"Jerome," Timmy broke in, "they've got me wearing pink. I'm basically wearing
girls clothes."

"They're not for girls, man. I've seen other dudes wear pink before, and it is
starting to catch on, so--"

"Okay, YOU wear pink then. You wear the kinda clothes I've been wearing and--"

"Look. Tim, this conversation is going nowhere. You're complaining that your
rich aunt bought you a new high-fashion wardrobe and you don't like the taste
of it. But don't drag this into some big conspiracy idea. Besides, if you don't
like it, you can always leave."

"Yeah..."

Timmy didn't want to tell Jerome that these females had also taken to the idea of dressing him in actual little girls clothes that some of them had outgrown. He knew that this revelation would cement his point, but it was too embarrassing to admit right now.

"Your problem is you just don't know where you'd go or what you'd do. That's a
YOU-problem."

Timmy looked at the marble floor of the veranda. A chill breeze began to blow,
breaking up an otherwise incredibly beautiful sunny winter day.

"It IS weird for ladies to sun themselves in January, though," Jerome admitted.
"I'll give you that. But who the hell could possibly complain?"

"I have to say," Timmy began, unsure how much of his inner feelings he really
wanted to reveal to Jerome, "I--I'm looking forward to my date. It was weird how
they sort of set it all up for me and are treating it like some sort of... school
assignment or community service requirement, on my path back to being a normal
person in society or whatever, but..."

"That girl is fine as hell, man," Jerome remarked, tracing Brooks' form with his
eyes and admiring her toned feminine body. "Oh my GOD, man, is she FIT and HARD... If you weren't going on a date with
her, I'd totally hit on her."

"Oh as if you'd have a chance, man."

"What?!" Jerome said with indignation that wasn't entirely good-spirited.

"You're like 5'6", man. She's six feet, easy."

"What's that got to do with anything? Tim, you're like 5'2", and YOU'VE got a
date with her."

Timmy appreciated that Jerome thought he was taller than he really was. But if
Jerome honestly considered Timmy to be 5'2", maybe that meant Jerome wasn't as tall as
5'6".

"Well, like I said, it's not a real date, I don't think. It's something my aunt
and her set up."

"Either way, man," Jerome said. "I bet I could pull that girl. And if your Aunt
Rose wasn't your aunt, I'd pull her too."

"Yeah. Okay, man. Keep dreaming. You'd be going after a chick who's ten years
older, over a foot taller, and infinitely richer than you."

"None of that matters in bed, Tim. And besides, she's not 'infinitely' richer.
Where do you get off?" Jerome laughed.

Lost in conversation, they hadn't noticed Rose and Brooks picking up their
things and walking towards them, towards the sliding glass door that lead
inside.

"You guys could've come sat nearer to us, y'know," Brooks quipped. "What were
you, scared?" Beneath her sunglasses a smirk crept across her face.

Both boys were speechless. Sitting down they were eye-level with Brooks' ripped
abs and Rose's beautiful tanned midriff.

"I think it was probably too cold for them to sun themselves anyway," Rose
Nordgren remarked.

"N-No, no," Jerome stuttered, trying to regain his composure. "Just not used to
sunbathing in January. Maybe next time, though?"

He stood up and awkwardly made his way over to the sliding glass door, which he
struggled to open but finally pulled free. He gestured for Rose and Brooks to go
inside.

"Oh, such a gentle-man," Brooks said, more than a touch of sarcasm in her voice,
as she and her towering employer-cum-friend walked into the house.

When they had passed Jerome struggled again with the door, but finally closed
it.

"Smooooth," Timmy remarked with a smile.

"Hey," Jerome said, "she digs me, I think."

"Yeah. You come up to her boobs, dude."

"Nothin' wrong with that," Jerome said smiling and sitting back down, "just
means I'm at a convenient height for certain things."

"Well will you at least admit that she's stronger than you?"

"Um," Jerome paused. "Okay, yeah, yeah I'll admit that. She looks like she's in
really good shape."

"And you'd date a girl who was stronger than you?" Timmy wanted to know.

"I've never thought about it actually," Jerome mused, suddenly taken aback. "I'm
on this new diet, though. More greens. And some pills that make me lose fat,
so... I imagine I'll be pretty buff in no time. Even buffer than I am now, I
mean."

-----

Jerome's visit hadn't gone as Timmy planned. He was looking for sympathy and for
his friend to offer him some sort of escape, a way out that he couldn't see.
Instead, Jerome didn't even see the need for Timmy to look for a way out. What
really puzzled Timmy was that Jerome hadn't even been taken aback by Timmy's
clothes. He expected Jerome to die laughing when he saw him decked out in all-
pink; in fact, Timmy was actually looking forward to that moment, just so Jerome
would know from the get-go that something was very wrong in Timmy's life.
Instead, Jerome actually seemed to envy Timmy. He didn't get it. But Timmy
himself, if pressed, couldn't give a logical account of just what was going on
in his life, or why it was happening, anyway. The lack of confirmation and sympathy from Jerome was just one more thing that didn't sit well with him, one more thing that didn't make sense. Had the whole world changed without anyone besides Timmy realizing it? It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone.

That week the days blurred together. Every morning Brooks got him up and dressed
him. She cooked his meals and did his laundry. Every evening he was expected to
eat dinner with Aunt Rose, and at every dinner his aunt made vague and
interchangeable remarks about Timmy's "transition" back to social
respectability. Every night he went to bed and dreamt either nightmares centered
around Sarah's upcoming birthday party, which was his chief source of anxiety,
or prurient fantasies centered around tall women whose faces morphed into those
of the women in his life.

Besides Jerome's visit, only two other incidents stood out in Timmy's mind that
week. Both concerned Martha. First there was an email he received from her, which included an attachment: the
picture she had snapped of Timmy and herself in the full-length mirror. The
email read: "For Mrs. Claus's naughty little elf and his little Mr. Willy: Hope
the memory of this moment stays with you always and brings you much enjoyment on
long lonely cold nights! xxx, Martha".

Upon seeing this email, he felt disgust and shame and wanted to delete it
immediately. Instead he ended up masturbating to the picture five times that
week--twice on the first night he had it.

Secondly, a few days later, he received a package from Martha. In it was his wallet and one article of clothing. Though he had left his entire new wardrobe at the Thollens' house, these garments were strangely not returned to him. Instead Martha had included one of her own sweaty pairs of panties, this one a crimson purple. Timmy cursed her for not giving him back all his things. Had his aunt told her not to give back the mens clothes since he was not allowed to wear them? He was furious. He was out so much money after only getting to wear them once. Still, that evening he couldn't help but wear and masturbate into those gigantic sexy frilled panties, thinking of Martha's big curvy body all the while.

-----

It was Saturday morning, the day of his big date. Much like Sarah's party,
Timmy had tried to put this event out of his mind as well. Unlike the case with
Sarah's party, however, he had actually been quite successful in this. The idea
of going on a date with Brooks could, or should, have been a source of much
masturbation for Timmy. But as it was, the prospect seemed scary to him. He
didn't care to investigate exactly why he found it scary--he just wanted to put
it out of his mind. Anyway, he had plenty of other things to masturbate to.

On Friday night he had gone to bed as usual, though this time he stuffed
earplugs in his ears and had taken a few sleeping pills. He didn't want to give
his mind a chance to worry about the date. He was just going to let it happen.
In a vague way, he obviously liked the idea of going on a date with Brooks. But
all of the specifics--what they would do, what he would wear, how embarrassing
or traumatizing it could become--he did not even think about.

He was pulled back to consciousness by a large white-gloved hand on his
shoulder, shaking him awake.

"Timmy? Timmy?"

It was Brooks, waking him up as usual as part of her maidly duties.

He looked up at her, thought "This won't be so bad," and struggled to sit up in
bed. He smiled at her.

"Morning," he said, taking the earplugs out of his ears.

"I let you sleep in," Brooks said. "You're going to need the extra energy for
tonight. And we might be staying up late depending on how long you can last."

She winked at him and Timmy blushed.

"Here," she said, smiling sweetly and handing him some clothes. "Put these on.
These are your clothes for today, until our date at least."

He took the clothes and was confused. White boxer shorts and a black "wife-
beater"?

"These are... guy clothes?" he asked hopefully. He had gotten in the habit of
expecting Brooks to bring him apparel that was soft, frilly, and more often than
not pink or purple.

"Silly," she said, smiling sweetly and honestly--which was uncharacteristic for
her. "I always bring you GUY clothes. Technically, anyway."

"You know what I mean. These are... really guy clothes, though."

"Wrong again, Timmy," Brooks said, some spunk returning to her demeanor. "Check
the tags, little guy."

Timmy looked. Both the sleeveless shirt and the boxers were made by Victoria's
Secret.

"I don't understand," he said, but nonetheless he began to get himself out of
bed and put the clothes on dutifully.

"They make clothes like these for women too, y'know," Brooks said. "In fact,
these are some of MY clothes. You can wear them for today, though, at least
until this evening when we go out. I think your aunt has some special clothes
for you to wear on our date. But she'll be dressing you by then, cuz I'll have
to go back to my place and get ready."

"O...kay," Timmy said, beginning to get a bit nervous. He didn't like the idea
of his aunt having something "special" for him to wear on his date. And he
wasn't all that happy about wearing some of Brooks' clothes. It helped a lot
that they looked like guy clothes, but nonetheless he was annoyed that one way
or another every new thing in his life seemed designed to humiliate him in a new
way. He could finally wear "guy clothes" again, if only for half a day, but they
were actually clothes for girls modeled after classical garments for guys, and a girl had already worn them for an untold number of hours.
Either way, they were kind of big on him, a fact that threatened to annoy and
humiliate him all the more, if he let it.

"Kinda BIG on you, aren't they?" Brooks said, arching an eyebrow and looking
down at the little male standing before her.

"Yeah," he said. "But-but THANK YOU, Brooks. I like wearing clothes like this."

He wasn't lying, and he wisely decided to make the best of things. Arguing could
get him nowhere anyway. He had learned that by now.

"Okay," Brooks said, "next thing's next!" She pulled out a clipboard and from
behind her revealed the scale and measuring device.

"Oh god," Timmy groaned, unable to hold back the sense of deflation that he
instantly felt upon seeing this. "It hasn't been a month yet. You said I only
had to do this once a month."

"Timmy, next Saturday is little Sarah Thollen's Sweet Thirteen party. Your aunt
has a LOT planned for you then. You'll be busy the WHOLE day and we won't have
time to do it. So we're doing it one Saturday early, 'kay?"

Timmy hated everything he was hearing. It was all he could do not to either go
into a fit or else feel an overwhelming sensation of paralyzing trepidation. But
Brooks looked down at him smilingly and picked up her pen smartly, ready to
record his meager height and weight.

He sighed. Brooks chuckled. And then he stepped on the scale.

The numbers on the wheel whizzed by.

"Uh-oh!" Brooks chimed, mockingly. "Uh-oh! Is he less than a hundred now?!"

Timmy didn't need this. He had tried so hard to put concerns about his body out
of his mind. He felt like he was becoming some poor cliché of a teenage girl
with anorexia, only he actually wanted to get bigger, not smaller, but was
powerless to do so.

The numbers climbed higher but looked as though they were going to settle
somewhere in the 90s.

"UH-OH!" Brooks said again louder, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Timmy felt
so tiny and embarrassed.

Then, miraculously, the wheel turned a bit more.

105!

Timmy was elated. He smiled up at Brooks like a small child proud of having
accomplished a pathetically mighty task that all grown-ups could do but the
child himself hadn't been able to master yet.

"Oh Timmy!" Brooks beamed down at him, her voice still overly dramatic. "How
MANLY of you! My heart is so a-flutter to be going on a date with a REAL MAN who
clocks in at ONE-HUNDRED and FIVE pounds of pure-- Oh. OH. Look, Timmy. Look."

She pointed an elegant, white-gloved finger down towards the back of the scale.
Timmy turned his head back and saw to his horror that Brooks had leaned her leg
over and placed one of her dressy black heels on the back of the scale.

The moment sunk in, and once it had Brooks curtly removed her shoe, at which
point the numbers on the scale spun lower.

90 lbs.

"THAT's more like it!" Brooks roared. "Looks like you're not done losing weight
yet, huh?" She poked Timmy in the ribs and he stepped back, startled. "Oh well,
I guess you just have to hit bottom before you can come back up, huh? RIGHT?"

She waited for an answer, looking at the little man intently.

"Yeah, I-I guess," said Timmy, rapidly losing any bravery and goodwill that he
felt that morning. "I-I guess I had more fat on me than I thought, and the
pills--"

"OR YOU HAD LESS MUSCLE," Brooks said loudly.

"Yeah. P-p-probably."

Timmy wanted to cry. Why did these women always lord their power over him and
point out his weaknesses so meanly, like an owner rubbing a dog's nose in its
own poop. But Timmy couldn't help it; he couldn't help being small. And after
all, it was his aunt who was putting him on this dietary program. Still, those
same pills had apparently worked wonders for Mrs. Thollen, so...

"Now the REALLY fun part!" Brooks said in a voice so loud that it was almost an
orgasmic scream. "Time to measure your HEIGHT!" She was really relishing this.

Bashful, Timmy stepped back on the scale.

"Head UP!" Brooks bellowed. "Or do you WANT to measure less than five feet tall?"

Mercifully, she left that question rhetorically and didn't press Timmy for an
answer. Above him, her gloved hands adjusted the measuring bar.

"Hm," she remarked when she was done. "Very interesting."

"How tall am I?" Timmy asked in a meager, hopeless voice.

"Oh you are so adorable," Brooks said. "Mouthing those little questions. So
adorable I could take you right here and rape you right on the floor if I wanted
to. And you know I could do it. Easily."

Timmy shivered. What the hell was she saying. He hated her and wanted her gone,
but he was so afraid, paralyzed with fright and indecision.

"Just tell me and stop picking on me!" he yelled.

Brooks looked deep into his eyes, which were beginning to water. "Stop 'pickin''
on you?" she asked in a mocking tone. Then she smiled a wicked smile, baring her
teeth. "You're 4'11", you little shit," she said cruelly.

He fearfully moved his head and looked up at the bar. Sure enough, he was under
five feet now but, if it was any consolation, he didn't fall short by that much.
The measuring bar was only one small mark, a sixteenth of an inch, below the 60-
inches mark.

"Four-foot eleven, 15 slash 16," Brooks said, as she recorded his height.

Timmy stepped down from the scale and, silently, he started crying.

Ignoring him, Brooks folded the height ruler down and packed up the scale. She
put the cap back on her pen, clipped the pen back onto the clipboard, set the
clipboard down on the scale and then--

"Oh!" she said brightly. "I almost forgot!"

She hurriedly picked the clipboard up again, knelt down before Timmy (who was
still softly crying), and with one gloved hand she promptly pulled his boxer
shorts down. A rock-hard erection flopped up and down, sprung by the descending
waistband, and then steadied itself to point directly up towards Brooks' smiling
face.

She noted something on the clipboard and then turned to Timmy. Knelt down like
this she was just a bit shorter than he was.

"Hey. Timmy. Stop crying."

He looked at her with tearful eyes. His mouth twitched and moaned.

"If you stop crying I'll give you fellatio. Right here, right now," she said.

He moaned a bit more, then steadied himself, trying not to suck in any more
pitiful gasps of air. His tears stopped.

"Just kidding," she said.

He moaned a bit, dejectedly.

"Look," she said. "Timmy. Pull yourself together. We're going on a date tonight.
I want to have a good time. We're going to have a good time. Okay?"

He softly said, "Okay."

"Good. So cheer up. After all, you get to be with a cool girl like me."

She reached down and pulled his boxers back up just far enough so that they hung
from his erection. Then she stood up and looked down at him.

"I know what'll cheer you up," she said. She got the scale back out and slid up
the height ruler. She kicked off her heels and Timmy noted that her dark painted
toenails could be seen through her white hosiery.

"Measure me!" she said, stepping on the scale.

Timmy approached her, still too anxious to really say anything.

"NOT THE WEIGHT, THOUGH," Brooks warned loudly. "It's impolite to ask a woman's
weight."

That was fine by Timmy. He thought--and the thought pulled him back into
reality--that the last thing he wanted to find out was whether or not this
brawny, shapely woman before him weighed over twice as much as he did. Brooks
wasn't fat at all, but she was big and tall and muscular.

"Can you reach?" Brooks asked. "Of course you can't. Here!"

She bent down and wrapped her big gloved hands around his waist. Then she stood
tall and lifted him aloft. She positioned him to sit on her broad shoulders.

"Can you do it?" she asked.

"Y-yeah," he said, his shaky hands reaching out to lower the measuring bar.

"What is it? Just how freaking TALL am I?"

"Um... Six-two," he said. "6'2" and a half, really."

"WOW," Brooks said dramatically. "That's a LOT taller than you."

"Y-yeah," Timmy said, trying desperately to grapple with the fact that just a
few weeks ago Brooks stated that she was slightly less than 6'1".

Silence.

"Um," he said. "C-can you put me down now?"

"SURE!" Brooks bellowed. He knew that she was smiling even though all he could
see of her was the top of her head and her short, trimmed black hair. He hated
that she was so condescending to him. He really hated her, he thought.

She set his little body back down in from of her, put away the scale and
clipboard again, then slid her hosed feet back into her heeled black dress
shoes. She put her hands on her hips and leaned over him.

"Okay, Timmy!" she said. "Time for me to go! The next time I see you, I'll be
PICKING YOU UP AGAIN--for our BIG DATE I mean!" She let out a sarcastic laugh.

He looked down at the floor, so nervous. He just wanted her to leave so he could
cry again.

"Can I have a BIG HUG before I go?"

Without thinking, Timmy threw himself towards her, wrapping his arms around her
waist and sliding his body against one of her legs. Any hatred or resentment
that he had just felt for her instantly disappeared. He wasn't even thinking
now--he was just embracing something that was maddeningly desirable to him. God her thighs felt so curvy and muscular.

As he did this, Brooks let out a laugh that was more of a squeal. Then she
quickly bent down and peeled him off of her leg with one strong hand, holding
him out at arm's length with her big hand spread over his entire chest.

"Haaaang on, little guy!" she said. "Don't do that yet! We need to save that for
tonight, 'kay?"

"Okay! Okay!" Timmy said, suddenly out of breath.

"And one more thing," she said, bending down further and reaching toward the
tent in his boxer shorts. "If you waste any cum today wacking off in the shower,
or into tissue papers, or anything--I'LL KNOW ABOUT IT." Through her gloves and
his shorts she squeezed the head of Timmy's penis with a big strong thumb and
forefinger. "And I'll be VERY ANGRY with you."

"Owwwwww..." Timmy whined, once she let up. "Okay okay okay."

"Heh," she said, standing back up and gathering her things. "You're like a
little virgin on prom night, aren't you. Don't worry, though. I'll go easy on
you. AT FIRST, anyway."

With that Brooks walked out of the room, her heels clicking on the floor,
leaving Timmy to stand there, his boner throbbing, wearing her own boyish
underclothes and feeling so exhausted already. If he was already that overcome,
exhausted, mentally defeated, humiliated, craven and horny, what was the actual
date going to feel like?

He slunk off to his private lavatory to give himself a cold shower.

-----

"Aunt Rose?" he called, stepping downstairs. "Aunt Rose?"

"I'm out here, Timmy." Her voice came from the veranda.

Timmy bundled himself tighter in his puffy pink robe and stepped through the
sliding glass door. Rose was eating breakfast at a high circular wooden table,
sitting on one of the tall deck chairs, which looked like smaller versions of a
chair you might find a life-guard on at the beach. Rose wore stylish white-
rimmed sunglasses, a sleeveless turquoise top, and maroon velveteen pants that,
on her long legs, became capris, for they ended just above her shapely calves.
On her feet she wore laceless leather loafers. She greeted her nephew with a
broad smile, tipping her sunglasses up onto her short brown hair to reveal those
deep brown eyes that Timmy had begun to find so captivating. Hardly in control
of his actions at this point, still somewhat traumatized by his interactions
with Brooks earlier, Timmy felt compelled to walk directly over to his aunt,
perched high on her chair, and wrap his arms around one of her legs. His cheek
smushed against one of her bare calves, and as he hugged it he gave it a few
kisses.

"Oh what an affectionate boy!" Rose remarked happily. "I like it when you're
this way."

Timmy pulled back and smiled up at her hopefully. Still his hands lingered
against her leg, not wanting to lose contact.

"Why don't you join me for breakfast, Timmy? Brooks has left but I've made us
some fixings. Can you make it way up here?" She gestured to another tall chair
at the table.

These chairs were probably six feet tall. Even Aunt Rose's legs didn't reach the
floor when she was sitting in one of them. It was a struggle, but Timmy pulled
himself up slowly, crossbar by crossbar, until he made it to the empty seat
across from his aunt. He was almost out of breath, and he felt like a child, for
his feet barely dangled down at all once he was properly seated, but he was
proud of his accomplishment, and it showed on his face.

"Very good, Timmy," his aunt said, still beaming at him with white teeth, dark
lips and rosy dimples adorning her supermodel-level face.

Before him Timmy saw a tiny glass of orange juice, a small cup of oatmeal with a
childish little blue spoon in it, and two multigrain crackers. He thought about
remarking upon the extremely small portions, but decided against it. He bit into
one of the crackers. It was probably very healthy, but he still hated most of
this food that his aunt allotted him.

"And how is Timmy on this BIG DAY?" Rose asked.

"I'm... okay, I guess."

"You don't sound very sure. Tell me, are there any butterflies in your little
tummy?"

If they were seated any closer, Timmy thought, his aunt probably would have
tickled him in the stomach as she said that. He didn't know if he wished that
could have happened or not. On the one hand, he still disliked being treated
like a child; on the other hand, for some reason he was beginning to crave her
attention and soft touch.

"Yeah. I am nervous."

"Aw," his aunt said. "Well don't be. Brooks isn't going to HURT you, you know
that, right?"

"Actually, Aunt Rose--"

"Why don't you just call me Aunty. We've grown close enough for that, I think."

"Okay, um, Aunty. I...I'm actually a-afraid of Brooks. Sometimes. I..." He
shoved another cracker in his mouth, purposely not wanting to continue talking
about this if he could help it.

"Well, you know Brooks only does what I instruct her. When she punishes you, she
only does so because I give her that power. But she and I both just want what's
best for you. And we all just want this to be a fun night out on the town for
you. We don't want it to be about you getting scared and feeling like you're
going to get punished. You know that, right?"

"...Yeah," Timmy said uncertainly, looking down and fingering his juice glass
nervously.

"And I know it's a big scary world out there, but Brooks will protect you
tonight. That's what she is. She's your protector, not a person looking to hurt
you for no reason."

"I know..." Timmy murmured.

His aunt looked at him intently as she downed her own glass of orange juice,
which was much taller and larger than his.

"Aunt Rose," he asked. "Aunty?"

"Yes?"

"Is Brooks supposed to be my girlfriend?" He asked this with much trepidation,
not really knowing where the question came from or what he wanted the answer to
be.

"No, don't be stupid, Timmy." Rose tilted her head at him and glared at him as
if she were ashamed. But then her look softened. "She DOES like to spend time
with you, though. She likes to wait on you, and dress you, and watch you eat--
and she especially likes to tease you. And bully you. And I think you like it when she does
that."

"...Yes."

"I'm glad you can admit it, Timmy. That's a big step, admitting that you like a
woman to tease and bully you." Rose daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin
and then smiled broadly at Timmy.

"Aunt Rose, Aunty... I love you," he said earnestly and felt as though he was
about to cry again. "But I'm so confused with all of this... all of this..."

"I know," she said. "But you're doing a GOOD JOB, Timmy. I am proud of how you
have behaved this past week. And a little date with Brooks will be just the
right reward for you."

"But," Timmy began, "but... it's just..."

"Timmy," Rose said gravely, "right now, if it were any other day, I'd pick you
up in my arms, carry you into my bedroom, lay on the bed, and let you dry-hump
my gigantic body until you found release. Would you like that?"

He was shocked but also elated in a way that he couldn't quite process fully.

"Oh yes, Aunty. Oh god, oh god, yes."

"But tonight you have a date with another woman, don't you?"

"...Yes," Timmy admitted.

"So you should save yourself for her. Maybe if you're good tonight, she'll let
you release while she's touching you with her big strong fingers."

With that Rose balled her napkin up and rubbed it between her hands. At that
moment Timmy wanted his aunt's hands more than he wanted Brooks'. His aunt's
hands and fingers were longer, softer, their nails natural and unpainted. They
looked like the hands of an amateur gardener or a loyal wife. He wanted those
hands to pick him up beneath his armpits and hold him close to that smiling
beautiful face that he couldn't help finding so attractive. Even though he was
not related to her by blood, he still felt it was wrong to be attracted to a
woman who was known as his aunt. But... he just couldn't help it.

"You haven't eaten much of your breakfast, Timmy," she said.

He glanced down and blushed. It was true. Only half of his oatmeal was gone.
Part of a cracker remained. And he had only had two sips of his orange juice.

"I thought I had finally figured out how much--or how little--to feed you. But
I guess I overestimated you again, didn't I? Anyway, here are your morning vitamins."

She reached over and sprinkled an assortment of pills onto Timmy's little plate.

"Aunty," he said, fingering the pills. "I'm concerned about my size. Brooks
measured me today and--"

"I know," she said. "You're still getting smaller. But not much smaller, right?"

"No not much smaller, Aunty, but... I can't afford to lose anymore!" He almost
burst into tears but held himself back.

"Darling," she said. "It's almost over. I've told you before that the medicine
has to burn away the bad cells before it grows new ones."

"I know," he said. "I know, but it's just... it's SO hard..."

Silently he began to drink down his pills, one by one, with sips of orange
juice. The pills felt perceptibly larger in his throat, even though he knew for a
fact that he hadn't lost all that much size proportionately.

While he was doing this his aunt cleaned up the table and stood next to him.
Seated in the tall chair, he at least came up to her shoulder. When he was
finished taking his pills his aunt put the tip of one of her long soft fingers
under his chin and gently made him tilt his head to look up at her. He loved
her face--so beautiful and feminine, even with its boyish bob of short brown
hair. She bent down slightly and gave him a tender kiss right on the lips,
licking his lips with her tongue once or twice after pulling back. He moaned and
wanted her, and after he stood up next to her, eye level with her abdomen, it
was all he could do not to wrap his arms around her leg and start rubbing his
groin against it.

"Come inside with me, Timmy. I have some presents for you that I think you'll
like."

He followed her like a little lost puppy--a little lost horny puppy. Rose seemed
more than aware of his growing attraction for her, and it amused her. More than
once, as he followed her through the mansion, she glanced back, glanced down at
the tent in his boxer shorts, and smiled knowingly.

She led him into one of the many spare bedrooms in her mansion and gestured
towards a simple white chair on which several garments were piled. Like a
curious little monkey, Timmy walked over and began sifting through the items,
some of which were folded, trying to figure out what they were.

"A dress?" he said, in a surprised but not wholly disapproving tone. He held it
out before him, as if sizing it up to see how it would fit him. It was silvery
and polyester; it had almost a retro, space-age style to it, like something a
girl in the early '60s might wear to a sci-fi themed party. Still Timmy kind of
liked it, which came as a surprise to himself.

"Isn't it neat?" Aunt Rose said. "I got it from a vintage shop. Very chic, I
think."

"It's for me?" Timmy asked. Things like this still confused him, more than
anything, but there began to emerge a kernel of hope and grace in his voice.

"Yes, Timmy. It's for you to wear on your date tonight."

"Oh," he replied simply. Suddenly nervousness set in as he began to imagine
himself wearing this dress out in public, surrounded by a bunch of jeering and
laughing mean people.

"Don't worry," Aunt Rose assured him, as if she could read his thoughts. "Brooks
will protect you. No one will dare make fun of you with your mighty guardian
alongside you. And besides--don't you sort of WANT to wear this out in public?"

"I... guess," he replied, doubtful but honest. "It's not like I have any other
clothes that are any better. Not anymore anyway. I--"

"Timmy, just stop right there. Don't even go down that road. That's the past.
Okay?"

"Okay," he said, staring up at his aunt. He made a mental note that he still really, really had to get out of this house and his aunt's rule, somehow, some way.

"Now look at the other things I got you."

From the pile he pulled out sheer skintone stockings. Wrapped within them was a
packet of razors and a dainty electric shaver.

"Pantyhose?" he asked in disbelief. "And... What-what do you want me to do?"

"You should start shaving your body anyway, Timmy. I know you aren't very hairy,
but you should try to clean yourself up a little bit. Balls and all should be
shaved. If you'd like, I can help you with that, but personally I'd rather you
do it on your own. And, besides, those aren't pantyhose. They're 'Mantyhose', a
real brand. For men. It is a cold night out, and if you're going to wear a short
dress then you should also put on some hosiery. You'll feel good in it once you
slip it on. I know you will. You'll feel so sexy, Timmy."

Next was a pair of well-heeled booties. They were silver and matched the dress.

Timmy held them in his hands, speechless and not knowing what to think. They
were actually quite heavy in his hands. Through his shock, the first coherent
thought to emerge was the rationalization that he would at least be taller in
these.

Aunt Rose smiled, walked behind Timmy, bent down and wrapped her arms around
Timmy's shoulders, nuzzling him cheek to cheek.

"I know you've secretly been wanting heels for sometime. You'll be about 5'3" in
these--the same height you always said you were."

"The same height I used to BE," Timmy thought, "with slight makeshift lifts in
my shoes. Now I actually have to wear high-heels to reach that height. Still, I
suppose it's better than walking around in public while standing 4'11"..."

"Brooks will no doubt be wearing heels tonight, Timmy," his aunt warned. "So
you'd better wear some too unless you want to get totally blown out and dwarfed
by your lady."

He grimaced, but then the expression turned into a wary smile.

"Thank you, Aunty," he said.

"These booties were actually mine when I was a little girl," Rose said. "I saved
them all these years and took good care of them. Do you want to know how young I
was when I wore them, and how tall I was in them?"

"No, Aunty, no," Timmy whined. "Please, I-I don't want to know that. I feel so
pathetic as it is. I'm 26, and--"

"Okay. Okay, darling," she said nuzzling his face and hugging his shoulders
hard, smushing her face against his soft little cheeks, giving him a few kisses.
"You don't have to know, if knowing would upset you so. But you can imagine,
right?"

"Yesh, Aunty," he said, his mouth squished by her cheek and smiling lips. "I can
imagine."

"I was even taller than Sarah is at her age."

The mention of the girl Timmy used to babysit caused him more despair.

"Please let's change the subject," he said.

His aunt released him and stood back up.

"Right. Anyway, Timmy, if you like these heels and you find that you can walk
well in them, I have another pair, with taller heels, for you to wear next
weekend to Sarah's party. All right?"

The notion of showing up to Sarah's Sweet Thirteen party at all, much less
showing up to it clad in high heels and presumably another dress, normally would
have disgusted and distressed Timmy. But as it was--resigned to fate as he had
become--the idea of wearing heels so that he'd be closer to the girls' level
actually pleased him and gave him a little confidence.

"Okay, Auntie. Sounds good." He couldn't believe he was saying the words, but he
was.

"Glad to hear it, Timmy. You're coming such a long way. But there's one thing
you've forgotten."

He looked at her with some confusion and more than a little exhaustion. The
surprises weren't totally overwhelming to him, but he had had enough of them and
wanted to get away safely.

"What is it, Aunty?"

"Well. Did you get your date a gift?"

"Um... No, I didn't. I didn't get Brooks anything. I didn't know I was expected
to."

"Of course you aren't EXPECTED to, Timmy. No one would expect much of anything from YOU. But a gentleman should do everything
he can to supplicate himself before the woman. Even if he knows he can never
really become her boyfriend."

"Right," Timmy said. (And in his head he thought, "Of course you'd say that, you
feminist bitch." He hadn't wholly gone over to her side yet. He was glad to know
that a small part of him, an independent and traditionally masculine side, still
remained. At that moment, even though he remained calm on the outside, he swore
to never forsake the last of his independence.)

"Since it's too late for us to go shopping for a gift now," Rose said (at which
point Timmy added a sarcastic "DARN!" in his head), "I have arranged an
assortment of my jewelry from which you can select one item to give to Brooks,
from you, on your date.

"Oh," Timmy considered. "Well, thank you, Aunty. That's very kind."

Rose pulled out a large rectangular jewelry box and flipped the lid. Timmy was
impressed, even though he knew that this wasn't all of his aunt's jewelry. He
saw many rings, necklaces, broaches, earrings, and other assorted shiny things
of gold and silver. He saw various rubies and emeralds and tried to imagine
which might look best juxtaposed with Brooks' haunting green eyes.

At last he selected perhaps the simplest item of all: a featureless silver ring,
perfectly circular, with no adornments.

"Ah," Rose said, closing the lid and putting the box away. "Good choice.
Seemingly very traditional, but just a touch naughty."

"What do you mean?" Timmy was confused, turning the simple ring over in his
hands.

"See the triple-X impression?" his aunt asked, steadying his hands with one of
her long forefingers and directing Timmy to hold the ring at an angle in the
light. Sure enough, at one place, on a centimeter-long distance, there was a
tiny impression in the ring that read "XXX".

"One of my old lovers gave that ring to me. It is fitting that you give it to
Brooks."

Timmy did not want to press his aunt further to explain herself. He frankly just
wanted to be done with the situation and hoped that Brooks wouldn't notice the
naughty impression. "Whatever," he thought.

"But you must now write Brooks a nice letter to accompany the gift," his aunt
said.

She guided him over to a desk, and got out a sheet of paper and a fancy pen for
him.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she said. "Here! I got this for you as well."

She handed him a plush little white pocketbook with a silver latch. It was
covered with what looked to be soft feathery strands that were probably
artificial but nonetheless very stylish. Timmy watched as his aunts big fingers
opened the pocketbook and dropped the ring inside. The pocketbook looked so tiny
in his aunt's hands, like it was just an accessory for a doll.

He turned back to the paper on the desk but had no idea what to write. But he
knew he wasn't going to be allowed to leave the room until he had completed this
task.

From over his shoulder he heard his aunt say: "When you give Brooks that ring--
She's sure to fuck you tonight, Timmy. I just hope that she isn't too rough with
you and that she doesn't squeeze your penis so hard that the triple-X impression
becomes indented into your penis flesh permanently."

He felt so embarrassed, and yet his dick sprang to attention. He put his head in
his hands and leaned down against the desk. At this point, he knew he could
either begin to cry and have a real nervous breakdown, or else he could write
the sort of letter that he knew he had to write, the sort of letter that would
please his aunt, would please Brooks, and would more or less correspond to his
actual emotions.

He wrote:

"Dear Brooks,

I'm sorry it took us a while to get to know each other. I'm so glad you're in my
life, but you make me confused. I am so afraid of you, and yet I think I love
you. I think I'm too little for you, and you scare me, but I want to be with you
as much as you will allow, in whatever way you will allow. You make me be a
better boy, I think. That night when you first disciplined me was so traumatic
for me. I was never so scared in my life. When I think of it, I want to go hide
somewhere, but I know you'd find me. You scare me so much sometimes. I think
sometimes that you're going to kill me or crush me or abuse my penis so much
that it could be injured forever. But then you're nice to me and I want to love
you, and you've given me release before, which I love you for. But I know you
like to hurt me, and that makes me hate you sometimes. It also turns me on,
though, a lot. I can't explain it. I want to hump your legs like a little puppy.
Sometimes at night I imagine myself doing that, and I imagine you looking down
at me and laughing at me while I'm doing it. Then I can't help myself. And I
think about how much bigger and stronger you are than me, and my penis explodes
at that thought. Thank you for going on a date with me. It means a lot to me. I
think you know how bad of a crush I've got on you. You still frighten me and I
can't do anything about it. But I guess I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm so
lucky for someone like you to even pay attention to me.

Love,
Timmy"

"VERY good!" his aunt exclaimed when she had read the letter.

Timmy smiled. He really couldn't help himself and was honestly so glad that he
had done a good job of writing the letter.

"Oh I could just kiss you, Timmy!" she continued. "In fact, I think I will!"

She bent down but to Timmy's annoyance she only gave him a peck on the forehead.

"Now go run along and take a shower. You need to shave everywhere, under your
armpits too. No one wants to see a hairy man in a dress. And the fabric will
feel so much better against your smooth tender skin."

Timmy did as he was told, and shaved his face too (though, for the second week
in a row, he thought that he really didn't need to). In the shower it was all he
could do not to masturbate, but he wanted to save himself for his date.

-----

He was indeed, as Brooks had insinuated, nervous as a virgin on prom night. At
ten minutes to eight he found himself pacing back and forth in the mansion's
anteroom, waiting for the doorbell. The heels of the hand-me-down booties his
aunt had given him clacked against the wood panel floor.

He had shaved and put on his new silvery dress, which ended mid-thigh. With his
legs being somewhat hairy, and with the dark hairs showing through his sheer
pantyhose, he would have looked ridiculous in these clothes. But as it was, freshly shaven, he
had to admit, when he examined himself in the full-length mirror, that he
looked "okay". He certainly didn't look "manly" in any way that he had
understood that term. But he could live with how he looked. He wondered if this
was how gay people or transgenders felt, but he wasn't sure. No one was asking
him to become part of the LGBT community, whatever that was. He really didn't
understand any of it. But he was simply dressed in clothes befitting a modern
man of his stature and disposition.

On one level, of course he still planned to have done with this phase of his
life as soon as possible. But as it was, he could live with it. Especially if he
got to go on dates with Brooks.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, sending Timmy's pounding heart up into his mouth.

He hesitated before the door, visibly shaking. His knees actually buckled a bit
and knocked together. The bell rang again. He didn't want to appear too eager,
but... Still he hesitated and shook, his little hand reaching toward the chest-
high doorknob but somehow afraid to touch it.

From out of nowhere his aunt's long tan arm descend down in front of him.

"What are you waiting for, Timmy?" he heard Aunt Rose's voice say from behind
him. "You shouldn't keep women waiting."

Her hand enveloped his and guided it to the doorknob. Together, his hand in
hers, they turned the big golden knob and opened the door.

Timmy instinctively stepped back at the imposing sight that greeted him. In doing
so, he predictably bumped into his aunt's unyielding form behind him. Her hands
came down on his shoulders to steady him as he teetered on his heels. Confused
and scared, he looked back and up at his aunt's smiling face so high above him.
But at that point his aunt moved her big hands onto the sides of his head and
gently, but firmly, guided his head back to face the scary figure before him.

He had often seen hints of Brooks' darker, more imposing side, but never could
he have imagined a female vision more intimidating than the one that faced him.
The fact that he nonetheless found her sexually attractive, and that he was
expected to accompany her for the rest of the evening, made the sight all the
more overwhelming for Timmy.

Brooks' expression and style of dress projected an aura of fierceness and
confidence--pure power. It was her smoky eyeshadow that drew him in at first; it made her
mysterious green eyes seem even more hypnotic to him. Then he saw that she had
styled her short black hair into a sort of pompadour, which went well with her
"street tough" image. Not for the first time did he notice that Brooks' face
could flash between prettiness and hardness in an instant. Despite her short
hair, she did not look "butch", but rather like a beautiful liberated woman. If
only her fire could be quelled, if only she could resign herself to being a
traditional, servile woman--Timmy would have loved her gently, he imagined, and
thought how nice it would be to stroke her hair if she would rest her head in
his lap. But, no, she was not his to love gently; he was hers to love hardly.

She wore her black leather jacket, which had about a hundred silver spikes and
rhinestones all over it. For the first time Timmy noticed that, amongst the
other accessories and studs, the jacket had a silver logo of the video game
"DOOM" on it--and that's just what Timmy was feeling. Her jacket was open,
exposing Brooks' alabaster skin. She wore no shirt, only a skimpy black velvet
tubetop, which was studded with three rows of white pearl-like ornaments--
perhaps they were real pearls, though Timmy didn't think Brooks was so rich.

She wore matching black velvet panties, which were easily visible through her
see-through hosiery bottoms, which hugged her shapely, muscular hips, legs, and
ass. The material of the stockings could be considered fishnet, though the weave
was tighter and not as open as most fishnet. The most striking aspect of these
hosiery bottoms was that they were ripped and had runs in them. He had seen
Brooks' wearing stylishly ripped jeans before--Did stores nowadays also sell
pantyhose and stockings with rips and runs already in them? Or were Brooks'
bottoms simply an old undergarment that she had long since outgrown? Their look
inspired Timmy to imagine the rips being a result of Brooks "hulking out" and
growing out of them right on the spot.

The hosiery ran down her thighs and into her boots, which were jet black leather
boots that reached all the way up to her knees, which were covered with flaps of
leather. The boots, of course, had huge chunky heels on them; Timmy estimated
they were 5-inch monsters, which would have brought Brooks up to a height of
6'7.5". If his aunt were barefoot, he surmised, Brooks might actually be a hair
taller than her. Meanwhile Timmy stood there in his own little booties, thanks
to which he was 5'4". He was suddenly most grateful for his aunt's gifts. He did
not want to face a 6'7" Brooks Fraser if he were only 4'11".

"HI TIMMY!" Brooks bellowed stepping forward and pinning her little date against
his aunt's stomach and hers. "I'M SO GLAD TO SEE YOU!" Her voice was a mix of
sarcastic goodwill and irony, like a cat who has just seen its trapped prey. She
smiled down at him and sneered. He noticed that her lips had been liberally
painted with very dark red lipstick. She looked so fearsome to Timmy.

"Hi Brooks," he said, and offered her a meek hand.

"Oh a HANDSHAKE?" she said with a snigger. "OKAY, if that's how you'd like to
start out our date!"

He should have known better. She reached down and grabbed his hand, and suddenly
he became aware of what Brooks' hands looked like that evening. She was wearing
fingerless leather gloves, like something a biker might wear. And her nails were
enough to make Timmy want to run away crying. They were like dragons claws: long
and sharp and painted with a base of midnight black. Along each razor-sharp nail
Brooks had drizzled a little dark red, giving the impression of blood running
down her sharp black talons. Brooks' hands were already huge, her fingers already
long; these nails made the effect ridiculously frightening--and sexy--as far as
Timmy was concerned. Were these fake nails? Timmy wasn't sure. Brooks had been
wearing gloves every time he had seen her lately...

He tried to pull away, but it was no use. Her hand gripped his and squeezed it.
The "handshake" was more of a crushing session, though Timmy was painfully aware
that Brooks was using hardly any of her real strength. He sniveled in discomfort
and both his date and his aunt laughed at him.

"I LOVE what you're wearing, Timmy!" Brooks exclaimed, letting his hand go and
running the back of her hand down the length of his dress.

"Oh, uh, good," Timmy said.

"You're not embarrassed to go around town looking like a little faggy princess?"
she questioned, teasingly.

"N-n-no," he said. "I'm okay with this. And, um... I think it will be fun to be
with you, and that's all that matters."

Brooks and his aunt exchanged a delighted look, then Brooks remarked, "Yes,
that's very sweet. You realize that everyone who sees us will assume that you're my bitch-boy... and that I obviously have you trained to do whatever I want... and that probably I shove dildos up your ass for fun until you bleed out... and that I dress you in those clothes just to humiliate you in public because I get a kick out of it, and you're so weak that you obey, and would obviously let me fuck you up the ass hard with anything I wanted to. You realize that sort of situation is sensibly what strangers will assume our relationship to be, right?"

Timmy just looked down and nodded.

"But no one fucks with me or my men anyway. So you're safe
with me."

With that she took off her jacket and flexed her right bicep, and muscle
exploded from her thick arm. Timmy was amazed that someone so strong could still
be so feminine. Ordinarily, Timmy had no doubt that Brooks could pass for a
typical babe; her muscles weren't THAT defined all the time. Brooks didn't look
like a bodybuilder, just a really, really strong girl. And when she wanted to,
she could definitely make her muscles pop.

"You haven't eaten dinner yet, have you?" she asked.

"N-no, no, you said not to."

His aunt put a long hand on his shoulder and said, "He begged me for some crackers
earlier, but I didn't give him even one. You should have see it, Brooks--when he
asked me his little tummy actually gurgled. He hasn't eaten since breakfast. I
wanted him good and hungry for you. And," she added, "I made sure to keep tabs
on him, and he hasn't had any 'release' all day long, either!"

"Is that so?" Brooks poked his stomach with a long witchy forefinger and said,
"We'll just have to get some food inside his little 'tomach, won't we?"

"Let me get a picture of you two before you leave," Rose said, getting out her
camera.

Brooks maneuvered him and made him stand in front of her right leg. He could
feel her knee bouncing behind him, bumping into his bony little ass; it reached almost as high as his waist. They
faced his aunt and smiled: Timmy smiled nervously and Brooks smiled wolfishly and knowingly. Before the picture was taken he felt Brooks snake her
right hand behind his neck and grasp its circumference totally with her fingers
and nails. Then she petted his neck threateningly, scraping her nails
lightly against his Adam's apple.

She kept her hand there, as if she were a mother dog holding her puppy by the
scruff of its neck, as she walked him outside and down the steps toward their
ride.

"A limo?" Timmy said in disbelief. He wasn't expecting his. It was a huge limo
that looked like an extended SUV.

"Well, YEAH," Brooks said. "You think I'm not going to treat you to the best
night of your life? I always take care of my men."

The driver opened and closed the door for them, and then for the next ten
minutes or so they were totally alone. Timmy felt the nice leather of the car's
interior. There was no visible window between then and the driver. His feet
didn't even reach the floor--even with his heeled boots on--but Brooks looked
almost uncomfortably cramped. She had to fold her legs up, and Timmy thrilled at
seeing the expanse of her thighs beneath the ripped hosiery. She had probably
put more runs in it just positioning herself in the limo, but no one could tell;
and, besides, the trashier the dark pantyhose looked, the BETTER and SEXIER it
looked on her.

"Your whole look tonight, Brooks..." he began, not sure what he was trying to
tell her, but he had to tell her how much he appreciated it. "I mean, um, you
look..."

She didn't even let him finish. She knew they only had limited time before they
got to the restaurant.

First she gave him a quick slap across the face to stop him from talking. To say
the least, this shocked him and no doubt felt like a much harder blow than she
intended. But she was just so much bigger and stronger, that she really couldn't
help it if he was so weak. Before he had time to really process what had just
happened, though, she had reached over and pulled him against her. She tried to
stretch out as far as she could, but the space of the limo wasn't quite
accommodating for what she was trying to do. Undaunted, she simply began pawing
at Timmy's body, tossing it this way and that, yanking an arm then flipping him
over to squeeze his thighs or rake her nails against his rump.

"Iyyy wantuh tew pway wid yoh widdle boddee..." she said in a mocking tone as she shook him close to her, pressing his tiny weak frame against her long strong flank.

Timmy was totally disoriented and didn't know what was happening other than the
obvious: that he was being treated like the toy of a bitch bulldog, and that tonight he
was probably going to get raped whether he liked it or not--and despite the pain and humiliation he wasn't sure
that he didn't actually like being abused this way.

Suddenly both of her hands were shoved up his dress and working their way toward
his groin. He looked down and saw Brooks' meaty forearms; he noted with a
thrill, mixed with dismay, that they were bigger than his thighs. She had
discarded her leather jacket and he had an excellent view of her cleavage and
impressive bare shoulders. As she picked through his dainty underwear she
simultaneously rammed his body, but didn't let go of his crotch, until he was
underneath her, almost head-over-heels. She hunched over him and looked down at
him with a wicked smile.

When she began massaging his penis and scrotum, she was not exactly gentle, but
it was just what he wanted. At least she didn't scratch or prick him too much
with her nails. He reached up towards her with his baby arms and put his little
hands on her biceps, rubbing them lovingly. As if repulsed by his weakness and
tenderness, at that moment she grunted and rammed his body harder against the
leather seat of the limo.

"Little bitch I'm just going to destory..." she hissed in a low, threatening tone.

She was treating his genitals like one little mass of Playdoh at this point,
and the fact that his penis was hard didn't prevent her from bending it
backwards and twisting it around her fingers any way she wanted to. Timmy winced
with pain but also in anticipation of the gigantic orgasm that he knew was on
the way.

She quickly sat down and dragged Timmy's body across her lap. He was looking up
at the ceiling and noticed that the limo had a sun roof. It was a starry night,
he saw, has his orgasm began. Suddenly Brooks' beautiful but wicked face blotted
out the stars. He wanted to come right into her dark red lips if he could. But
she sneered and worked his penis even harder, grinding it between her two
viselike hands.

He felt his hips begin to gyrate and spasm. Brooks lifted him up in her arms and finally,
as the moment came, she wrapped her big sexy mouth around the entirety of his
dick and scrotum.

He got one good--real good--pulse of ejaculate out, but then... something was
wrong. He couldn't come anymore. Something was holding him back somehow. In
confusion he looked into his date's eyes, and her mischievous expression told
him that somehow she was preventing him from coming anymore. As the crisis of
his frustration passed, along with his thrill, he realized that she was blocking
the hole of his penis with her incredibly strong tongue. She slowly removed most
of his penis from her mouth, but kept the pressure up until the end, until there
was no need for it anymore. As his penis head finally emerged from her blood-red
lips, she dabbed its blowhole one more time with her tongue, in sort of a
goodbye kiss.

"How did you--?"

Rather than answer, she swished around the bit of come that was still in her
mouth and then showed it to Timmy once she had collected most of it in the
middle of her tongue. She then lifted his now only semi-erect cock back to her
lips and enveloped it again.

Timmy feared he knew was her plan was, and he was right. Her lips sealed tight
around its girth, Brooks began to blow into the hole of Timmy's penis, forcing
it open so that she could push the semen back inside, along with some of her saliva, to add further insult and as if to say: "You thought you were going to deposit some of your fluid in me? No, you've got it the wrong way around, little boy." It was unimaginably
painful. His penis felt like it was being cut open; she was capable of putting
so much pressure on it. And he could feel it when the semen went back in. She
blew so hard in order to shoot the come back from where it came. His penis ached
so bad when she was done.

She finally sat him on her knee, his little legs dangling down a pitifully short
distance, an expression of pain and shame on his face. She smiled at him, proud
of what she had just orchestrated.

"But wasn't that FIRST moment of release WORTH IT?" she asked him rhetorically,
and then bellowed with laughter.

He had instinctively placed his hands over his crotch area, as if in a
protective effort, and he held his head down in fear.

"Oh don't WORRY, Timmy!" she said happily. "I'll let you come again later. Maybe
I'll let you come many, many times before the night is through. But right now
we're just getting started, and I can't afford you to waste even one drop of
semen. Do you know why?"

Evidently she expected him to formulate an answer.

"I have n-no idea," he said meekly.

"Well," Brooks began, picking him up in her arms again and hugging him close to
her chest, bringing his shivering little face close to hers. "If I let you come
now... for all I know you won't be able to get it up when I need it later. I
mean, for all I know you might not find me attractive enough to have sex with
more than once a night!"

She said this sarcastically and brought him so close to her that their eyes were
almost touching.

"Timmy, I'm SO happy you would go out with an ugly girl like me! I'm not sure
what a manly stud like you, with your so sexy feeble 4'11" body could ever find
in a girl like me. But I'm so happy for you to have lowered your standards to
date me! But--DO you think you could have sex with me more than once tonight? DO
you find me attractive AT ALL?"

"Um y-y-y-yeah Brooks, I do. I d-don't know why you're talking this w-way, um.
Y-you should kn-know that I like you. Y-you don't have to act this way." Then he
added in a quivering voice: "P-please."

She lowered his little body as if she were done lifting weights and set him on
the floor in front of him. He was able to stand up to his full height in the
limo, which they both realized had stopped moving. They were at their
destination.

From her crotched position Brooks stared up at the scared man. There was time
for one last thing.

"So you mean to say that you DO find me attractive?" she asked plaintively and
sarcastically.

"Y-y-yeah," Timmy stuttered. "Everything about you scares the shit out of me but
turns me on."

With that she smirked and punched his shoulder in a "friendly" way.

"GOOD!" she said, and as the door of the limo opened she placed a clawed hand
behind Timmy's lower back and with one motion roughly flung him out of the
vehicle and onto the city street.

"Gentleman first!" she said, as she skillfully maneuvered her long legs sideways
and stepped outside.

-----

His shoulder still ached as they entered the elegant restaurant. He rubbed it
and tried to move and rotate it around a bit. It didn't feel sore but it felt
like he had pulled something.

"Oh stop it!" Brooks hissed. "I didn't hit you that hard, you fucking baby!"

The words stung. "Fucking baby"--that was the same thing Sarah had called him
that day in the mall, when he had whined to his aunt and complained about the
young girl picking him up off the ground so much.

"I'm s-sorry, Brooks," Timmy said, mentally noting how unfair it was for him to
be apologizing to her. "It feels like I pulled a muscle or something," he added.

"Ha!" She tossed her head back. "You don't have any muscles TO pull! Not like
these."

She held one of her mighty hands in from of her little companion's face. She
made a fist, into which most of her black nails disappeared inside, except for
her mighty thumbnail, and she squeezed and showed off her strong fingers. Timmy
had no doubt that just one of those hands would be a match for every muscle in
his pathetic, emaciated body. He made a low whimpering sound, half because he
envied Brooks' power, half because he knew that she would find the pathetic
sound cute. Despite all else, he wanted Brooks to like him, and was evidently
willing to compromise much (if not all) of his integrity to endear himself to
her in any way.

"Could this be what a good relationship for me would be like now?" he asked
himself silently. "Is this the sort of woman someone like me should be with?
Someone so tall and strong and domineering? Lord knows I don't have any ambition
left for my own life. But a girl like this--she could just tell me what to do
and how to act. So in that case it might be okay if I remained an indecisive
little nothing. But she's SO cruel... I guess that would be part of the package,
submitting to her and allowing her to beat the hell out of me and dominate and
humiliate me constantly. Still, she's so damn attractive to me..."

Brooks looked around impatiently. It was Saturday night and the restaurant was
packed. It was a very upscale place, somewhere Timmy had never been. He was glad
that his aunt had given him her credit card. He wasn't used to spending this
kind of money on food. Then again, maybe Brooks would insist on paying, just as
she had paid for the limo, if only to prove to him how much in control she could
be.

At the moment a disgusted look crossed her face. "Seriously?!" she groaned
loudly, in disbelief and annoyance at the line of well-dressed patrons ahead of
them.

She would have towered over everyone there even if she didn't have her 4.5-inch
heeled boots on. With them on, she could see over everyone's head, and in the
distance she spotted the maitre d', an old white-haired man in a tuxedo. He was
at the front of the line, standing at a podium, taking down people's names and
looking at his watch regretfully.

"This is ridiculous, Timmy--Come on!"

She snatched his hand in hers and propelled them through the line. She didn't
even bother saying "Excuse me" but simply pushed the smaller people out of her
way as if they were lifeless munchkin mannequins. She seemed not to notice their
calls of displeasure and pain as she shoved past them.

"Do you h-have a reservation?" Timmy asked as she dragged him behind her.

"Do you think I NEED one?" she quipped.

At that moment he looked down and saw Brooks' ass. This was the first instance
so far that night that he had actually been behind her, so for the first time he
saw that there were daring holes and rips and runs in the hosiery material that
covered her rear-end as well. It was the sexiest thing Timmy had ever seen,
Brooks' round, hard ass cheeks showing beneath the tattered dark lingerie
bottoms. And right in between the cheeks he saw a black velvet thong strap
disappear. Timmy's loins began to throb and suddenly he didn't care where they
were or what Brooks was doing dragging him behind her like a doll. He just
looked at her plump-but-toned ass cheeks and imagined his dick between them,
nestled against the scant sexy fabric that was only halfway covering them.

"U-u-uh, Miss, U-u-h, what do you mean to--?!"

"Show us to a table," Brooks said to the stuttering maitre-d'. "Now."

"E-excuse me, d-d-do you have a reservation?"

"Do I look like the kind of girl who needs a reservation? You should be happy that I'm even talking to you, because this interaction will give you 'wank-bank' mental images to jerk off to for the rest of your little life."

The little old man was speechless. Timmy noticed that he and the man were about
the same height. The man, of course, was not wearing high-heeled booties, but
still... Timmy felt glad to know that there was someone else on his level.

"That table in the corner there should be fine," Brooks noted, looking over
everyone and pointing in the distance with a long pointy black nail. "Come
along, Timmy."

She yanked him forward and pushed past the maitre-d' and began to enter the
dining area.

Suddenly the little old man rushed and flung himself ahead of Brooks again. He
was quite spry for his age, Timmy noted. And either quite brave or quite stupid.

"E-e-exCUSE me, miss!" he said, a rising tone of anger in his voice. "That is
NOT the way we do things at this establishment. Justine's is not the sort of
restaurant where one can just-just... Just, please, promptly return to the back
of the line and--"

That did it. Brooks leaned down so that she was nearly face-to-face with the
little gentleman. She stopped his annoying speech by smushing his cheeks
together with her free hand. She glared wickedly at him. By this time several of
the diners were taking note of the scene.

"I am used to getting what I want!" Brooks bellowed. "And I am used to getting
what I want WHEN I want! Right now my darling little date-boy and I would like
to eat. So we are going to go over there to that table and eat. If you would
like to try to stop me, I promise you that you will be needing an ambulance to
leave--if not a hearse. And if your waiters and chefs know what's good for
them, they will serve and wait on us so that we receive our meal as quickly as
possible. Understand, or do I need to BREAK you?"

The old man was speechless, his eyes popping out of his skull. It was evident
that no one had ever talked to him this way, and that he had no idea how to
react to such a threat coming from a person of Brooks' sex, sexuality, and
stature. When she released his cheeks, dragging her nails slowly down his face
and scratching his skin only lightly, he murmured wordless syllables for a few
seconds before saying:

"B-b-but miss... miss... there are o-other people eating at that table now."

She smiled and patted his cheek, gently but threateningly, with one of her open
palms.

"You're cute," she said. "You men say just the cutest things. These other people
will simply have to leave so that my little boy and I may sit down."

She strode over to the corner table, dragging Timmy behind her, with the useless
maitre-d' tottering behind as well. There was no doubt now that Brooks was in
charge here; everyone who came in contact with her soon found that out, the easy
way or the hard way.

At the table was a family of five: a husband in his late 40s, a wife in her late
30s, two twin boys who looked to be about 13, and a girl of 8 or 9. Brooks
smiled at them and rapped her knuckles against their table to get their full
attention.

"Hello. My little date and I would like to eat here now. So you need to move."

The husband and wife looked at each other. The children looked up at Brooks'
imposing, impressive figure. All five had their mouths hanging open, not knowing
what to say.

The husband, who had a thin beard and thick "hipster" glasses, put down his fork
and said to Brooks, "I don't understand. W-what do you want?"

"You're an idiot," Brooks told him. "I know your type, you cowardly little turd. You
already heard me: I said I want your table. LEAVE."

"Um, excuse me," the man said again, wiping his mouth with his napkin nervously.
"We-we're still eating here; we-we're almost done, though, and--"

"I don't WANT 'almost done'"--Brooks pounded her mighty fist on the table. "I
want you to leave. NOW."

The husband looked at his wife for support. The woman was in disbelief, though
she seemed less rattled than her husband. She stared back at him, and in a meek,
anxious voice he whispered to her, "What do you want me to say?"

The wife looked up at Brooks and said, "Is it absolutely necessary that you have
this table?"

"YES," Brooks said. "I am on a date here"--she yanked Timmy upwards, holding him
in the air by his hand as if he were a prize fish that she had caught--"and we
need to move things along so that I can have a perfect night."

"Okay, then," the wife said. "We'll leave."

The husband still looked at her, as if afraid to look back at Brooks. His mouth
gaped open even lower. "You-you're just going to have us LEAVE?!" he asked his
wife.

"Well what CAN I do, Benjamin?" the wife said as she began to collect her purse.
"It's obvious that you aren't going to stop her."

The husband, Benjamin, guffawed a bit and glanced side to side nervously. The
two twin boys looked at each other but didn't say a word. The little girl calmly
studied the entire situation.

Suddenly the husband stood up and turned to face Brooks. He wasn't a short man.
He was nearly six feet tall. Still, at the moment that made him over seven
inches shorter than Brooks. He had to tilt his head up comically so as not to be
looking into her chest area.

"Well," Brooks smirked. "Little Mr. Benjamin. I hope you're getting up to give
me your seat. I hope for your sake that you're not getting up to challenge me."

Rather than answer her, Ben turned to the maitre-d'. "Why aren't you stopping
her?" he asked.

The maitre-d' had his head down. He murmured something no one could hear and
then scurried off. He went back to the entrance and began taking down people's
names as if nothing had happened.

Ben let out a loud sigh of dramatic annoyance.

"Look, we're ALMOST done eating here," he told Brooks, trying this angle again.
"I'm sorry you're having to wait, but you can have the table if you just let us
finish eating our--"

"NO!" Brooks said authoritatively. Every eye in the dining room was on her, and
everyone was listening. "You will take your little family and run along so that
I can get on with my foreplay. Or else I will BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU RIGHT
NOW!"

She grabbed the man's collar, balled her hand into a fist, and lifted him off
the ground so as to look him directly in the eyes.

"Daddy!" one of the twin boys squealed. "Don't hurt daddy!"

"Do you WANT to see your daddy beaten up by a big sexy girl?" Brooks asked.

"N-no!" the other boy said. "No! Stop please!"

She turned her gaze back to Ben. Her crimson lips twisted into a wicked smile
and she slowly lowered him back to the ground, taking care to let his smaller
body rub against her larger body as she did so. She didn't let go of his collar,
though; she held him fast and kept the helpless man totally under her control.

"I think I'll beat him up now," she said matter-of-factly.

"Please don't!"

She turned. This call actually came from Timmy. He couldn't help it. He had to
do something and he heard himself saying the words even before he decided to say
them.

Brooks yanked him toward her. His head didn't even come up to the level of her
boobs. He looked at her toned abdomen as it appeared from between her open
leather jacket.

"Haha," Brooks chuckled. "Would you care to repeat that?"

"Um, please don't hurt the guy, Brooks. Please."

She yanked his arm up again, which had the effect of pulling him closer against
her body. He was lifted off his feet and he swung towards her. As it happened,
his fully erect penis bounced against Brooks' fishnet-clad thigh. He almost
exploded on the spot. His loins throbbed. He moaned as his erection, through his
dress, settled against the side of Brooks' big shapely thigh. She laughed, very
much aware of what Timmy was going through.

She lifted Ben back up into the air, then lifted Timmy higher.

"Two men in two hands!" she said to the table. "I think I'll BEAT one of them up
now"--she shook Ben a bit--"and FUCK one of them up later"--she shook Timmy. She
shook him like a ragdoll.

"Why would you want to be mean to someone?" a small voice asked. It was the
little girl at the table. She asked the question calmly and seriously.

"Because it turns me on," Brooks said, answering in the same honest tone in
which the question was asked. "Because it turns me on and because it gives a
pleasant, pleasurable ORDER to the world. And because... secretly, or NOT so
secretly, they WANT me to be mean to them. Deep down, men like it."

Then she slowly lowered both men down and actually released her grip on Ben's
collar. The man choked for air and touched his throat.

"Water!" he gasped, extending a hand towards his wife, who put her head to one
side, paused, and then handed him a glass of water.

"Oh it wasn't THAT bad, Ben," she said. "Quit being so dramatic."

Brooks put her arm around Ben's shoulder and pulled him close to her. "I've
decided NOT to just beat him up. Rather, I'll give him a chance to fight me. If
he'd like. If he still doesn't just want to LEAVE ALREADY." Ben glanced up at
her nervously, but continued to sip his water. "So what do you say?" she asked
the table. "Should your MIGHTY patriarch fight me, in which case I'll let him
have the first punch, or should he just use his supposed AUTHORITY to order you,
his family, to say you can all leave? It's up to you guys."

The wife looked at Brooks intently, then she brought her gaze to her daughter.
Mother and daughter looked at each other for a long time, as if they were having
a wordless conversation.

"Don't fight!" one of the boys yelled.

"Yeah c'mon, let's just GO!" the other one said, shuffling in his chair.

"Well," Brooks said, "what say you two?" Both mother and daughter looked up at
Brooks. "Would you like him to fight me? Would you like to see me break this
pathetic annoying man of yours, who pretends in some annoying respect to
actually be in charge of anything? Don't you think it would be GOOD for him, to be taught a lesson like that?"

Timmy looked at the glances of both mother and daughter, and without a doubt he
knew that their eyes said "YES".

"No," the mother said, sighing.

"No, don't beat him up," the daughter said.

"Okay then," Brooks said, releasing Ben, and the entire company breathed a sigh
of relief. "It doesn't have to happen now. But you ladies should realize that SOMETIME SOMEONE is going to have to discipline him."

The rest of the family got up, collected their coats, and shuffled off. Timmy
noted that the father had his head down but was speaking in very fast, soft,
whispering tones to his wife, no doubt trying to explain himself and make
himself seem not as embarrassing as he truly was. Meanwhile, the little girl led
the way, unphased by anything that had just occurred. She looked several years
younger than her brothers, but Timmy noticed that she was less than half a foot
shorter than them. Timmy had estimated the twins' age to be about 13 or so. But
Sarah Thollen was just turning 13, and she was over 5'9". These boys wouldn't
have even been Timmy's height if he weren't wearing heels. Timmy knew that girls
were getting taller, but was it really possible that there could be a difference
of an entire foot between girls and boys of the same age? Surely not every girl
was taller than her male classmates, but still--

"I wonder if those little boys go to school with that Sarah girl you're always
talking about?" Brooks asked as they sat down. It was as if she could read his
mind.

"I don't know," Timmy said. Suddenly he decided to be a gentleman and hurriedly
rushed over to pull a chair out for Brooks and help her take off her leather
jacket. It felt SO heavy to him as he lowered it down. He noted that Brooks'
upper body looked magnificent, dressed as she was in just the black push-up
tube-top. Suddenly he felt really proud and lucky to be her date.

"Imagine those two little shits playing in the same gym class with her. Isn't
she pretty tall?"

"Uh. Yeah," Timmy said. He hated the subject of Sarah. He would rather look at
and think about Brooks herself and was annoyed that she thought he was "always
talking about" Sarah. He had only mentioned Sarah a couple times when in Brooks'
company, and in those cases it had been to tell his aunt that he didn't really
want to go to her party.

As soon as they sat down, two things happened simultaneously: A waiter slipped
menus in front of them, and people started clapping.

At first Timmy didn't know what was going on. Then he looked around and he saw
that everyone was applauding Brooks. They evidently liked what she had done, or
at least they appreciated the show. All throughout the room, Timmy turned to see
approving faces of ritzy people clapping and raising their glasses to Brooks,
who took it all in with a polite, understated, self-satisfied grin, putting one
of her long-nailed hands to her chest as if to say "All for moi?!"

There were several whoops as the cheering continued. Timmy noticed that it was
the females in the room who were clapping loudest. Some of the males clapped
politely, as if they were only going along with what their wives, companions, or
female friends were doing. No male raised a glass to Brooks, but only a few of
them dared not clap.

Finally Brooks stood up quickly, took a bow, and sat back down, after which
point the clapping stopped.

"Your meals will be on the house tonight, mademoiselle," the waiter said.
"Orders of the owner, Justine. And those ladies over there have insisted that
they pay for your drinks. Shall we start you off with some wine?"

Timmy looked at the women whom the waiter had indicated. They were sitting at a
table in the opposite corner, just the two of them. Both in their late 20s or
early 30s. Both attractive. One a dirty blonde and the other a brunette. The
blonde had short hair, a birdlike face, a pointy nose and circular glasses. She
seemed tall and thin. The other woman was a plump brunette with flowing hair and
breasts so large that they almost popped out of her slinky black dress. Both
women smiled at Timmy, and the blonde raised her glass to him. The brunette
winked and licked her dark red lips with her tongue. Timmy turned away.

"We'll start off with wine," Brooks said. "Red wine, I suppose. Whatever you
think would be nice. I'm not much of a wine-drinker. I prefer harder drinks."

"As mademoiselle wishes," the waiter said. "And--"

"And when you bring us the wine," Brooks added. "Just pour it. I don't want to
sit through any spiel about what sort of wine it is and where it came from. I
don't care. I just want to drink it as fast as possible and get it over with."

"A-as you wish, mademoiselle."

"And one last thing," Brooks added, looking at the waiter but pointing toward
Timmy. "He will need a booster seat."

"What?" Timmy squawked. "I don't need a booster seat! Brooks--"

"Do your feet touch the ground?" she asked him.

Timmy lowered his eyes in shame. He could touch the floor with the tips of his
boots, but he couldn't really place his shoes down on the floor fully, not even
with the aid of heels. He knew that this wasn't good enough.

"I asked you a question, Timmy," Brooks said. "If you tell me you don't need a
booster seat, but then I look down under the table and I see a those little feet
swinging in the air, or dangling down, or even scuffing against the floor--there
is going to be one naughty, horny little liar of a boy who goes to bed tonight
without getting his dick sucked." The waiter snorted, and the corner of his lips
rose to a smile. "So I'll ask you again: Does little Timmy need a booster seat?"

"Yes," he said.

"Very good," the waiter noted, and went away.

Timmy felt so humiliated a few moments later, when he was lifted in the air by
Brooks and then placed into the booster. What sense did this make? he wondered.
He had to get a booster seat because his legs weren't long enough to touch the
ground. But now he was sitting up even higher, which made his legs that much
further from the floor.

"Now I can almost look you right in the eye," Brooks said, as if to answer his
question.

She didn't let him order his own meal, either. He had tried to tell the waiter
that he wanted steak, but Brooks had interrupted him by laughing.

"Oh Timmy," she said. "You haven't eaten any meat in months, and now you want to
eat steak! Your tiny little belly isn't used to real meat anymore. You're a
vegetarian now, and vegetarians can't just all of a sudden process red meat
again once they've decided not to eat it anymore."

("I didn't decide not to eat it," Timmy thought, resentfully. "Other women in my
life seem to have made that decision for me.")

"But I WILL let you eat meat tonight," Brooks said. And even though the notion
of her "letting" him eat something should have come as an insult, Timmy was at
least grateful for small favors. "I'll have the King and Queen Lobster
portions," she told the waiter. "With butter. And with steak fries on the side.
No salad. And our little man over there"--she pointed to Timmy with a long sharp
finger--"will have a little bowl of cold paella, two stalks of uncooked celery,
and a child's portion of crayfish." She handed the menus back to the waiter.
"Are you happy, Timmy? Crayfish have meat in them."

Of course Timmy was disappointed, but he knew it would do him no good to
complain or argue. He knew that being disagreeable at all could only make things
worse for him and decrease his chances at having a good time.

Before he could say anything, he felt a weight land against his crotch. It was
Brooks' foot and leg, clad in her tarty fishnet hosiery. She must have snaked it
out of her boot under the table. Her heel had slammed right against his cock,
which was fast becoming erect again, and her wiggling toes reached all the way
up to his chest. He instinctively shot his hands down to protect himself from
the initial blow, then found himself massaging Brooks' foot and petting it
tenderly.

Somehow, as he was rubbing her foot, Brooks caught two of Timmy's fingers
between her big toe and second toe. Even with her toes--even through the
pantyhose--Brooks' grip was overpowering and unbreakable. Timmy couldn't extract
his trapped fingers. He tried with his other hand to pry Brooks' toes apart, but
found that he couldn't. He was helpless. He winced and looked up at her. She
gritted her teeth and beneath the table her toes squeezed his fingers even
tighter.

"Imagine your dick between those toes," she mused. "Oh just imagine what they
could do to it."

A tear trickled down Timmy's face and he grunted pathetically. She was really
hurting him.

Suddenly she eased up. He shot his hand out from her toes and up to his mouth.
He sucked on his fingers, which looked black and blue. They would probably be
okay, he thought. But it was a good thing she let go when she did. He took an
entirely too large gulp of wine, to help ease the lingering pain.

Brooks was on her third margarita by the time their meals came. Had she not been
so sauced, her impatience probably would have caused another scene.

Brooks received two absolutely enormous plates, each with a giant lobster on it.
A king and queen lobster. The chefs had placed a clumsy, rudimentary gold crown
on one of the lobsters, and a tall elegant silver crown on the other. Evidently
the gold crown was for the king and the silver crown was for the queen. The
queen was, Timmy noted, the larger of the two lobsters.

Next to Brooks' meal--which covered three plates, including one for her french
fries--Timmy's meal looked absolutely laughable. Some paella in a teeny tiny
bowl. Three pieces of celery on a napkin (placed on a napkin!). And four dinky
crayfish placed on a plate that wasn't even as big as one of Timmy's hands (and
Timmy had very small hands). He looked over and felt sure that all four of his
crayfish could fit in the lower part of either of Brooks' lobsters' claws. How
much more than him was Brooks allowing herself to eat? A hundred times more? A
thousand? And most of what Brooks was eating was meat, whereas there probably
wasn't enough meat in all of Timmy's crayfish to equal the volume of one stick
of celery. It was all so unfair. Why was Brooks in charge and why did she have
to be so much bigger than him?

Again, as if she could read his thoughts, from across the table Brooks told him,
"It's not my fault that you're so shrimpy, Timmy. Would you rather I have ordered
you actual SHRIMP instead of crayfish?"

Timmy didn't like the joke. Nevertheless, despite his obvious sulking, he dug
into his paella and had some celery. As he ate he could feel the sole of
Brooks' outstretched foot patting his groin lightly.

"Just wait till later," she said to him slyly. "I'll make all of this worth it
to you. Don't you understand, Timmy, that I HAVE to humiliate you?" He looked up
at her. "Don't you understand that it really DOES--TURN--ME--ON?" She breathed
huskily and, under his dress and through his panties, the toes of her foot
suddenly gripped the length of Timmy's cock. "It REALLY DOES turn me on, Timmy.
A lot. To humiliate you as much as your cowardly helpless ass will let me. And
there seems to be no limit to what you're willing to put up with and lie down
for. And AFTER all this humilitation, won't it feel EVEN BETTER later when I bash your little body into nothingness beneath me?"

He moaned as her toes gripped his cock harder and then released it. She withdrew
her foot and bent down to put it back in her boot. Evidently hanky-panky under
the table was over. Which was okay, because Timmy felt that now if she even
tapped his cock with her pinky toe he would have exploded in his panties.

Nervously he turned his attention back to the meager "meal" before him. His
fingers were shaking and it was hard for him to peal the crayfish apart to get at the bit of meat in them. The hard shells hurt his fingers and were somewhat
sharp on the side.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Brooks asked, deadpan. "You can't even do THAT?"

He whined up at her and frantically tried to rip into the crayfish. Brooks
tossed her fourth margarita back and belched.

"If you can't get those crayfish apart, bring them over here. I'll take them
apart for you. And then I'll take YOU apart for me. I wonder how much meat is on
your bones, huh? Timmy? I wonder if there's more meat in this big queen lobster
than there is in your whole reedy little body, Timmy." He shivered. He didn't like
her talking this way. "Bring those little crayfish over here and I'll get them
for you."

"No-no, I can get the meat out," Timmy said.

"You don't sound very confident," she remarked.

Once he set his mind to it and really attacked the shells methodically, he found
that he had just strength enough in his hands to get the crayfish apart. There
was only a small morsel of meat in each one, but it was the only meat Timmy had
had in months. He happily chewed each tiny piece five times as long as he had to
before swallowing. He ate three of the four crayfish this way.

"Very good," Brooks said, her strong hands cracking apart her lobsters. Timmy
noted how easily she ripped apart the shells, pulled off the beasts' tails and
expertly cut through various parts of the shell using her long black nails as if
they were razorblades. Watching her do this turned him on but also made him very
afraid. It was an emotional mix that Timmy was becoming accustomed to.

"I'll trade you your last crayfish for a lobster claw," she said.

Timmy couldn't resist this. The thought of a whole lobster claw--all that meat--
was too good to be true. He eagerly shoved his plate towards Brooks, who smirked
and picked up his remaining crayfish. She looked at it, looked at Timmy, and
then speared the crayfish with her nail and put it in her mouth whole, shell and all. She smiled at Timmy as
she chomped down, crushing the shell and evidently feeling no pain or even
displeasure. In one gulp she swallowed it down. The waiter had returned and had
brought her two vodka-and-Redbulls, which she drank down on the spot. Next she
ripped off one of the lobster claws and threw it on Timmy's plate.

"There!" she yelled happily. "Now you try that!"

For the next five minutes Brooks laughed louder and louder as Timmy struggled
with the lobster claw. His little hands were useless against it. He tried to use
his fork and knife, but could muster no technique that had any effect. He tried
to use a specialized lobster shell-cracking tool, but he couldn't seem to get
the hang of it and it kept slipping out of his hands. In the event that he did
manage to position the cracking tool correctly, he found that he simply lacked
the strength to bring it down hard enough.

By now a small crowd had gathered around their table--most of them women,
including the birdlike blonde woman and the plump brunette who were buying their
drinks. The crowd snickered and laughed along with Brooks at Timmy's pathetic
efforts.

Timmy finally put his hands down, exhausted.

"Aw!" Brooks bellowed. "GIVE UP?"

"Yes," Timmy said sorrowfully. "I give up. I can't do it. I'm just not strong
enough... And I'm too little."

This brought a hearty round of laughter from Brooks and, in turn, from the
crowd.

"Oh bring it over here!" Brooks said in sing-song fashion, scooching her chair
out a bit and patting her big hosiery-covered thigh.

Timmy dutifully got down from his booster seat, took the big lobster claw over
to her--over to Brooks, his maid, his date, his dream date--handed it to her and
then climbed up on her lap.

"Now watch how I do it!" Brooks said brightly, and she instantly crushed the
claw apart with just one of her hands. It was as if the shell shattered almost
as soon as she put even the most infinitesimal amount of her strength into it.
Again the crowd clapped and applauded her. "Yaaay!" some of them screamed.

Timmy watched, his gaze frozen, as Brooks' big hands picked apart the shell and
collected the meat. She skewered one of the larger morsels onto one of her razor
sharp nails and then pointed it at Timmy's mouth.

"Open up, little boy!" she said, but he was too frightened.

She raised her other hand close to his mouth, and put a sharp black nail to his
lips. In addition to the painted on red drizzles of fake blood, her dark nails
now had lobster guts all over them. The nails lightly scraped Timmy's thin lips.

"Open up please, little one!" she said and began probing Timmy's lips apart with
her nails.

He furtively opened his mouth--he was scared to do so, but he was more scared
NOT to--and then she inserted the nail that had the lobster meat skewered on it.

He lightly took the meat and held it in his jaws as Brooks slowly extracted her finger.
The morsel of meat felt so big and so good in his mouth. He bit down on it
cautiously, wanting to savor every second of his experience. He rolled it
against his tongue.

"I hope you don't need me to CHEW your food for you too!" Brooks teased cruelly.

At that, Timmy began to chew normally. When he was done with that piece, Brooks
fed him another in just the same manner.

When all of the sizable chunks were gone, Brooks amassed the remaining scraps of
lobster meat onto the palm of one of her big hands. Then she spit in it.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Yes," Timmy said, though he didn't really know what she was asking.

At that she forced his jaw open by pinching it with her other hand, then she
shoved the palm with the meat in it into his face. She smeared her hand all over
his face, getting most, but not all, of the lobster scraps into his mouth.
Timmy's face was slobbery wet with lobster juice and spit, but he was enjoying
eating meat again--even if it was only for a night, and even if it was only
seafood.

When he was done, Brooks wiped his face with her napkin, bounced him up and down
on her big thigh a few times, and the crowd applauded before going back to their
seats. Brooks threw back another glass of vodka.

"Do you want to go back to your own seat now?" she asked him. "Or do you want to
stay here while we have our special dessert?"

"Mmm," Timmy thought. "Stay here," he said. Then he put his arms around Brooks'
naked shoulders and hugged her big toned form.

"Aw, that's my boy. That's my adorable little pipsqueak fairy-boy," she said,
before craning her neck down to give him a light kiss on the forehead. "Oh how I
wish I could just rape and break your little body apart right now on this very
table."

Luckily, before their special dessert arrived, Timmy remembered the ring.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Brooks, please hand me my pocketbook!"

She smiled knowingly, leaned, and reached a long arm over to the chair in which
he had been sitting. She snatched the feathery little pocketbook and handed it
to Timmy.

"I got you a present," he said, and handed her a little black box.

"You aren't going to PROPOSE to me, are you?" She eyed him skeptically.

"No, nothing like that. Um... Just open it."

She paused and considered her date. He thought he was so cute. Such a polite
little man, eager to make her happy.

At this moment Timmy was closer than he had ever been to being "okay" with his
entire new situation. At this moment all he cared about was pleasing Brooks and
making her happy with his gift. For so long he had wanted to be in a situation
in which he could proudly give a woman he loved gifts of affection, and here he
was, finally, in such a position. Although in all of his daydreams leading up to
this moment, in all his years, he never imagined that he would find himself
sitting on a big girl's lap and giving her a gift of jewelry shortly after she
had said something about raping and breaking him.

Brooks opened the box and took out the simple little silvery ring.

"Oh Timmy," she said sardonically. "You shouldn't have gone to the trouble. Or
the expense."

"D-d-do you like it?" he sputtered.

"Yes, Timmy. Yes I love it," she glanced down at him. "I love it because it's
from you."

With that she gave him a half-hearted squeeze, bounced him once on her thigh
again, and began to try on the ring. It only fit her pinky, but that was still
good enough. Timmy liked the way it looked on her. He liked the fact that she
was wearing something he had given her.

"Oh look," Brooks said. "It has a little 'XXX' symbol on it. You naughty,
naughty boy."

He crimsoned.

"Did you know about that?"

"Y-yeah, I knew," he admitted. He hoped that she wouldn't take offense or think
the ring was too racy.

"Well I suppose that little 'XXX' will look good when it makes an impression on
your penis, won't it?" That was just what his aunt had said. "This ring ought to
really hurt you--in a good way--when we play some games later."

Timmy shivered.

The waiter brought their special dessert, which Brooks had apparently made
arrangements for an ice cream shop to deliver. ("That's odd," Timmy thought.
"She didn't bother to make reservations here but she had the foresight to get
someone else to deliver her dessert.")

The dessert was an ice cream cake on which there was a cartoonish picture of two
people, a female and male who were obviously supposed to be Brooks and Timmy.
The character of Timmy was dressed in little pink shorts, a poofy purple shirt,
and a childish propeller hat. Brooks was dressed in a dominatrix outfit and wore
spiked gloves, one of which was held out in a fist, and one of which was
reaching way down to hold Timmy's hand. The picture exaggerated their already
immense height disparity: the cake showed Brooks towering over Timmy to the
extent that his head only came up to her crotch. The representation of Timmy had
a confused, scared expression on its face. Meanwhile the representation of
Brooks smiled wickedly.

Looking up, Timmy noticed that the real Brooks had a matching smile.

"Do you like it, Timmy?" she asked, breathing on him with breath that smelled of
alcohol, sex, and power. "I had it specially made for us. This picture is what I
think of when I think of me and you. You should have seen the man at the ice
cream shop when I was describing what I wanted him to do. I swear I think the
man went to the bathroom halfway through just so he could wack off."

She squeezed him again tightly, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a kiss
on the cheek.

-----

After the restaurant they were supposed to go to a dance club. Timmy had never
liked dancing, and right now he certainly didn't feel up to making an attempt at
it. As if the date itself wasn't overwhelming enough for him, he had just eaten
a lot of ice cream cake. "Who goes dancing right after eating a meal?" Timmy
wondered with some annoyance. But he knew that Brooks, at this point, had
consumed about twelve or thirteen glasses, all told, of wine, margaritas, and
vodka mixed with energy drinks. The big girl looked borderline manic and out of
control. The idea of being on a date with a girl like that was no doubt exciting
to Timmy, but when that girl is someone like Brooks Fraser, the prospect becomes
scary. Especially when you're a tiny little man whom she's decided to bully,
throttle, and sexually abuse as she pleases.

In the back of the limo, Brooks went into a laughing fit for no discernable
reason that Timmy could understand. She had been recounting the experience with
the little husband and his family, from whom she appropriated their table, but
something made her "lose it". She was sprawled out all across the seat of the
limo, laughing and flailing her arms. Timmy was trapped beneath her--her big,
tight, perfectly proportioned ass laying hard and heavy against his crotch. Of
course he had an erection again, and Brooks could no doubt feel it--probably her
laughter was due in part to this--but Timmy had become severely annoyed with the
whole situation. He was just about to make a stand, wiggle out from beneath her
and bolt for the limo door--prepared to walk back all the way to his aunt's
mansion dressed in his dress and high heels--when he noticed that the limo had
stopped again.

"We're HERE!" he yelled, trying to raise his voice above Brooks' laughter.
"We're HEEEERE!"

She just rolled over on top of him, laughed in his face, and then sighed,
breathing heavily.

"Well hello, little one," she said, "where did you come from?" She began to
laugh again, and with every laugh her body bounced up and down on top of Timmy,
pressing him deep into the swanky leather seat of the limo.

"Please, Brooks," he said weakly. "You're really crushing me. You gotta get
off."

"AWWW!" she said. "Poor little man having a tough time?"

"We're at the club!" he yelled.

"At the club? No we're not. We're in a limo!" She began laughing again.

"You know what I meant! Please, get off!"

She sighed.

"You're such a fucking little baby, Timmy. You know that? You are the weakest
little fussy baby ever."

He hated hearing that, but at least she got up off of him. She began fixing her
short dark hair again and making sure that her make-up was still immaculate. It
was. Her dark lipstick and smoky eyeshadow had remained in tact all night.

"We're NOT at the club, though. I told the driver he has to park a few blocks
away since we're going to be in there for a while. We can just walk there from
here."

Brooks brashly flung open the limo door and stepped out into the chilly, windy
winter air. Timmy was instantly chilled to the bone. He timidly began to make
his way out of the limo when one of Brooks' hands grabbed him around the neck
and yanked him out. She steadied him with one hand and slammed the limo door
shut with the other.

"GOD, it's cold out here!" Timmy exclaimed. He was only dressed in his little
dress, booties and panties.

"Do you want my jacket, BABY?" Brooks asked him in a mean tone.

He didn't reply, too ashamed. He was supposed to be the man.

"C'mon!" she said, taking his hand and leading him down the street.

It was a starry night and the moon shone full.

"How much farther is it?" Timmy asked, his teeth chattering.

"Just a few more blocks. If you keep whining I'm going to rip that little dress
off of you, so I can look at your sexy pathetic body, and then you'll REALLY be
cold dressed just in your panties!"

Timmy put his head down and continued to follow her down the sidewalk. He was so
ashamed of himself, and cold, and scared. And yet Brooks' domineering tone
really turned him on, even now. At times he found himself wishing that she'd just take complete bodily control over him and then destroy him.

At the end of one block they had to wait for a "DON'T WALK" sign to vanish
before proceeding. A gust of frigid air swept through and Timmy shivered,
leaning against Brooks' large form for heat.

"Here," Brooks said tenderly, taking off her big leather jacket. "Here, just
wear this, honey. It's too cold out for you."

He remembered how heavy the jacket felt when he helped Brooks take it off in the
restaurant. It felt even heavier to him now, given the environmental conditions.
He put it on and Brooks zipped it up for him. His hands didn't come anywhere
near the openings of the sleeves. On Brooks the jacket only reached down to her
belly button, but on Timmy it was so long that it ended about where his dress
did, right about his knee.

"That better?" Brooks asked. Above her waist she was now clad only in her black
velvet push-up tube-top. But she didn't appear to feel the cold to any extent
that troubled her. God she was strong.

"Yeah," Timmy said gratefully. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"Aw," Brooks said. "Calling me sweetheart, huh?" She bent way down and gave him
a long French kiss.

The green "WALK" sign illuminated, and they crossed the street.

The spiky leather jacket felt like it weighed a hundred pounds to Timmy. It felt
like it weighed more than he did. He had trouble keeping up now, and it became a
case of Brooks basically dragging him along behind her. In the process he got a
great view of her ass and reflected again at how sexy it looked in the ripped
hosiery bottoms. But, overall, the experience was too much for him.

"Brooks-Brooks, I can't keep up!" he panted.

She stopped and whirled around. She looked down at him imperiously, like she was
an empress and he a peon. He cowered and began to say he was sorry. She rolled
her eyes dramatically, then squatted, picked him up in her arms and carried him
the rest of the way.

-----

At the club Brooks was like a wild cat. Once another drink was in her system, all
annoyances of the past fifteen minutes were forgotten. The music pumped and
Brooks pumped against Timmy on the dancefloor. Timmy had had a few drinks
himself, and due to his meager bodyweight that was enough for him to feel
nearly plastered. He resolved to stop drinking so that he could better enjoy--
and remember--the great time he was having. He didn't know any of the extremely
loud electronic dance music that was being played. He didn't know anyone else at
the club. Which was a good thing because he was dressed in clothes that he never
wanted anyone he knew to see him in. He didn't even know how to dance. But he
was having a great time. Brooks couldn't keep her hands off of him. While
dancing she looked deep in his eyes and mouthed words to the songs, and Timmy couldn't even understand what
she was saying, but he didn't care. She was constantly looking at him with a "Fuck me now, bitch"-gaze. She often gyrated before him and squeezed his dick
through his dress, hard. She would back him up against a wall and press him to
his knees, then rub her ass against his face. Then she would lift his exhausted
form up and press him against the wall, chest to chest, looking down at him and
smiling wickedly. Once she literally picked him up and dropped him to the
dancefloor. Were it not for the alcohol he would have been screaming in pain.
But then before he knew it she had mounted him and was grinding his face into
her groin. She had wrapped her hands around the back of his head and was forcing
him to breathe in her warm odors. He loved it.

At one point, when they went back to the bar to get her two more rum and cokes,
two foolish guys tried to cause some problems. They were both in their mid-20s
and were dressed to the 9s with trendy dress shirts, pleated khakis, and
expensive sunglasses (which made no sense, since the club was dark already).
Timmy couldn't hear what they were saying to Brooks, but one of them gestured to
Timmy and then put his hand at the level of Brooks' bellybutton, as if to say
"He only comes up to here on you". Brooks sipped her rum and coke through a
straw and gave the young men a dismissive look. Both were about 5'10" or so.
They said something else to her but she turned to walk away, to guide Timmy back
to the area of the club they had been partying in. One of the young men caught
her arm as she was leaving, though. Brooks spun around and elbowed the guy hard
in the side of the head. The blow dropped him to the floor like a sack of flour.
The other guy bounded up into Brooks' face, but she quickly pushed one of her big
hands over his face and then threw his head backwards. He went flying and hit
the floor, the back of his head smashing against the concrete. After this Brooks
turned back to Timmy and said, "Come along, little baby."

They went into the ladies room and Brooks guided him into a stall.

"Not like this, Brooksie," Timmy whined as she put her hands up his dress.

"Oooh yes," she said. "Mama needs some sex before the ride home. Beating up boys
makes me HOT!"

"Nooooo," Timmy said in a low tone. "Pleeeease. I want to do it at your place."

"You will," she said. "But I'm going to do it here."

She stripped him of all his clothes, then sat on the toilet. She took a huge sip
of alcohol, burped, and then shoved her hands down to peel her panties and
hosiery lower than her cunt. She spread her legs wide and Timmy could see for
the first time what he was getting into. She was completely shaved and the
vagina was the largest and most inviting that he had ever seen.

He used his hands and his elbows and his tongue.

"Harder!" Brooks often commanded him. Even though he thought he was doing a good
job overall, and even though Brooks seemed to be enjoying herself, he knew that
he just wasn't big enough in any way to please her properly.

When she finally came it was disappointing, for Timmy at least. For all the
bigness, violence, loudness, and excess that the woman so often reveled in, her
modest orgasm seemed understated. Still, afterwards she looked up at him
contentedly and told him "Thank you, baby" in the sweetest voice he had ever heard
come from her cruel dark lips.

-----

He sat on her lap during the ride home. She had draped her big leather coat
around him. They tenderly made out the whole time.

When they got to Brooks' apartment complex, she held him aloft with one arm as
she handed the driver a tip. The limo drove off and Brooks bounced Timmy in her
arms as they made their way up to her apartment.

"I hope you have something left in you," she said as she unlocked the door and
carried him inside.

"Of course I do," he said. "I only ever came once today, and you spit that back
inside me."

He pressed his groin against her breasts as she carried him high in the air. She
glided through the dark rooms of her apartment, almost dancing with him in her
arms. When they got to her bedroom, she tossed him on her springy bed and then
pounced on him.

"Does my little boy think he can survive the experience?" she asked.

Timmy just moaned, wanting her to take him, craving her roughness and toughness,
wanting to be controlled and dominated.

"I wanted to come in my pants when I first saw you tonight, dressed like that,"
he said, as he wriggled out of his clothes, tossing his little silk panties to
the floor.

"Huh," she remarked quizzically. "You looked more like you were going to PISS
your pants. Or SHIT your pants. You looked like you thought I was going to EAT
you. Maybe I am!"

She put her mouth over his face. It was large enough to cover his mouth and his
nostrils as well. She blocked the flow of oxygen into his lungs as she played
with his body, fingering his penis, pinching him all over with her sharp nails,
and even tickling him under the armpits. Timmy went into spasms and convulsions.
He needed air and he was so overwhelmed. He pounded his useless little fists
against Brooks' muscled flank, but she wouldn't let up, or let him breathe. He
tried to scream but his voice was lost within her suction cup lips.

Finally, when he thought he was about to pass out from lack of oxygen, she took
her mouth away. He gasped and sucked in breath after breath. His little stomach
was pulsating rapidly and his thin little body was quaking. Brooks sat next to
him on the bed, resting one of her big hands on his shoulder.

"Aw, what's the matter?" she asked. "Did you get the idea that I was going to be
all NICE to you now?"

Timmy whined.

"Oh come here," she said, and drew Timmy onto her lap. She made out with him for
a few minutes and stroked his body tenderly.

After a particularly long kiss Timmy drew his head back and asked her, "Should I
wear a condom, or are you on...?"

Brooks bellowed with laughter, startling Timmy.

"Do you actually think any of your wimpy little tadpole sperm could ever have a
chance of piercing my ovum?" she asked him.

"Um," Timmy said.

"Look at me and look at you," Brooks said pointedly, raising one of her arms.
"Put one of your biceps up against mine. Go ahead. DO IT."

He raised one of his arms and put it next to hers. He tried to flex but the
attempt came off as pathetic. His whole body trembled, half in fear and half
because he didn't even really know how to flex, so his whole body felt the vague
strain. The disparity between their arms was immense. Brooks' arm was huge. His
was a pipecleaner.

"And I'm not even flexing," Brooks noted. "Do you want to see me flex?"

"No!" Timmy said hurriedly. He just wanted the humiliation to stop. It was too much.

"TOO BAD!" Brooks yelled and swung her bicep into Timmy's face, flexing it hard.
Strands of muscle exploded and Timmy felt total fear. She was squeezing his
entire body with hers and shoving her bicep right against his nose and mouth,
blocking his breathing again.

Finally she let up, and when she did Timmy found that he had begun to weep.

"Now do you see how much bigger and stronger I am than you? Do you really, REALLY see?"

"Yes!" he said desperately. He already knew it before, but now he really knew it
and didn't want to know it any better than he already did.

"The idea of your sperm piercing my ovum is like the idea of YOU beating up ME.
Do you think that could EVER happen?"

"N-no," Timmy said.

"Not EVER?"

"N-n-no! Not ever! Not ever!"

"What if I was five years old?" Brooks asked. "Do you think you could have beat
me up when I was five?"

"No!" Timmy blurted.

Brooks promptly slapped him on the back of his head, causing him to fall forward
into her chest. He braced himself with both hands against her breasts and picked
himself back up. He hoped that she wouldn't think this was inappropriate
touching. It was just a reaction to steady himself. She apparently didn't mind;
she just squeezed him harder with her thighs as he sat in her lap on the bed.

"Don't be stupid!" she warned. "I know you're a scaredy-cat baby, but even you
are stronger than a five-year-old! If I was TEN, though, I think I could have handily
clobbered you!"

He wiped a stray tear from his cheek. He hated that she had turned on him again.
He had so hoped that they could have sweet sex. At the club and on the way home,
and as she carried him through her apartment, she had been so tender to him. He
thought that finally they were on the same page and that this was going to be a
beautiful love story. But reality had other plans.

"We're going to play a game where you don't get to breathe until you come," she
instructed him. "After you come, you get to breathe for a little bit, and then I
put my hand over your face again and I don't let up until you come again. I
don't care what you do to make yourself come. You can even tell me to jerk you
off. But, god damn it, you better be able to come ten times in a row like that,
or else you don't get to breathe."

"No," Timmy said. "No. No, I don't want to do that. I want to just have sex with
you--PLEASE!"

"Hm," Brooks thought, tilting her head and resting a big fist against her cheek.
She considered him. "No," she said. "I don't want boring sex. I want to abuse you like this in a fun kinda way."

Then in one motion she socked Timmy right in the jaw with a big punch. His body
would have gone flying across the room had she not held it fast with her legs.

"Actually," Brooks said, "on second thought--okay. Go for it."

She released him and leaned back on her bed. She stripped off her tube-top,
allowing her nice breasts to be free, and she pulled down her hosiery and
panties again to reveal her naked pussy.

Timmy climbed on top of her. Even this was an admission of defeat. He was
willing to have sex with a girl right after she had punched him hard and abused
him the way she just had? He wanted to love her and to make love with her. But
he knew that Brooks had no care for his love and did not love him back. He was a
plaything to her and at the moment she was just testing to see how much he
desired her and how much he was willing to put up with.

"There's only one catch," Brooks said. "You can fuck me right now to your
heart's content, and have one nice big orgasm on your own terms. But after
that's over we have to play my game. And you have to come... mmm... seven times
or else you don't get to breathe. Deal?"

"Uh..." Timmy said.

"If you don't take this deal, Timmy, then you have to go home right now. And I
WILL drag you back to your aunt's mansion right now--I don't care how late it is
or how cold it is outside or how much you'll whine and blat and cry. I don't
care." She grinned at the wimpy little man whose thin-boned body was just above
her. "Those are your options."

"I..." Timmy began, "I...can't help it. I want to fuck you so bad. I-I need to
f-fuck you, oh God..."

He sighed, resigned himself to fate, and dropped himself down on top of her.
Brooks' body felt so big to him now that he was trying to mount it properly in
the missionary position. He felt so overmatched, but the sensation of her naked
skin against his was so pleasurable to him. He didn't care what happened
afterwards, he just wanted to feel his cheek against her bare breasts, and he
wanted to explore her toned arms and abs with his tiny little hands and tongue,
and most of all he wanted to feel her pussy envelop his dick and begin to flex
and suck on it.

Brooks did nothing to heighten the experience for him. She just laid there like
a cold fish or a beached whale. In a way, Timmy was glad of this. He knew that
his orgasm was going to be immense. If Brooks excited him any more than he
already was, he was sure to blow his entire wad right now. But she had told him
that he needed to come seven more times that night, or else she would suffocate
him.

He didn't care, though. He put that out of his mind. Right now it was too good
of an opportunity, to have sex with this big girl, a girl who had been turning
him on for months now, and who this night had put his mind through the wringer,
titillating him in ways that were torturous, and torturing him in ways that were
titillating.

"Ah God Brooks I luv youuu..." he moaned as he reached climax, his little
haunches humping rapidly, his little legs knocking against her big thighs. He
clutched her sides as release came, and moaned and pressed his face against her
breasts.

She let him rest for almost a minute, then she sat up and peeled his limp,
drained form off of her. He tried to regain some composure, but it was
difficult. He had just experienced the biggest orgasm of his life. She got down
on all floors, and turned around on the bed so that her ass was facing him.

"Here," she said. "hop on. Why don't you put your little dick inside my ass.
Maybe that will get you going again. If you don't do it right now, then I'm
going to smother you."

Timmy weakly climbed her thighs with his hands and pulled his body up. He felt
so small. It seemed as if each of her thighs were bigger than he was. But the
lovely vision of her ass propelled him onwards. It looked so sexy, he thought
again, that perfect ass inside those tattered fishnets, and those velvet panties
there too.

"Here you go. Hurry up or I'm going to get angry with you."

She reached back, put a long finger through a hole in the hosiery that covered
her ass, and with her long black nail fished the thong strap of her panties out
of her ass crack. She pulled it to the side and bent down lower so that her
cheeks spread apart further.

"Here you go. Stick it inside."

He didn't need to be told twice. He stood up and shoved his erect dick into her
asshole. At that point she tightened her ass muscles around him and rocked him
back and forth. He humped her like a little Chihuahua humping a dog twenty times
its size. He came hard and fast, and pulled his now-aching, tender cock out from
between her tight, clenched cheeks.

"Now it gets fun," Brooks said, spinning around and collecting him onto her lap
in one swift motion. "Now we play the game for real."

She slammed one of her hands over Timmy's face. He couldn't breathe. He
struggled but his nose and mouth were completely covered with Brooks' big palm.
He knew it would do no good to try to yank her hand off. Even if he used both of
his hands, she was still almost infinitely stronger than him. He gave a muffled
moan.

"Okay, Timmy," Brooks said brightly. "Here we go!"

She reached down with her other hand and began jacking him off. Her hand was so
big that the length of his penis didn't peek out the end of it. Yet it was the
hand she had put his ring on. He could feel the ring rubbing against his cock as
she pumped it steadily. His penis already hurt and ached, and he couldn't
breathe, but just thinking about how strong Brooks was and how sexy it was that
she was torturing him while wearing his ring turned him on so much. He came and
shot a small, barely respectable wad of come into her hand.

"Yuck!" Brooks said sarcastically. "Okay, you can breathe now."

She took her other hand away from Timmy's face. He gasped for air.

"Please, Brooks, no more. Please. Please. Please."

Before he knew what happened, she backhanded him hard with the hand he had just
come in, wiping some of his ejaculate onto his cheek in the process.

"I don't like whiners," Brooks said. "That can turn me on, but only up to a
point. And after that point, you don't get to be the lucky little boy who gets
to fuck the big girl. Instead you get the be the lucky little boy who gets the
fuck beaten out of him by the big girl."

Timmy wanted to say he was sorry, but before he could Brooks had grabbed ahold
of him again.

"It's time for the next round!" she said, putting her other hand over Timmy's
face this time. It was the same hand he had just ejaculated in, and there was
still a little of his come on the palm. Brooks smeared it over his face a bit
before pressing her palm hard enough to block his breathing.

Again she began jerking him off, and again he managed, miraculously, to come
again, just before he would have passed out from lack of oxygen.

"Third time's the charm!" Brooks said, as she switched hands again, not giving
him a moment's respite this time. "I'm not sure how much more come you could
possibly be hiding in that teeny little body of yours, but you'll probably have
lost another five pounds before the night's through!"

"No, Brooks. Please stop," Timmy yelped.

"Have you ALREADY forgotten what I told you about little whiners?" she asked.
Then she slammed one hand over his face again, and with her other hand she did
not jerk him off so much as she began to simply squeeze his cock, harder and
harder, tighter and tighter. It was the hand with his ring on it again. He could
feel the ring, feel the metal pressing into his penis. It hurt so much and he
could feel Brooks' long black nails coming down as well, piercing his skin and
digging in deep.

He wanted to scream, but he had no air. He wanted to come, but he was too
drained and too terrified. He wanted to breathe, but Brooks' big hand wouldn't
let him. He wanted to break free, but his abused, malnourished, undersized male
body was nothing compared to Brooks' gigantic toned feminist form.

The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was her maniacal, sadistic
laughing. And the last thing he felt was the sting of the ring on Brooks' pinky
as it crushed the life out of his penis.

-----

He woke up the next morning in her bathtub. He was naked and everything below
his head was submerged in warm water. The tap was running a steady little stream
of hot water, just enough to keep the temperature up, with the excess water
rising just high enough to trickle down the emergency hole just below the ring
of the tub. There was the smell of eucalyptus and aloe in the air, and Timmy
realized that Brooks must have put some kind of soothing medicinal mixture in
the bathwater for him. She even put a pillow behind his head.

The Sunday morning light came through the high bathroom window. Timmy yawned and
scooched up a bit in the tub. He wiggled his body a bit and found that he wasn't
anywhere near as sore as he thought he'd be.

After a few minutes he stood up, then looked down and examined his penis. There
were marks where Brooks' nails had dug in, and it looked purple and bruised. But
it wasn't so bad. It would probably heal in a week or so.

He reached for a towel and dried himself off. His clothes were nowhere to be
found.

A sudden thought struck him, a somewhat dirty thought. For all he knew, Brooks
was probably still sleeping. The notion of exploring her apartment and rifling
through her things without her knowing really excited him. Maybe he could find
some old pictures of her to take back to his aunt's mansion and masturbate to
when he got lonely and horny at night. He wrapped the towel around his waist and
exited the room.

Brooks' apartment was a mess. He was seeing it now for the first time in the
light. There were magazines scattered everywhere, and dirty clothes tossed all
over the floor and furniture. There was a pizza box in the corner.

He crept over to the desk on which her computer sat and was just about to open
one of the drawers when a voice came from behind him:

"What are you doing?"

He turned, guilty and caught in the act of snooping.

She was wearing boxer shorts that barely came down three inches, exposing her
long shapely pale legs, and a white, tight spaghetti-strap top that ended above
her bellybutton. Her dark hair was messed up, and she rubbed the sleep from her
eyes as she sauntered towards Timmy.

"Were you going through my things?"

"N-no," Timmy said, hurriedly putting his hands behind his back and trying to
look innocent. The last thing he wanted this morning was another bruising.

Brooks grumbled but walked past him, into the kitchen. He followed her, admiring
the way her ass--which was chest-level to him--looked in boxer shorts. From a
stand she picked up a pair of thick-rimmed, rectangular eyeglasses and put
them on. He had never seen Brooks in glasses before, and he liked the way she
looked in them. He liked the way she looked in the morning, period, with her
hair a bit messed up, dressed in boxers and a short shirt. She looked less hard-
edged and mean. She listlessly got a box from a high shelf and poured some
cereal into a bowl.

Timmy decided to take a chance. He walked up behind her, leaning into her butt,
put his arms around her and began to rub his hands up toward her breasts.

"WHOA--What are you doing?" Brooks said, flinging his hands away and turning
towards him accusatorily.

Timmy gulped. "I...I thought..."

"We're not boyfriend and girlfriend, Timmy," Brooks said in a sharp, no-nonsense
tone that stung his heart. "Last night was last night. You're lucky I didn't
dump you off at your aunt's at 4AM when I was done with you."

"Oh..." Timmy murmured bashfully. "Well... Thanks for putting me in the bath
like that, Brooks, after I passed out. That was really nice of you."

"I didn't put you in the bath after you passed out," Brooks said, pouring milk
on her cereal and getting a spoon. "I played with you for another hour or so,
then I put you in."

"W-what did you do to me?" Timmy said, alarmed and more than a little insulted.
He thought this was so unfair. If anything, she should be apologizing to him for
smothering him until he lost consciousness.

Brooks snorted and smirked, took a bite of cereal, then replied, "I had some fun
with you. Don't worry about it."

"H-how did you know I w-wasn't going to die? You suffocated me and I--"

"I've done it before," she said calmly. "With lots of guys."

Timmy wondered what it was like for a guy to date Brooks on a regular basis. How
long had her longest relationship lasted? How long could any guy possibly survive,
physically as well as emotionally, around her and her abusive personality?

"Can I have something to eat?" Timmy asked, sitting down next to her on a high
stool.

"Mmm," Brooks considered. "No. I'm going to take you back to your aunt's in a
few minutes anyway. I have the day off, so I'd prefer not to wait on you and fix
you a meal with my food, since I only get paid to fix you a meal with your
aunt's food."

("What a bitch," Timmy thought. Still, she looked so good to him. He glanced
down at her long, long legs. He wished that when she went back to her maidly
duties at the mansion she would dress in short boxers like the ones she wore at
home.)

"Can you STOP undressing me with your eyes?" she asked him pointedly. She had
never seemed to mind it before whenever he ogled her. "I'd prefer to eat my
breakfast without being stared at by a horny, pathetic little creep."

He looked down at the table and said nothing for a while. She finished her
cereal and got up to put the bowl in the sink.

"Where are my clothes?" he asked.

"They're stained," she replied. "Last night you got come all over them. And you
probably don't remember but I sort of used them to soak up some of my own
juices. Once you had passed out I could finally make use of your little body to
actually get myself off. Which you could never do for me while awake. Anyway, I
believe your dress and panties were purchased by your aunt, so I guess it's my
duty to wash them for her. I'll bring them back to the mansion tomorrow."

"Well what am I going to wear today?" Timmy asked, afraid of the answer.

Brooks chortled.

"We-ell, unfortunately I don't have any of the clothes that I wore when I was
ten years old, because those might fit you. But I can probably find something
for you to wear until I get you back to your aunt's."

She took his hand and led him into her bedroom. Despite all the humiliation, he
was grateful that she had initiated some physical contact with him.

She rummaged through her drawers and tossed out a pair of pink socks.

"Here," she said, "these will probably fit."

She dug deeper and found a pair of white panties with a bow on the front.

"Wear these," she said. "But DON'T come in them. Or piss in them. Or shit in
them."

She found a pair of spandex exercise shorts that he could also wear without them
feeling too loose on him. And she found a sports bra that also fit him quite
like a normal-sized t-shirt. He stood there, the towel still wrapped around him,
holding the garments that Brooks had given him.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked. "Go put them on."

"Um. Brooks?" he asked hesitantly.

"WHAT?" she asked, very annoyed.

"I was wondering, c-could you please... um..."

"Spit it out! God damn it, you are a stuttering, sputtering little nervous
baby!"

"Could we please have sex again? Or could I dry-hump you. Or could you at least
jerk me off, PLEASE?"

"NO, you pathetic creep. NO." She folded her brawny arms across her chest. "That
was last night. NO MORE. If you wanted more, you shouldn't've fallen asleep like
the wimpy little BOY that you are!"

"B-But Brooks--" he started. That was all it took--He should have remembered
what she said about not tolerating whiners.

A cruel, imperious look flashed across her face. She moved like lightning and
wrapped one strong, long arm around Timmy's waist and stormed toward her bed,
carrying Timmy the way one might carry a naughty puppy.

"N-NOOO!" Timmy yelled. He beat his little fists against Brooks, but it did no
good. He squealed and kicked his legs in the air, but that did no good either.

Before he knew it, Brooks had sat down and had slung his little body face down
across her curvy thighs. By this time the towel that was around his waist had
fallen to the floor, and he was naked. His delicate little rump faced upwards;
Brooks greeted it with a smile and began rubbing her finger-tips against it
lightly, menacingly. And meanwhile his little pecker was, despite himself,
beginning to grow, poking Brooks between her thighs. She noted this and quickly
clamped down on it, painfully, between her kneecaps. She squeezed Timmy's dick
hard between the bones of her kneecaps: this was one punishment that he was NOT
going to find release from; his dick was to be squeezed shut in the clamp of her
knees, which would prevent any semen from pleasurably leaking out.

"I thought I was supposed to take you on a DATE, Timmy!" she bellowed, now
raking her dark pointy nails across his ass. "I didn't know I was going to have
to basically BABYSIT you and tend to your every little fussy concern! But if
it's discipline you NEED--and you DO--then I guess I'll have to dispense with
it!"

With that her right palm began to thunder down on his ass, raining a hailstorm
of hard, cracking blows upon him. Timmy screamed and screamed, but there was no
release. He cried and cried, but Brooks didn't stop until her own durable hand
began to throb, by which point Timmy's ass was glowing red.

-----

On the bus back to Aunt Rose's mansion, Timmy stared out the window sullenly.
His ass still hurt a lot, even after they had put cooling ointment on it, but he
did his best to put the violent discomfort out of his mind. Brooks was seated
next to him, determined to see him home safely if only so that she could be sure
that her responsibility of "babysitting" him was completed and that he didn't
get lost on the way home. She still wore those thick rectangular glasses that
Timmy found so attractive on her, and she wre a yellow jacket and purple short-
shorts.

The ride would take about half an hour, and it was packed with church-goers and
other tourists evidently in town for the weekend.

Timmy stared out at all of the ugly city streets of a dilapidated urban sprawl
of a declining America. The scenes of course depressed him. It seemed as though
the country as he knew it was in inevitable, unstoppable decline; and it seemed as
though his own life's malaise and arrested development was somehow similar.

Before he could reflect on this lofty and self-important theme too much,
however, he felt a hand snake down his legs. It was Brooks. What was she doing?
There was a bus full of people and they were seated in the open back seat in the
center of the aisle, so everyone could see him. Brooks had placed her big
leather purse over Timmy's lap, so no one could see that behind it her hand was
going into Timmy's waistband.

As her fingers began to play with his cock, he looked up at her. She was looking
off to the side, disinterested, looking out the opposite window. No one could
tell that she was interacting with the little man sitting next to her at all.

He began to moan softly. He couldn't help it. She was twisting his little
hardening cock all around her big long strong fingers. His cock was still
bruised and cut from the night before. It was sore and wounded, but she just
kept playing with it, tapping it, drumming it with her finger tips, raking it
relatively softly with her nails, and squeezing it and rubbing it with every
conceivable technique.

He couldn't stop moaning. He knew that children, families, and elderly people
were looking at him.

He suddenly remembered what Brooks said about the white panties she had lent
him: "DON'T COME IN THEM." Now she was purposely trying to get him to ejaculate
all over them. And the mental torture of this was even greater, since back at
her apartment he had begged her to get him off then, and she had refused.

He lurched up in his seat and thrust his hips out as he came violently,
splooging wet sticky come all over this bottoms. His low moaning became a high-
pitched scream. No one said anything, but Timmy felt so embarrassed, sure that
everyone on the bus thought he was a pervert or a crazy person. A bit later,
when the moment had passed, he glanced back up at Brooks' face and saw a sly
smile in the near corner of her mouth. As always, she knew what she was doing to
him, was in total control, and reveled in making his life an uncomfortable,
sexually-charged misery.

The next stop was near Aunt Rose's mansion, and when Timmy led the way off of
the bus, everyone could see the stain in the front of his shorts.

"I guess you can keep the panties and shorts," Brooks chuckled as they walked up to
the mansion door. "Think of them as mementos from what I'm sure was the happiest
12-hour span of your pathetic life."

He didn't say anything to her. He didn't know what he thought of her now, or how
to feel about any of this. After his date experience, he knew even less about
where he was in life or what he thought about the new mode of living that he had
been placed in. On the one hand, he loved all the attention he had gotten--from
Brooks, from his aunt, from Martha Thollen. On the other hand, he knew that his
manhood--his very personhood--was being debased so much. His value as a human being
was being trampled over, crushed lower and lower into the dirt just as his own
height, weight, and self-esteem were wasting away as well.

"I brought him back to you. And he's in one piece," Brooks said to Rose Nordgren
as she opened the door to let her nephew inside.

"I hope he wasn't too much trouble for you," Aunt Rose said. She was dressed in
a red kimono-style morning robe. She smelled of strawberries, had a towel
wrapped around her head, which suggested that she had just taken a shower, and
was wearing 3-inch open-toed cork sandals. "It certainly LOOKS as though he had
a good time," she added, noting the pitiful stain on the front of Timmy's
shorts.

"Yeah he can't fucking resist me even for a second," Brooks explained. "I control his mind and he is nothing to me."

He sulked off, not even bothering to greet his aunt or to say goodbye to Brooks.
The worst part of it all was that he knew when evening came he would creep to
his bedroom and masturbate like crazy--like the pathetic cowardly pervert that
he was--while remembering all of the sexy but traumatic experiences of his big
date night with his big sexy date, his towering indomitable muscle-goddess.



* * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *



Chapter 4: Sarah's Birthday Party

The next week started off with Timmy hopelessly willing to slow or stop the hands
on the clock. Every hour of every day that went by, Timmy found himself sighing
and consciously wishing that the safe moments of the present could last forever.
He did not want to go to Sarah Thollen's Sweet Thirteen party--that statement
had been in his mind for weeks, and now that the big day was drawing very near,
his anxiety reached a crescendo.

Timmy found himself looking with trepidation at arbitrary marks on his doorframe
and wondering "Is THAT how tall Sarah will be when I see her?" Two weekends
ago he had seen a mark on the Thollens' wall that suggested twelve-year-old
Sarah was nearly 5'10", almost a full foot taller than Timmy. He hadn't seen
Sarah herself since that fateful reunion in the mall, almost a month ago. Her
skyrocketing height and relatively mature, very confident demeanor had equally
intimidated Timmy. This was a girl whom he had babysat just a couple of years
ago. Now she had returned into his life and--more than anything else that had
happened to him in the last year, more than his aunt dressing him in girly
clothes, more than Brooks' brutalizations of his body, more even than his parents' deaths--Sarah Thollen had made Timmy feel
scared, small and inadequate. In the mall that day she had by turns comforted him and
embarrassed him. She had treated him sweetly and even, amazingly, made him
feel okay about sitting on her lap; but then just as quickly she would turn
around and belittle him meanly, or cram his thin little body against her much
larger, athletic frame, just to prove to him how much bigger and stronger she
was than him--literally shoving her superior size in his face--even though she was less than half his age and not even close to
being fully developed yet.

Timmy remembered the cute little dark-haired, brown-eyed girl he used to
babysit. She was precocious, was quite a handful at times, but back then Timmy
was at least able to tell himself that he could indeed control a girl and watch
over her. But now he was 26, hadn't had a girlfriend in several years, and the
little girl he used to get paid to be in charge of was now back in his life as
if to prove to him just how far he had fallen behind. He did some quick
estimating in his mind and realized that Sarah was now much taller and stronger
than him than he had been taller and stronger than her a few years ago. They
hadn't just switched places; she was now decidedly MORE superior than him--
proportionately MORE dominant over him--than he had ever been when he knew her
a few years ago. The thought deflated him. This 12-year-old girl was also mature
for her age, more mature than he was when he was a teenager. He wondered how he
would have felt about Sarah if he knew her when he was her age. He wondered how
he would have felt about her even if he was a senior in high school and he saw
her, this towering sixth grader who seemed so poised in every social situation.
On the level of the social, he wasn't even sure that he outranked her now, even
though he was much older and a holder of a couple degrees in higher education.
Because she simply exuded confidence and strength, whereas he found it
impossible to lose his aura of weakness and nervousness. If somehow their
respective stats and personality traits could be presented to an objective
observer, then--barring their ages--it would be a sure thing to say that Sarah
should be the one babysitting Timmy now. That realization make him feel very
weird indeed.

Timmy's sullen mood wasn't overlooked by his aunt. Rose Nordgren kept a
watchful eye on her nephew that week as he moped around her mansion. As she
expected, there was no "honeymoon" period after the date with Brooks.
Whatever fun Timmy had had with the maid was soon forgotten, as expected,
and Timmy returned to his normal furtive, antisocial disposition. Rose knew that
Timmy's scared little male mind was solely preoccupied with the fears of what
lay ahead. Even though he could do nothing about it (he WAS going to the party,
that much had been made very clear to him), he still inevitably chose to fixate
and worry about the worst that could happen. Just like a man. A Nervous Nelly.

Rose knew she had to nip Timmy's pointless bad mood in the bud before
Saturday drew too near. On the one hand, though it was obviously good for a
man to worry and feel intimidated about something regarding dominant women,
too much of that would simply ruin Timmy and make him too dreadfully neurotic.
The trick was to make the man fear but also enjoy the prospective of any and all
socialization with any and all females. Being something of an expert in these
techniques, Rose Nordgren knew exactly how to manipulate Timmy for his own
good.

She came to him on Wednesday afternoon when he was sitting alone on the
veranda. It was a sunny afternoon and it seemed that spring was right around the
corner. Timmy wore his pink winter coat and matching pink pants. Rose had just
finished a workout; her black leotard clung to her long fit body, and a white
sweatband held her moist brown bangs from her moist forehead. She smiled a
perfect white smile at Timmy as she crotched down before him. He was sitting on
a tall chair but, even so, his big aunt was eye-level with him when kneeling.

"Hi sweetie," she said.

Not for the first time, Timmy was surprised at how easily it was for Rose to
brighten his day with just a couple words. He got lost in her brown eyes and
admired the gorgeous tan skin of her covergirl face.

"Hi Aunty," he said.

"Why are you sitting out here so sad all alone?" she asked innocently.

"I-I don't know," he said. He knew that she was probing and that they were going
to have a heart-to-heart now, whether he wanted to or not. His aunt was a source
of so many heavyhanded "changes" in his life--all designed, it seemed, to
emasculate him--and yet he began to realize that a heart-to-heart with Aunt Rose
was just what he needed, just what he had been waiting for all week.

"Why don't you come inside? I'll make you some hot cocoa and you can sit on my
lap and maybe I'll hug your little body?"

A month ago, hearing his aunt say something like that to him would have been
unbelievable and sick to him. By now however, Timmy regretfully loved the idea
and couldn't wait. He still felt guilt about being attracted to his aunt, but
this too was fading. His position in life being what it was, with his body being
what it was and Rose's body being was it was, he just couldn't help but want to
be as intimate with her as possible.

"Okay Aunty," he said stupidly and jumped down from the chair.

She opened the sliding glass door for him and let him enter the house first. His
eyes were well below Rose's relatively small but pert breasts as he passed her
and walked inside, but he couldn't help but stare up at her chest. He took his
coat off and she prepared the hot cocoa. He watched her pour the hot water into
their mugs, and suddenly he was glad that Brooks was nowhere to be found at the
moment (probably doing laundry, or scrubbing out the cum-stains in his panties
--many of them put there due to all of the memories that she had given him on
their recent date night). Timmy wanted it to just be him and Rose, together
forever, as sappy and insane as that sounded. He was a 26-year-old man with
something of a high education and, last he checked, a fairly high intelligence.
Yet here he was being treated like a toddler by a woman who allowed him no real
agency or control over his own life--and yet he loved it.

He watched Rose and began to salivate in response to her impossibly tall,
perfectly sculpted body as it strode about the kitchen. She was in perfect
shape, and her caramel skin and chestnut hair seemed to beckon him towards
her. Again she looked taller than ever to Timmy, and he suspected that perhaps
her stretching exercises had something to do with this. Surely she couldn't be
GROWING (could she?) but at the very least it seemed that after each workout her
limbs were stretched to the limit. Timmy wished that he had an excuse to measure
HER on a regular basis, if only in order to get close to her body and inspect it.
He imagined that, given enough time, he could make love to every part of Rose's
body individually, ejaculating all over it, because all of it was sexy, and it
would all be with a sense of deep affection. When she strode toward him and
offered him a cup of cocoa he noticed again that she was still sweaty from her
yoga workout. He prayed to god that she wouldn't change clothes anytime soon, becaudse he loved looking at her when she was like this.

She didn't. She led him by the hand over to a big overstuffed chair; she sat down,
and then he sat down on her sweaty lycra-covered lap, against her sweaty lycra-
covered chest. Her wetness and the smell of her wet body overwhelmed him. Her
musk even overpowered the smell of the cocoa. Both of the smells mixed
together so nicely, so sexily, that Timmy closed his eyes, leaned back, and
hoped with all his might that Rose would simply reach down with her long, long
fingers and begin to masturbate him right then. Because THAT would be the
greatest ecstasy he could imagine, and he seemed so close to experiencing it.

Rose did reach down, but not to sneak her big hands into Timmy's pants. Rather,
she reached down to steady his cup of cocoa, which Timmy--lost in his reverie--
nearly dropped.

"Watch out, sweetie!" she warned, her voice having a happy shade to it. "The
cocoa's really hot. Maybe I should hold it for you? It's a big cup for a little
boy like you."

Timmy steadied himself and rejoined reality. "No, that's okay. I-I got it now."
He raised the cup to take a long sip.

"Let me at least help you," she said, and enveloped Timmy's hands within her
own. Her fingers were so much longer than Timmy's that it was almost comical.
Timmy's little hands couldn't even be seen; Rose's hands completely covered his
and she did most of the lifting. Her hands were so sexy and soft, with natural
nails and just the right caramel color to her skin. Timmy's grip went limp. He
felt weak but his penis sprang to attention. She raised the cup up to his lips.

"Ready?" she asked.

The cocoa tasted so good to Timmy. He never wanted it to end, feeling Aunt Rose's
big thumbs against his chin. When the drink was finally over she set the mug on a
coaster next to the chair.

"Oops," she said. "Got a little on your chin and cheeks, Timmy."

She promptly wiped his lips and chin with her long forefinger.

"Wanna lick?" she asked, holding the tip of her cocoa-covered finger before
Timmy's trembling mouth.

He nervously opened up and began to kiss his aunt's big finger. His erection was
raging now as he tasted her skin along with the chocolate.

His aunt laughed a bit and then withdrew her finger.

"Ew, I've got Timmy juice on me," she teased, indicating the spit that Timmy had
slobbered on her, then she raised her finger to her lips, licked it clean, and then
chuckled just enough to jiggle Timmy as he sat on her lap.

He was almost ready to explode. After what had just happened it was all he could
do not to ask Rose to please wank him off now--please, please, please. For all
he knew she would punish him severely for asking such a thing, but it was to the
point where he could hardly help it.

"Okay Timmy, time to talk about Sarah," his aunt said, instantly changing the
mood completely.

Until this moment he had actually forgotten about what was going to happen this
weekend.

"I don't want to go to her party," Timmy said bashfully, putting his head down.

"Why not?"

Timmy thought for a minute before saying, "You know why."

"Yes, I do know why. But I want you to say it."

Timmy was silent again. He didn't like these mindgames that Rose sometimes
played with him. He felt trapped. He felt like a lab rat--or rather a LAP rat--in
some sort of experiment.

Finally he said, "It isn't right for a 26-year-old man to go to a 12-year-old
girl's Sweet Thirteen party."

"Why not?" Rose asked.

"Because it's not. It's too weird."

"But you know Sarah. And you like her as a friend. And you used to babysit for
her. You have a connection. The Thollens were friends of your parents."

"I know, but--"

"That day in the mall you couldn't get enough of her. I remember you were like a
little puppy, scampering around her, jumping on her lap, playing with her and--"

"That's NOT how it was exactly."

"Oh?" his aunt said in mock surprise. "Then how was it? You tell me."

"I-I... I didn't want to see her but I made the best of it, I guess." ("And she
bullied me and demeaned me and--and--and hugged me and made me feel small and weak and good," Timmy
added mentally.)

"Timmy," Rose said, putting a long finger beneath his chin and tilting his gaze up
so that he was looking into her beautiful deep eyes. "You NEED to be around
Sarah again. You NEED to. You know it will be good for you. And the reason why
it will be good for you is the exact reason that you're afraid of doing it. Now
tell me why you are really afraid of going to her party."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Because all of the girls there will be so much
bigger than me. A-and that isn't fair because I'm so much older than them."

"Well, LIFE isn't fair, Timmy," Rose said in a sharp tone that made Timmy feel
even more anxious. He wished she would just be nice to him all the time, rather
than giving him this tough treatment sometimes.

"I-I know, but--" he started.

"BE QUIET. You need to go to that party simply to get used to your new position
in this new world. Young girls are going to be taller than you. That's obviously
going to happen, and you better get used to it. Being a guest of Sarah's will be
doubly beneficial to you, because it will give you experience at being subordinate
to a girl who is--"

"What?!" Timmy yelped. "'Subordinate'? What do you--?"

His aunt's body closed around him. She squeezed his sides with her long forearms,
and closed him in between her thighs and chest by leaning down on him. His little
legs, which dangled out only a little farther than her knees anyway, started kicking
in a futile manner.

"I TOLD YOU TO BE QUIET, LITTLE ONE" she said sternly, and when he stopped squirming she
continued. "Now. You need to get used to obeying any female. No matter how
young they are, sweety. Before you fuss again, let me simply ask the rhetorical
question of whether--today--whether Sarah Thollen would be in charge of you, or
whether you would be in charge of Sarah Thollen? If the two of you were
stranded on a desert island, how do you think the natural pecking order would
shape itself? She would obviously be the boss, Timmy, and there'd be nothing
you could do about it. You'd be cooking her meals, cleaning her house, and
washing her clothes as per her instructions, while she did the heavy lifting,
hunted, and planned out how life was going to work for her and for you. Whining
at her and saying 'No fair, you're only twelve' would not matter. She would just
laugh at you, pull your little body over her much bigger, much stronger, zero-fat
thighs, and start happily spanking your bony little butt until you stopped crying
and inevitably submitted to her authority. To her authority on everything. Plus,
you and I both know that she would probably be a KIND ruler over you and that it
would be a nice existence for you. But forget the desert island scenario, Timmy,
because--hell--at the mall I couldn't leave you two alone in the store together
for five minutes without her naturally beginning to show her dominance over you
by picking you up, carrying you around and not letting you down. Remember that?"

"...Yeah," Timmy said, bashful and defeated.

"So do you see why it's so important--for your own sake--for you to get used to
this position?"

"Yeah," he said again.

"It's for YOUR OWN good, Timmy. You know that. And if you can just let go of
your obsolete male ego, I think you'll learn to have a much better time with all
of this. I think there's a good chance you'll have a very fun time at Sarah's
party. All of the girls there will just love you. I know they will."

"Okay," Timmy said. "I'll try." ("Because... what CHOICE do I have?" he
wondered silently, a touch of residual spite and resentment still in him.)

"That's my sweetie," Rose said and bent down to give him a loud puckery kiss on
the cheek. "Now hop down and go see what's in that bag over there." She
gestured to a brown paper bag that was sitting in a chair on the other side of the
room.

Puzzled, Timmy slid down his aunts long tan legs, as if they were a playground
slide, and wandered over to the bag. He furtively peeked inside and saw brown
leather. He pulled the bag onto the floor and struggled with it a bit to get the
item, or items, out. From her chair he heard his aunt chuckle and realized that he
probably did look pretty foolish, fighting with a paper bag.

Finally he pulled out a vintage cowboy boot with a platform and very high heel.

"You'll be 5'4" in these," his aunt said. "These are five-inchers."

Timmy admired them. It seemed perverse, but at this point he firmly believed that
it would be better to be 5'4" and dressed in heels than 4'11", especially when he
was going to be surrounded by a lot of tall young girls who could be looking for any
excuse to make fun of wherever the top of his head came up to on their growing bodies. The call of "You're wearing girls shoes!" would wound
him a lot less deeply than "You're a little pipsqueak midget whose head doesn't even reach my boobs!"

"Th-thank you," Timmy murmured, genuinely touched, pulling the other boot out.
"Thank you, Aunt Rose."

"I hope they aren't too big on you. They're mine from when I was ten."

That unexpected bit of information hit Timmy like a fryingpan to the head. Was he
really about the same size that his aunt was when she was only ten years old?
Before he could even begin to process this idea, her voice came again:

"I mean, I was taller then than you are now, but I think my feet were kinda small
for my size back then. Oh! Look in the bag--there's a picture in there."

Timmy's mind swirled as he looked back in the paper sack and, sure enough,
spied an old photograph.

"That's me and my date. I was a cowgirl for our little elementary school costume
party!"

Timmy looked at the picture. Sure enough, even though he had never seen a
picture of his aunt as a kid before, the young girl in the photo was unmistakably
Rose Nordgren. She was dressed in a white button-up shirt, white cowboy hat, jean skirt, and
she was wearing those same five-inch cowboy boots. She wore that familiar,
stunning smile and held two toy revolvers. Next to her, coming up only to her
chest, was the lucky little kid who got to be her date. He was dressed stupidly,
in a childish Superman costume. Ten-year-old Rose, though trim and slim, looked
like she outweighed her date by a good deal and towered over him by nine or ten
inches. What must the little boy have felt to see her wearing these needlessly
high cowboy boots, just to put her that much more above him?

"Wow," Timmy said. It was all he could say.

"Put them on!" his aunt urged.

He stood the boots up side by side and lowered his sock feet into them. They
were too big. He knew it. Still, he was so much taller now--he couldn't believe it,
it was such a change. It felt good and he instantly had some much-needed confidence back.

"Are they too big for you, Timmy? They are, aren't they?"

"N-no!" Timmy said. "No, they're fine!"

"You aren't going to have to do any of your old tricks and put silly little tissues
in them to make them fit, are you?"

"No, Aunt Rose, I promise you! They'll work out fine!"

He clomped around the room. The boots weren't meant to be kneehighs, but on
his little legs the top of the boots did indeed come up to his knees.

"Okay then," Rose said, putting the matter to rest, "if you say they fit okay, then
you can wear them. But if you trip or fall, then it's your own fault and I'm taking
them away from you so you don't hurt yourself. Deal?"

"Deal!" he said eagerly, continuing to clomp around and--maybe--just getting the
hang of it.

His aunt stood up and approached him.

"Wow!" she said jokingly. "Now you're almost as tall as I am!"

Timmy smiled and clomped over to her. He put his arms around his gorgeous
aunt, who was still over a foot and a half taller than him, and buried his head in
the lower portion of her lycra-covered breasts.

"I love you, Aunt Rose. Thank you for these."

"I love you too, Timmy. Tomorrow we can go to the mall and pick out a similar
pair for you to give Sarah for her birthday."

He froze. "Oh no," he thought.

Feeling his apprehension, his aunt quickly gave him something to look forward to
again.

"I know you don't understand the reasons why I have you do the things I have
you do, Timmy. But if it's any consolation--I'll tell you this right now--what I
have scheduled for us to do on Saturday right before the party will be something
you'll really like."

"W-what is it?" Timmy asked, looking straight up into his aunt's smiling face.

"Well Timmy," she said, "I know how you felt a few minutes ago, when you were
on my lap. I know all about that. Okay?"

"...Okay," he said, beginning to feel ashamed.

"I don't feel the same way about you that you're beginning to feel about me..."

His stomach churned.

"...but," she continued, "I know that your poor little manimal mind can't help it.
And I DO want you to feel good about yourself."

She stared down into his little face so far below hers. She studied his nervous
little expression and she reached down with a big soft hand and covered his
cheek and the whole side of his head with it, patting him gently.

"That's why Saturday morning I'm going to give you a handjob, Timmy. I'm going
to give you release into my hand. It's going to be nice and I'm going to give it to
you. And I might even kiss you, too."

She smiled. Timmy instinctively hugged her and pushed his erect penis against
her towering bare legs. His knees went weak and it was all he could do not to fall
over in his loose, clunky new boots that Aunt Rose had worn when she was ten.

*****

The next few days zoomed by. Any trepidation that Timmy still had about
Saturday was counteracted by his anticipation of Rose's promise to jerk him off.

On Friday morning they went to the mall and, unlike the previous time, it was not
a traumatic experience for Timmy. He bravely accepted the fact that he had to do
what his aunt thought was best. He had to hold her big hand as they walked, he
had to be dressed in his little pink capris and a ruffled purple shirt, and he had
to support his aunt's idea to get Sarah some high-heeled boots for a birthday
present.

They went back to the lingerie store (the one that he had caused such a scene in
last time), and Aunt Rose asked the clerk if they had any cowboy boots with
heels.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," said the clerk, a freckle-faced man not much older (or much
taller) than Timmy, "but the only cowboy boots we carry have platforms on them,
not heels. We have some with four-inch platforms, if you'd like to see them."

"Hmm," his aunt mused, looking down at Timmy. "The cowboy boots I gave you
are five-inchers. It wouldn't make much sense to give Sarah four-inchers, would
it?"

Timmy knew that the question was rhetorical, but it pained him not to blurt out
some dissent along the lines of "Sarah's already tall! Can't you let me gain even
in inch on her somehow? Or do I always have to come out on the losing end of
everything?" But instead he stayed silent and turned his attention to his aunt's
big left hand, within which his own hand was enveloped. In just 24 hours that big hand
would be touching his little penis, he thought, deciding that he could put up with
anything if that was his reward.

"What about those?" his aunt asked the clerk as she pointed to a daringly tall pair
of black thigh-high pleather boots.

"Oh, th-those?" the little clerk asked, seemingly afraid to even acknowledge the
scary looking footwear. "I-I thought you said you were shopping for a 13-year-old
girl?"

"I am," Rose said, "but 13 is an appropriate age for a young lady to start feeling
confident and at ease with her dominant femininity. We live in a progressive
society, and I hope you aren't making the ignorant mistake of assuming that
anyone who wears such footwear automatically becomes a sex object, whore, or
'streetwalker'. There are many, many women and girls who wear such boots, and I can assure you that each and every one of them is independent, liberated, and very much in charge of their own lives. You weren't insinuating otherwise, were you?"

"N-no, of course not, madame!"

"Do not mistake the attire of confidence with the attire of submission."

"N-no, of course not, madame! I have undergone much sensitivity training in school
and additional training before I could get this job. I am more than aware of the
attitudes of the past, which were all purely sexist from top to bottom, and I swear
an oath of denouncement upon them each week in order to receive a paycheck at this
store, which is owned by women and which serves women as every establishment should."

Rose nodded. "That's good to hear."

The clerk then handed Rose the boots. They looked so tall compared to the clerk
and Timmy; they were over half as tall as the men were.

"Do you think Sarah would like these, Timmy?" she asked. Not bothering to wait
for his answer, she inspected them and drew Timmy's attention to the boots'
heels. "LOOK at how tall those heels are Timmy! Look!"

The black boots had heels and platforms on them, and she pointed the super-
high spiky heels in Timmy's direction. The heels looked as long as his forearm.
He did everything he could not to imagine Sarah wearing those boots, but finally
his mental effort failed and the image of a laughing Sarah towering over him,
nearly two feet taller than him, burst into his mind. He cringed and couldn't help
giving out a tiny little whimper. Seeing Sarah like that would totally obliterate his sanity. She would be nearly seven feet tall in these.

"We'll take them," Aunt Rose announced, smilingly. "This size should fit Sarah. If
not she can return them. And Timmy can come with her if she needs to return them.
So either way, it's a win-win. Either she gets to wear them at the party, or Timmy
and her can go on a little play-date."

She smiled down at Timmy, who instinctively put his head down and tugged on
her hand a bit, wanting to go.

*****

Saturday morning finally came. Usually it was Brooks who roused Timmy every 9
o'clock sharp, but this day it was Aunt Rose's big hand that wrapped itself around
Timmy's shoulder (and most of his upper-arm) and gently shook his little body
until his eyelids cracked open.

"Hi sweetie," she said. "You know what today is." She sat down on his bed, next
to his little lying form.

For whatever reason, Timmy instinctively thought that it was the day he had to
get measured and weighed again. Then he remembered that Brooks already
measured him last Saturday. As he came out of dreamland it took him a few
moments to remember what today actually was. As soon as he did, though, he
smiled up at his aunt, cooed softly, and shot his arms over and hugged the part
of his aunt's midriff that he could reach.

She was dressed in an open silk robe with an exotic Japanese print on it.
Beneath the robe Timmy could see that she wore white silk undergarments; her
dark nipples showed through the thin but expensive fabric. Rose looked down at
her nephew and her naturally dark lips twisted up into a self-satisfied smirk.

"Baby can't wait for mommy to play with him, huh?" she asked.

Again Timmy realized that had she said words like that to him even a few weeks
ago, he would have become indignant, if not outright angry. Now, however, he
was scarcely even ashamed of desiring Rose to the extent that he did. She could
call him her baby all she wanted.

"I know you like me treating you this way. I know you want to please me," Rose
continued. "But the trick for you today is to learn that you should be so willing
to please ANY woman, no matter how little or young."

Timmy eased his hug and looked up at her, a bit confused. "W-what do you mean?
What do you expect me t-to do for Sarah?"

"Anything she wants," Rose replied.

"You don't mean--"

"Timmy, Sarah is only thirteen. Of course she's not going to want you to do
anything bad or naughty or adult with her. The very thought is disgusting, and
wrong. And in a few minutes you're going to find out just how wrong I think it
would be for you to have any sexual ideas about Sarah. But right now, I simply
mean that you need to do what she tells you to do, when she tells you to do
anything, and that you should generally have an attitude of wanting to please her
and make her life nice. You should have that same attitude when you're around
all women, even those you don't know. And if you DON'T act in that polite, proper way, I will find out about it and punish you."

A bit dismayed, Timmy dropped his right arm; it landed on the bed just beside her
curvy ass. His left was still near his aunt's bellybutton so he kept it there, as
dropping it would land it right in his aunt's crotch.

"I have a few surprises for you, Timmy," she said, breaking the silence and
reaching back to pull out a white canvas bag.

("It seems like these women, Rose and Brooks, are always coming into my room
with surprises," Timmy thought, "and so few of them are pleasant surprises.")

"First of all," his aunt said, pulling out a little bottle, "today you need to
take a different sort of pill."

"Oh god, not another one," Timmy replied. "I'm not sure I--"

"You'll only take this pill today. It's a special pill just for today."

"What does it do?" Timmy asked, taking a red little egg-shaped capsule from
between his aunt's big fingers.

"You'll find out what it does in just a few minutes."

"It's not going to SHRINK me is it?!" Timmy asked, beginning to panic. "I can't
afford to be any smaller! I can't! Oh god, Auntie, I can't be any smaller,
especially not around all the big girls who are sure to be at the party!"

He really was on the verge of tears, all of a sudden. He realized that there was
nothing he could do if his aunt really demanded that he take this pill. And even
if she didn't actually demand it, he knew that he would indeed make the trade-off
and swallow the pill, even if was going to shrink him down to nothing, as long as
that meant Rose would still touch his penis today.

"It's not going to shrink you, Timmy," she reassured him. "None of the medicine
I've ever given you as shrunk you."

"That's n-not true!" Timmy said. "I've lost about three or four inches since--"

"The medicine has just burned off the unhealthy cells of your body. Unfortunately
you had a lot of unhealthy cells."

"I-I know, but..."

"Relax," she said, looking him in the eyes and almost hypnotizing him with her
beauty. She looked so good to Timmy. She had to be in her mid-30s, but she
was such an ageless, gorgeous woman. Her high cheekbones and tanned skin
bewitched him. "This medicine isn't the same as anything I've ever given you
before. Just trust me, Timmy. Just obey me and take it. And then we can have
some fun."

"O-okay," Timmy said, spellbound. Still staring into Rose's eyes, he popped the
pill into his mouth and tried to swallow.

But he couldn't swallow. His mouth was dry, mostly from anxiety and
nervousness. He kept trying, gulping, but it was no use.

"What's wrong?" his aunt asked.

"Um, I can't--"

"Hurry up and swallow. You don't want the capsule to dissolve and get all that
nasty tasting medicine in your mouth."

"I-I can't. It's too big and--"

"Just use your spit, Timmy," his aunt sighed, beginning to lose patience.

"P-please get me a glass of water!" he yelped, not liking that this otherwise
routine act of pill-swallowing was becoming such a big deal.

"I'm not your MAID, Timmy," Rose said, quite annoyed.

"Ooohh," he moaned, as the capsule started to dissolve. "I don't have any cups
or anything in my bathroom anyway, I--"

"Oh for god's sake," Rose said dismissively, bending down to put her face near
his.

Next she yanked his head with a big hand and turned it towards hers so that their
lips were touching. Her lips forced his open, then sealed themselves around his
mouth. The next thing Timmy knew, his aunt was forcing a stream of her own
saliva into his mouth. The spit kept coming, filling his little mouth almost
entirely. Timmy wiggled his tongue around in it, instinctively relishing any
liquid that had been in his personal goddess's body. Next she shoved her big long tongue into Timmy's mouth, shoving it right down his throat a ways, forcing the pill down.

Finally Aunt Rose pulled away from him but still held the back of his head in her
large palm.

"Now swallow," she instructed him.

He gulped and nearly choked a couple times, but finally Timmy swallowed the
mouthful of Rose's spit that she had given him.

"W-what happens now?" Timmy asked in a meek voice, sitting up in bed for the
first time that morning.

"We have a few minutes before it kicks in. We'll have our fun in just a bit, but
first I want to show you what else I got you. This will be your dress for the party."

From the canvas bag Rose pulled out an old-fashioned pink puffy dress and
petticoat. They looked like something Shirley Temple would have worn in an old
movie. Next she pulled out a makeup kit and began to tell Timmy how cute he
would look with red blush, red lipstick, and maybe some light shadows around
his eyes. She then pulled out a blonde wig, with the hair tied in two pigtails,
and a brown miniature cowboy hat that would match his boots.

"I think you'll be adorable. Like a little showgirl from an old Western!"

Timmy was, again, dismayed. "This isn't supposed to be a costume party. It's just
a birthday party."

"Nonsense, Timmy. All the other little girls will be dressing up. And I'm sure that
a few of Sarah's friends who have boyfriends will be dressing them up as well."
She paused, sighed, and gave him a downcast glare. "I worked hard to pick out
the right outfit for you. I was hoping you'd appreciate it. Instead it seems that all
you want from me is my big hands to rub your peeper."

"N-no, Aunty!" Timmy pleaded. "Aunty, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just... I still have
some transitioning left to do, is all."

Rose twisted her dark lips at him, then gave a slight smile.

"Okay, Timmy. That's my boy. That's what I wanted to hear. I know you still have
a ways to go yet, but I AM very proud of you."

"Th-thank you, Aunty," he said, relieved that his guardian was neither mad at him
nor sad about him.

"You WILL look so cute in all this," she said, putting the items back in the canvas
bag. "Let's hope that Brooks can contain herself and doesn't molest you on the
way to the party."

"O-oh?" Timmy replied nervously. "I thought you were--"

"No, no. Brooks is driving you. I'm just joking, though. Don't worry. I'll tell her
not to mess up your makeup or rip your petticoat."

She winked, then sat the bag down next to the bed.

"So..." Timmy began uncertainly, "what should we do next?"

Rose just smiled at him silently. Finally she reached her long, outstretched arms
towards him, which he took as a cue to get out from under the bedcovers.

His little nearly naked body was so thin and so pale in comparison with his aunt's
supple, tan form. She nonchalantly reached her hands around his waist--they
wrapped all the way around him, since he was so thin and her fingers were so
long--and lifted him sideways onto her lap.

Still sitting on his bed, Rose leaned back lazily until she rested against the wall.
Timmy was smiling up at her, his butt sitting in her crotch and his legs wiggling in
anticipation.

Rose walked her long fingers down Timmy's naked chest and then used her index finger
to pull the waist band of his little white cotton panties outward.

"Hm," she mused. "What could there be under this little tent here? Hm. What is in
here, Timmy? What's that little bump making this little white tent?"

Timmy just cooed and giggled. He loved how she was treating him. His erection
was rock hard.

"I wonder if there's a little peeper in there that I could play with?" Rose asked.
"My big hand is awfully lonely and would like a little sidekick to play with. Is there
a little friend in this tent for my big hand to play with?"

"Yesss," Timmy said, his eyes closing momentarily and his head leaning back to
the side. "Oh god yes."

"Well maybe I should pull this tent down and see what's inside then," Rose
continued.

She expertly removed Timmy's panties as unobtrusively as possible, lifting him
up with one hand and sliding the panties down with the other. Timmy's erection
bobbed up at her; it had one visible vein in it, which was throbbing in anticipation.

"Hmmm," Rose said. "I don't know if my big hand should touch it. Would that be
okay?"

"Yessss yes yes," Timmy replied, looking up at the scene before him. His penis
was so erect and throbbing that it felt bigger than ever to him, but next to Rose's
hand it appeared tiny, not even as long as her thumb, not even as thick around
as her elegant pinky.

"I don't know..." Rose considered. "I think that little fellow might be too tiny to
play with. He might get hurt."

"No, n-no..." Timmy moaned, unable to take the anticipation any longer. He
arched his back, trying to touch his little dick to the big feminine hand that was
hovering inches above it.

"Well... Maybe if these five big sisters"--she wiggled her long fingers--"play easy
with their little brother"--she winked at him mysteriously--"then everything will be
okay."

With that she lowered her open palm and Timmy felt overpowering ecstasy as
soon as he felt her smooth skin against his penis. Her insanely long fingers
wrapped around his cock and stroked him gently. She drummed his shaft and
ran the back of her clean trimmed nails along his modest length, chuckling as
she did so.

"Aw, isn't this nice? Little brother and his big sisters just frolicking together and
having fun. I think the big sisters just want to give their little brother some nice
hugs and maybe a massage."

She squeezed his dick slowly and carefully, not wanting to cause pain. Then she
began fingering him between her thumb, forefinger and middle finger, rubbing his
penis in circular motions. He gave a high-pitched moan.

Next she enveloped his whole penis in her hand and simply began to pump him
rhythmically, because he was now more than ready to be milked. She did not
accompany this action with any more euphemistic sayings. Rather she simply
bore down and jerked him in a straightforward, professional manner.

Before too long Timmy's little body began to squirm and buck and spasm. Rose
quickly leaned down and through half-closed eyes he saw her own half-closed
eyes approach his. As she kissed him long and tenderly, he shot blast after blast after blast
of hot semen out of his penis, but none leaked from Rose's cocoon-like hand.

When he was finally done he sighed and seemed to couch himself deeper into
Rose's lap. He felt heavy as he weighed against her supple thighs, though really
Rose hardly felt his weight at all. She smiled down at him as she removed her
hand from his now shrinking penis.

"You're going to have to take a shower, Timmy."

"Hm? I know," he said glancing up just in time to see Rose's hand come down on
his chest. She smeared his come all over his belly, wiping it clean from her palm
and fingers. Rose laughed.

He looked up again and saw that his penis was still shrinking. He did have a
small penis normally, but something was wrong. It was shrinking too much, too
fast.

His confusion was perceptible, but he was also still feeling the residual pleasure
of just having ejaculated, and with one eye he still couldn't help admiring his
aunt's form, draped as it was in the elegant Japanese robe, her dark nipples still
showing through the white silk bra. And there was another sensation too; he felt
that the pill she had made him take was somehow working, doing something. He
almost lost himself in all this, overwhelmed by too much, but finally managed to
speak.

"OOoooohhh what did you dooo to meeee?" he moaned.

"Why, Timmy," Rose smirked. "That's not the first orgasm you've ever had, is it?"

"I don't mean that, I mean..."

"I know what you mean, sweetie. I was just joking."

"Then what--what's happening to me?" He looked down at his penis again, which
was now shriveling down into an embarrassingly small little button.

Rose reached her hands under him and lifted him up into her arms as she rose
from the bed.

"Babydoll, you're going to be around a lot of excited girls today. These girls are
much stronger than you, but also much younger than you. And they can be very
curious. I don't want them to do anything to you, whether innocent or malicious,
that might cause you any troubles."

Timmy curled himself up into a ball. "But that isn't fair, Auntie, to punish me for
what THEY MIGHT do."

"It isn't a punishment, babydoll," she said to him tenderly, smiling at him. "It's for
your own protection--from them and, perhaps most of all, from yourself."

"W-what do you mean?"

"Timmy," Rose said, her voice suddenly serious and her grip on him suddenly
quite firm, "to put it simply, I know that you can't control yourself or your bodily
drives. Not when a female body, much larger than yours, may be putting you in
an uncompromising position. These girls, though young, are significantly
developed and post-pubescent. These aren't the malnourished, stunted little girls
of centuries past, when men impeded girls' growth by feeding them their own
horrid, stupid idea of what human diet was supposed to be. Nor are they forced
to wear repressive garb that hid and therefore made them feel ashamed of their
bodies. No, these girls are modern, strong, confident young women whose
natural instinct is to test and prove their superiority over men, which may well
mean physical contact that might give your confused manimal mind the wrong
idea, though perhaps only subconsciously, through no fault of your own. Either
way, for your own sake, I think we should remove the possibility that you might
get an erection at the party."

So that was it. Timmy began to say that under no circumstances would he find
Sarah or any other of her other little friends desirable in that way, but then he
realized that no matter what he said it wouldn't matter, for the decision had
already been made for him, he had already taken the pill, and the pill had done
its work.

"It'll only last for twenty-four hours or so," Rose explained. "Maybe this time
tomorrow when Brooks wakes you up she can give you a nice wank if you were a
good boy at the party. It's so good for you and your little penis to put up with
this--it really is for your own good."

He couldn't argue. She set him down on the floor, his little naked form barely
coming up to her midriff. He put his arms around her and buried his eyes in her
taunt tan stomach. She put her hands on the back of his head, and on his
shoulder, and squeezed him into her.

"I love you, little Timmy," she said. "I'm so proud of you for being so bravely
submissive. And I know you're not a naughty man who would ever want to get an
erection when you shouldn't. But at the party you aren't going to be in control of
things, and Sarah in particular will be able to do anything she wants to do with
you, and it is after all your duty to submit to her. I'm sure she won't abuse you,
but she may want to play with you in a way that might inevitably cause you to feel
naughty thoughts, which we wouldn't want. So this precaution was for your own
good."

She was right. In a way, Timmy actually felt relieved that the possibility of getting
a boner was now out of the question. Momentarily he flashbacked to the changing room in the clothing shop a few weeks ago, when Sarah, clad only in skimpy black lingerie, crammed his body against the wall, thrust her long tall body into and onto his tiny little body, pinning him against the wall, lifting him up off the floor, and feeling and cramming him so hard that-- No. No more of that. Thank god that he would now be free to enjoy himself--or
at least try to enjoy himself--along with all of the other party guests.

"Now go take a shower and wash your dried come off of your stomach, Timmy.
Then we'll get you some brunch and dress you as cute as can be for Sarah."

*****

"Oh my god I want to rape you," Brooks said in an awed, hushed tone as she
looked at little Timmy, dressed to go out to the birthday party.

He was wearing the pink puffy dress with matching petticoat, the blonde pigtail
wig with the little brown cowboy hat sitting upon it, and lastly the clunky
five-inch-heeled brown cowboy boots that Rose gave him. He wore red rouge on his
cheeks, which his aunt had applied liberally, along with a touch of blue eye
shadow and some red lipstick. He stumbled a bit as he stepped towards Brooks
and the door.

"Whoa there, cowboy," Brooks said, catching his shoulder. "You know what your
aunt said. If you fall, then off come your precious boots. Though frankly I think
it's kind of PATHETIC for a 26-year-old guy to be clinging to a pair of high heels
because he's so worried about being shown up at a kids' party. Heh. Then again,
it isn't only PATHETIC, it's also ADORABLE, Timmy. I mean that."

She touched his chin with a white gloved hand and tilted his gaze up into her
green eyes. The memory of their date returned to him. For a moment he mentally
flashbacked to the time in the backseat of the limo, when he was trapped
beneath Brooks' big body and she was grinding him beneath her, her hot scantily
clad body bouncing and crashing down hard on top of him. And then he
remembered what his aunt said about Brooks maybe giving him a handjob
tomorrow morning, once his penis returned to normal, IF he was a "good little
boy" at the party.

"Ready to go, munchkin?" she asked.

Timmy nodded.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked.

"Um..."

"Like, your little girlfriend's BIRTHDAY PRESENT, maybe?"

"Oh yeah," Timmy said. Damn his luck. He had almost gotten out of the house
without bringing those horribly tall boots. Another image flashed in his mind:
Sarah looming over him more than usual, wearing the scary dominatrix heels, lording over him, laughing down at him, towering and reveling in her total power.

"The present's already in the car, spud," Brooks replied. "I carried it out while
you were getting all pretty with your new makeup."

"Oh," Timmy said.

"So I was just testing you. And as usual you failed," Brooks said, giving him a
provocative look. "What would you men do without us women around to clean up
your mistakes and plan for your oversights even before you make them?"

Not waiting for him to respond, she took his little hand in her big glove and led
him out to the car. It was one of his aunt's sportscars, a convertible with the top
down, red and relatively new. Brooks opened the passenger's side door for Timmy,
helped him in, then walked around and hopped into the driver's seat without even
opening the door. She adjusted the seat up some, because even though she was
basically six and a half feet tall (including her black high heels) she still
wasn't nearly as tall as Rose Nordgren.

"Buckle up, little baby," she said to him. "Too bad we don't have a car seat to put
you in. I swear, it seems like you get smaller and shrimpier every day. I wish we
had time to measure you this Saturday. I'm sure your stupid little body has shriveled once again. I can't wait till the next time I get to crush you again till you come."

Timmy blushed, though one could hardly notice since his cheeks were already
rosy red from the makeup. After this day was over--the day he had mostly
feared for a month now--he already knew what his NEXT upcoming day of dread
would be: whenever Brooks had to measure him next. But, honestly, he did not
feel any smaller than he had been last weekend, when he checked in at 4'11".
He supposed that the pills his aunt gave him really were working; he was hitting the
bottom and was going to come back up. After all, he remembered again, look
what those same pills did for Martha Thollen.

Brooks drove fast from the grounds of the mansion all the way into town. She
had sunglasses on, and when Timmy turned to look at her as she drove he
couldn't help but feel drawn to her--totally in awe, really. She seemed so cool,
totally in command and in charge. Her short black hair fluttered in the breeze; her
powerful gloved hands gripped the wheel; and her pretty mouth seemed always
on the verge of a domineering sneer. He found himself wishing that Brooks really
would pull the car over and rape him. He imagined her muscular arms reaching
over and yanking him out of the seatbelt, her hands then ripping apart his clothes
if not his body itself as she would dominate and molest him to meet her
satisfaction, at which point he would orgasm repeatedly, involuntarily, his consciousness and life disappating in a burst of ecstatic nothingness.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Brooks turned towards him and stared at
him from behind her dark shades. She smiled at him wickedly, showing her
perfect white teeth, then brought a gloved hand over to begin stroking his upper
thigh.

Now going over 80 miles an hour, the engine humming loudly, she continued to
make all of the turns perfectly, even though her focus and gaze was on Timmy,
not on the road. She started playing with his crotch, eventually snaking her hand
into his panties.

"Oh god," she snorted. Timmy couldn't even feel what she was doing, but he
knew she must be fingering his shriveled, button-like penis. It didn't have any
sensitivity, as if the medicine had completely numbed it. He just didn't feel
anything at all. And at the moment, even though he could objectively say that he
wanted Brooks with all his heart and soul, on another level he realized that he
just wasn't turned on at all. Not really. The drug his aunt had given him was
doing its job.

"I'm sorry, Brooks, I..." he began, uncertainly.

"I know all about it, pipsqueak. I just wanted to see and feel for myself."

She had turned her attention back to the road and withdrawn her hand.

"I-It will wear off by tomorrow morning, so maybe we could--"

"Now you really ARE like a little doll," she said, interrupting his words and
ignoring his feelings, "because you don't really have any genitals anymore. Just
like a little doll doesn't."

He put his head down. He hated it when Brooks did this to him. He felt frozen in
shame, worthless, and also totally submissive to her will. He took on the role of a
punching bag for her to hammer away at until her sadism was exhausted.

"You're lucky you weren't really a doll of mine when I was younger," she
continued. "No genitals? I would have gotten frustrated with that real quick. I was
a girl who used to like to BREAK my dolls, you know. Maybe I'll break YOU
someday. But I kind of already HAVE broken you MANY times, haven't I? . . . I
said, HAVEN'T I?"

"Yes, Brooks," he replied meekly. He felt lower than dirt, but at the same time he
was very aware of the fact that, had his aunt not given him that pill, right now he'd
certainly have a throbbing erection.

*****

They walked up to the Thollen's doorstep hand in hand. Brooks still wore the
sunglasses that Timmy, in a quite childish way, thought were "so cool", and in
her free arm she carried the big box with a bow on it that contained Sarah's thigh-
highs.

Brooks rang the doorbell and as they waited for it to open she crouched down so
she was level with Timmy. Though he couldn't see her eyes, he could tell that her
expression was suddenly tender and honest.

"Timmy," she said. "I'm being serious now. If you need help, or if something
upsets you, or you get scared, or confused, and want to leave early... just call
me, okay? Call your aunt's house; I'll answer, and then I'll drive as fast as I can to
come get you ans save your delicate little body from the mean teen girls who might threaten it. Okay?"

"Okay, Brooks," Timmy said, genuinely touched.

"I really do care about you, you know," Brooks continued. "I had a lot of fun on
our date last weekend. I liked doing all those things to you. I hope you'll be happy
with me doing them to you again sometime."

"Yes," Timmy said. He was so appreciative of Brooks talking this way to him. It
almost made him want to cry. It felt as if a dam were releasing pent up water
pressure.

"You're my special little pipsqueak dollman who I can molest as much as I want,"
Brooks said in the sweetest tone. "And no one gets to molest you more than I do-
-or they have to go through me first." She raised her right arm and flexed, her
sleeveless maid outfit allowing her bare bicep to explode in full view.

"I know, Brooks, maybe we--"

"Now give me a kiss, Timmy, and tell me that no one crushes your cock as hard
as I do."

He was going to say "maybe we could run away together and leave all this crazy
bullshit behind, if you'd still like me if I could go back to being a normal man
again"--but instead he just gave her a quick, obedient, close-mouthed kiss on the
lips and told her:

"Brooks, no one crushes my cock as hard as you do."

She stood back up and smiled down at him. Even with his cowboy boots, which
had higher heels than her shoes did, he was still at least a foot shorter than her.

At that moment the door opened. Martha Thollen stood there, a toothy Mad-
Hatterish smile on her face, and her dirty blonde hair teased into a lioness's
mane that seemed slightly wet or gelled. She was dressed all in bright red--bright
red dress that ended mid-thigh, bright red elbow-length gloves, bright red knee-
high boots--but all Timmy noticed was her cleavage. Her boobs were spilling out
of her low-cut dress, and it seemed almost comical for the thin spaghetti straps to
try to hold them up; they stared Timmy straight in the face and he couldn't look
away.

"Timmy!" Martha said brightly. "How good it is to see you again!"

"...You too," he murmured, his eyes still magnetically focused on her gigantic
cleavage. Her breasts looked bigger than ever, but also more shapely. They
hardly drooped much at all, quite an accomplishment for a woman in her forties.
It must be the fitting of the dress, Timmy supposed.

"And you must be Brooks, Rose's maid!" Martha said happily.

Brooks gave her a dismissive smile and handed her Sarah's present. The two
women's personalities were totally opposite, Timmy realized. He caught Brooks'
glance as she looked down at Martha's cleavage, evidently jealous--since
Brooks, despite her otherwise perfect toned body, had relatively small boobs--but
also disapproving of Martha's showiness and friendliness.

"I'll see you in three or four hours, Timmy," Brooks said, turning to walk away.

Timmy finally found a way to tilt his head up to look Martha in the face. She was
still smiling down at him.

"See something you like?" she asked playfully, in a breathy voice. "There may be
time for us to have some fun later. But for now let's go inside and see Sarah. All
the other children are here--we were just waiting on you to have cake and then
really get the party going. And I DO so love your little outfit Timmy!"

"Thanks, Martha," he said. He wasn't sure how this could possibly work out, but
he was glad to have an opening with Martha. It would be good to get away from
Sarah and the other kids if things got too annoying; and getting away to go have
sex with Martha was an added bonus.

"Now," Martha said, putting Sarah's present down, "give me a hug already, and
then let's go inside."

Timmy again became mesmerized by her cleavage as he stared straight ahead
and took a step towards her. He had forgotten that he was wearing the oversized
cowboy boots, however, and on his first step he tripped over his own feet and fell
forward, straight towards the soft balloons on Martha's chest.

It all might have been okay--or actually much MORE than okay--if he hadn't let
out a loud yelp as he was falling. Brooks was almost out of sight, but she heard
his cry. She then turned around and came thundering back up the driveway.

"AH-HA! You tripped, Timmy! You tripped!" she called teasingly. "You know what that
means! You tripped in those boots just like I thought you would! So you don't get
to wear them!"

Timmy heard Brooks' bitchy voice even though his entire head was submerged in
Martha's boobage. Martha herself could not stop laughing. She shook with
laughter, which only jiggled Timmy's head further into her cleavage. Finally she
pried her breasts apart with her red silken gloves, then coaxed Timmy's head
free. Still laughing, she bent down, hugged Timmy, and gave him a kiss on the
nose.

"Oh Timmy," Martha said, "you're such a little clown sometimes. I've missed having you
around."

"I-I tripped, but I-I-I'm sorry," he explained, turning back and forth to Martha and
Brooks. The latter just stood there with her brawny bare arms folded across her
chest, smirking down at him. Martha was still giggling.

"I-I-I promise not to let it happen again, and--"

"It's too late, Timmy," Brooks said. "You know what your aunt's rules were. If you
trip in those boots, you can't wear them. At least not until you grow into them."

Martha laughed loudly at Brooks' last remark. Timmy sulked and sat down on the
ground, half out of protest, half because if he really was going to remove his
high-heeled cowboy boots, he would need to sit down to do so anyway.

"As fun as that was," Martha said, "we don't want you tripping and hurting
yourself, Timmy."

"No we don't," said Brooks. "And we don't want to have to hurt and spank you
just to get you to take off those boots, either."

"And I'm sure Sarah has a pair of old shoes that will fit you," Martha offered. "She
has a lot of pretty little shoes from when she was younger."

Mournfully, Timmy slipped his little stocking feet out of the cowboy boots. Gritting
his teeth, he handed the boots up to Brooks' waiting hands. And then he stood up
again and suddenly felt tinier than ever. He had already grown used to seeing
Brooks and Martha with those five-inchers on. Now most of Martha's fleshy
globes were quite above his head, and he found himself eye-level with Brooks'
stomach.

"Bye Timmy," Brooks said again dismissively as she walked away.

Martha gave Timmy a sad little smile as if to say "I feel your pain" and then took
his hand to lead him into the house.

******

Once they were inside he was greeted with a cacophony of noise: loud pop
music, the noise of a video game somewhere, and all sorts of girly chattering and
laughter. Through it all, Timmy put his head down and suddenly noticed that Martha's red boots didn't have any significant heel on
them. "But she can't really be THIS tall," Timmy thought. "She would have to be--"

Before he could calculate Martha's approximate height or make sense of
anything, from somewhere on the other end of the large room he heard a loud,
unmistakable voice:

"TIMMY!"

A swirl of bodies dashed this way and that. Martha had let go of his hand and
had taken his hat from him. She then set his present to Sarah aside and began to
tell different kids--and the room as a whole--to be quiet, turn off the music, and
the television, and calm down and get ready to have cake.

"TIMMY!"

He heard the voice again and as other kids got out of the way finally he saw her.
It was Sarah the birthday girl. She looked stunning, cute as could be. She wore a
simple but elegant little black dress, which Timmy recognized from when she
tried it on in front of him that day in the mall, and open-toe black pumps with
about a three-inch heel on them. On top of her cascading dark brown hair she
had a silver party tiara; and she wore silver teardrop earrings, a simple silver
bracelet, and a simple silver necklace.

What impressed Timmy most, of course, was her height. As she approached
Timmy she only got bigger and bigger. Momentarily he turned away, wishing that
Martha hadn't left him, forcing him to greet the birthday girl alone. She
approached him with a wry, knowing smile on her face. Standing there in his
stocking feet, he knew that the top of his head wouldn't even touch the five-foot
mark. Sarah, on the other hand, easily stood over six feet tall, and he had no
idea how tall she would be barefoot. Timmy was totally overwhelmed and felt
trapped. He was literally backed up against a wall and had no escape. He had
dreaded this moment in particular for weeks now. Here was the little girl he used
to babysit only a few years ago, and now she absolutely dwarfed him. He had
actually gotten a bit smaller and thinner even than when he saw her last, a few
weeks ago, but on the other hand her lithe dancer's body looked more toned and
shapely than ever. He could not help thinking to himself that Sarah Thollen
looked to be the apex of a genuinely good and innocent girl on the cusp of
glorious womanhood. She had excellent genes and what they used to call
"breeding", and it was evident that she worked out a lot. There was nothing dirty
in these thoughts of admiration, no lust. To Timmy she simply looked like an
angel. At the very least, Sarah seemed to be objectively the finest human
specimen in her age group: perfectly healthy, fit, tall, and witty. In comparison,
he looked like a malnourished little fairyboy, an impish barefoot elf in the
presence of a flowering princess--or better yet, a young queen.

First Sarah wrapped her long bare arms around his cringing form, lifted him up
high off the ground and spun him around. "Timmy!" she said again.

When the embarrassing hug was over, she set him down and squatted before
him, put her hands on her knees expectantly, brought her button nose and big
brown eyes down to his level, and gave him a smile and then a kiss right on his
nose.

"Thank you for coming to my party, Timmy," she said. "You look so cute in your
dress, and your makeup makes you look very pretty!"

"Th-thanks, Sarah," Timmy said nervously. "You look nice as well."

He noticed that she wasn't wearing makeup. Her nails were also trimmed and
had no polish on them. For some reason, this natural look reassured Timmy a bit.
On one level, it was enough of a shock to see her so tall and looking so nice in a
dress fit for a fullgrown amazon woman; he didn't need to see Sarah all dolled up
with lipstick and eye makeup, too. Even though, he realized, he himself was
wearing makeup, and it was obviously more ridiculous for a 26-year-old man to
wear makeup than it was for a teenage girl to do so.

"Sarah," Martha called, "go take Timmy to your room and get him some nice
shoes to wear! Then come back so we can have cake!"

The rush of bodies continued around them as chairs were brought from all over
the house so that everyone could have cake at the same table. Sarah stood,
reached down for Timmy's hand, which he promptly gave her, and then
navigated the two of them through the sea of bodies and into a long empty
hallway.

"Wow it's loud out there," Timmy said.

"Yeah, a lot of them are my stupid cousins," Sarah said. "They'll be gone after we
have cake. Then the real party begins, with just my friends."

"Oh," Timmy said, somewhat glad that most people would be leaving soon. He
didn't like crowds. But on the other hand, he thought, in some sense there was
safety in numbers.

"Yeah, there's a whole HIERARCHY to this party thing," Sarah continued,
obviously proud of knowing the word "hierarchy". "There's my family, then my
friends, and then you. And the higher you are on the hierarchy, the longer you
get to stay."

"W-what do you mean?" Timmy asked.

They had reached her bedroom. She led him inside and flicked on a lightbulb,
which was red and gave the room a dim, weird aura.

"I mean, silly, that all my cousins leave first, after cake. Then the six friends I
invited get to stay, and we can play games, and then they leave a while later.
And then you get to stay overnight, so we can have a slumber party."

"What? No, Sarah, I can't do that. I have to get back to--"

"No you don't," Sarah said, letting go of his hand and whirling around to face him,
a quizzical grin on her face. "My mom called your aunt just before you got here.
You're allowed to stay overnight."

"But--"

"It'll be just like how you used to stay over when you babysat for me," Sarah
continued. "Well, except *I'M* the one in charge this time." She gave him a smirk and a wink when she said that, but he let it go. "My mom said I could pick one person to stay overnight after my
party, and I picked YOU." With that she poked Timmy hard in the chest with an
index finger. "Besides, I wasn't really born until 11:58PM, which means that my
REAL birthday isn't till then anyway. You don't want me to be all alone on my
birthday, do you?"

"Um," Timmy said. He looked up and down the length of the towering female
form before him. It was insane that she was still technically twelve years old. It
made him feel smaller than ever, but also in less of a position to argue.

"Plleeease, Timmy?" Sarah begged, her girlishness showing through as she
clasped her hands together and bounced up and down a bit. "It'll be fun--I
promise! We can watch scary movies and have popcorn and you can sit on my
lap just like I used to sit on yours, and we can tell stories and play dress-up and I
can show you my ballet moves and--"

"Okay, okay," Timmy said.

"OKAY??" Sarah said hopefully, her eyes almost as wide as her mouth was.

"Okay, I'll have to talk to your mother," Timmy concluded.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "O-kay, Timmy. You talk to my mother then," she said in a
sarcastic, subdued tone. "I just want to know one thing."

"What?"

"Are you still... ticklish?"

All of a sudden Sarah lunged at him, taking him with her as they bounced onto
her bed, her on top of him, and her long, dancing fingers began to tickle him all
over. Timmy squirmed and squirmed, but couldn't get away. He was laughing the
whole time, choking out "Stop! Stop!" as often as he could.

Finally Sarah stopped. He was trapped beneath her. Her voluminous, feathery
dark hair fell down making a canopy over his head. She just smiled down at him,
totally pleased with herself, her size, strength, humor, and ability to control her
tiny older male friend.

"Sarah," he said.

"Mmmm... What?"

"Please get off of me."

"Hm..." she murmured. "Hm..."

"Please. Get off me."

"Or... what?"

"Sarah. Stop this." He tried to take a serious tone.

"Hm... Any second I could just start to tickle you again."

"Sarah. Please don't. Just get off of me."

"Why?"

"So I can get up."

"Hm. Well why can't you just get up now?"

"Because you're on top of me."

"So?"

"So S-Sarah--"

"'S-S-Sarah'," she mocked.

"S-Sarah please--"

"Oh 'S-S-Sarah please!'" she giggled.

"Get off of me. This isn't funny." But even as he said that he started to giggle.

"Mmmm," she said, and then brought her head down gently against his so their
foreheads were touching. "See this is why I wanted you to stay over. Because I
can have fun with you, and play with you sort of like the way you used to play
with me, when I was the little one."

"Okay, Sarah, but that's enough. Please let me up."

"Heh. Why do I have to let you up? Why can't you just get up?"

"Because I can't get out because--"

"Because why?"

"Because you're so much bigger than me."

"Ah... bingo," she said. "That's what I wanted to hear you say. But HOW much bigger than you am I again?"

"A lot bigger," he admitted.

"Say, 'You are a LOT bigger than me, Sarah, so much bigger than me that I can't even BELIEVE it!'"

"You are a lot bigger than me, Sarah, so much bigger that I can't even believe it."

She chuckled contently then shifted her weight off of him and rolled over on the bed. Timmy breathed
deep, exhaled, and sat up.

"We better hurry up and get back to the party," he said.

"Yeah..." Sarah mused. Then she got up and pulled a box of old shoes out from
under her bed. "You have really tiny feet, don't you?"

"Well," Timmy began, nervously, "not that tiny, I mean--"

"Let me see."

She turned to him and guided his body down so that he was sitting in her lap.
Before he really knew what she was doing she had grasped one of his ankles
and brought his foot up against the palm of her other hand.

"Just as I thought," she said. "Look at that! Look! My hand's longer than your foot! Quite a
BIT longer, too!"

She curled the tip of her fingers around Timmy's toes. He was so embarrassed.

"Aw! Don't be sad!" She gave him a quick hug and set him back on his feet.
"Here, I'll find something cool for you to wear."

After digging through the box she eventually handed him a pair of black little
Mary Janes.

"These will look adorable on you, Timmy. I had these a few years ago, not that
long after the good old days when you were my babysitter."

Timmy took the extremely girly shoes, which had very little heel, and put them
on. They were a perfect fit. Knowing that Sarah must've already had feet nearly
as big as his when he was babysitting her was a horrific fact he didn't need to
become aware of.

He stood up, thanked Sarah, and let her walk him back to the party.

*****

Dozens of people, mostly children and teenagers, were crowded around four
long tables that Martha had pushed together. Timmy was glad that most of these
strangers would be leaving after cake, and even more glad that he didn't have to
formally meet all of them. Timmy, who was typically shy anyway, always hated
meeting new people, and the present circumstances made him especially
nervous about doing so. What would he say he was doing here? Who was he to
Sarah? Her former babysitter? Dressed like THAT now? And the ironic disparity
between his physique vs. Sarah's would surely be too tempting for any number of
people not to comment on. As Sarah's big soft hand led him towards the table, the
butterflies in his stomach didn't all go to sleep, but for the moment he felt
somewhat confident that he was relatively safe from embarrassment.

"Oh Timmy, you are going to sit on my lap!"

It was Martha, calling from the far side of the room, as she was dishing out cake.
She indicated that Sarah herself, the birthday girl, would sit at the end of the
table, and that Martha would sit immediately to her right, with Timmy on her lap.

"I'm sorry about this, Timmy," she continued, fluttering this way and that, handing
out plates of cake, "but I didn't expect this many people and there aren't enough
chairs for all of us, so some of us will have to double up. If it's any consolation,
Sarah wanted her favorite people sitting next to her--so at least you're a guest of
honor, even if you don't get your own seat! Just hang on a minute and I'll be with
you and we can sit down!"

Timmy stood there, feeling useless and awkward, waiting for the general disorder
to calm down so that Martha could take her seat. Finally he got tired of standing
and decided to sit down even though Martha had sort of told him not to.

Just as most of the cake had been cut, and things were growing relatively quiet,
Timmy was startled to notice a face that looked familiar. It was a gorgeous
platinum blond who looked to be in her early twenties. She was seated on
Sarah's immediate right, but even sitting down Timmy could tell that she was
quite tall. Suddenly it hit him: She was the girl who had come in the public
bathroom that day in the mall, when he peed all over himself and Aunt Rose had
to strip him naked and wash him in the sink. She was the towering girl who had
wrapped him in a towel and then given him her cherry red sucker. Timmy
suddenly felt so embarrassed. There was no doubt that this was the same girl.
She even looked to be wearing the same low-cut, entirely-too-short, clingy black
dress.

Who was she? Timmy eyed her nervously, then averted his eyes as soon as she
caught him staring. She couldn't be a friend of Sarah's, could she? Then again,
Sarah was so tall and mature herself--so could this possibly be a girl in Sarah's
grade?! Timmy began to feel so ashamed of himself for admiring her body that
day. He couldn't help it; she was a fully developed female. And while he had no
idea how young she might be, but still, it wasn't exactly right, and--

"Timmy," Sarah interrupted his panicked thought process. "This is Stephanie.
She's ten."

"WHAT?!" Timmy yelped in disbelief. As soon as he turned to face Sarah,
though, he realized his mistake. Sarah wasn't indicating the pretty girl across the
table from him; rather she was referring to another blond girl--a much, much
younger and pudgier blond girl--who had just walked up to them. "O-oh!" Timmy
corrected himself. "Sorry, I thought you meant..." He gestured to the older blond,
who by now was chuckling softly at him and covering her mouth with a big, well-
manicured hand.

"That's VICTORIA," Sarah said, with a quizzical, knowing smile. "She's
Stephanie's older sister. I babysit for Stephanie because VICTORIA is a big girl
now who has her driver's license." At this Sarah jokingly stuck her tongue out at
the older girl to her right, and Victoria pouted her lips back at Sarah.

"Yer jus jealous," Victoria remarked, and Timmy instantly recognized the lazy
teenage voice. He still didn't know how old she was, but it did relieve him quite a
bit to know that she wasn't as young as Sarah and was at least old enough to
drive.

"Yeah," Sarah admitted. "I actually am jealous."

Little Stephanie had been studying Timmy this whole time. "What's your name
again?" she asked.

Panic seized Timmy. He didn't know why. But he knew that this was one of those
painful moments of revelation. At least he was sitting down, so as not to invite
any height comparisons.

"This is Timmy," Sarah said, because Timmy was just frozen with his mouth
open. "He used to be MY babysitter back when I was your age, Stephanie."

"Woow," the chubby ten-year-old said. Timmy couldn't read her expression, didn't
know whether she was in some way mocking him or not.

"Okay, okay," Martha said as she rushed into view. "Up!" she instructed him.
"And you go sit down on your sister's lap, Stephanie. It's time for cake, finally."

Not thinking about it and not wanting to process any height comparisons, Timmy
quickly slid off the chair and just sort of crouched there in place, waiting for
Martha to sit down. He tried not to but couldn't help noticing that Stephanie--of
course--seemed tall for her age. ("Why couldn't she have walked away quicker?"
Timmy thought to himself. "Dammit, I hate having all of these nagging thoughts
and concerns all the time...")

Eventually Martha settled into the chair and then gave her big left thigh a couple
hard pats. Timmy hopped on her lap. He remembered the last time he had sat on
Martha's lap. She wasn't dressed in a Santa suit this time, but her red dress was
just as sexy. Her creamy bare thighs turned him on very much--as much as he
could be turned on under the circumstances--and he had no doubt that he'd
already be growing a boner, if Aunt Rose's special medicine wasn't still
preventing him from doing so. Martha's lap seemed firmer and shapelier than
before, but no less comfortable. He still needed to ask her about her apparent,
rapid body changes. And he still needed to ask her about the after-party slumber
party, which he was not sure he wanted to attend. There were so many questions
and concerns swirling around in his little head that he could barely keep track of
them; ultimately, he had no choice but to resign himself to the present and "go
with the flow", as they say.

A man Timmy faintly recognized quickly scurried over to Sarah and handed her a
plate with a piece of cake with thirteen burning candles on it.

After "Happy Birthday" was sung, a smiling Sarah with shining doe-eyes craned
her swanlike neck down and blew out the candles easily. There was applause
and then the clatter of silverware as everyone dug in.

It was an oddly plain cake. Everything Martha Thollen did, she usually did big
and elegantly, priding herself on her housekeeping skills and loving to plan out
extravagant social affairs for no reason at all. But all Sarah's Sweet Thirteen cake
amounted to was regular, store-bought yellow cake with classic, typical chocolate
frosting. Timmy thought that odd.

Not as odd as the arrangement of his end of the table, though. He was sitting on
Martha's lap and across from him little Stephanie was sitting on Victoria's. He
had a tiny little plate next to Martha's big one, and Stephanie had an equally
small saucer next to Victoria's super-sized one. In other words, Timmy was in the
same position that a little ten-year-old girl was in.

It did help, however, that behind him as a headrest was Martha's big left boob. It
was larger than his head in fact, and pressed around it on all sides once Martha
scooched their chair closer to the table. As they were eating Martha gently
bounced Timmy up and down on her knee. And she laughed often, which caused
her whole body to jiggle and him along with it. Sometimes when she leaned down
a bit to take a bite of cake off her fork, her boob mashed into the back of Timmy's
head quite thrillingly, and after a while he thought he could even feel a hardening
nipple. He began to like the idea of staying the night here, if he could somehow
lose Sarah and spend more time with her mother. But then again he realized that
the penis-shriveling pill his aunt gave him wouldn't wear off till tomorrow morning.

Considering his predicament, he spaced out a bit and his gaze fell on Sarah. He
watched the pretty girl as she laughed with her friends and took ladylike bites of
cake from her fork. He watched her long feminine fingers as they picked the
candles out of her cake, getting chocolate frosting on her clean trim nails as she
did so. This was a weird position to be in, Timmy thought. It was weird to be the
guest of honor at Sarah Thollen's birthday party.

"Not hungry? Stephanie ate alla hers."

"Hm?" Timmy was startled back to reality. It was Victoria. She smirked down at
him and her little lapsitting sister did the same.

"Can I have the rest of your cake if your belly can't fit it?" Stephanie asked with a
wry expression.

"Oooh!" Martha said in a hushed tone. "It's not that his belly can't fit it! Let's not
be mean to our little man here." She bounced Timmy on her knee once and
hugged him by wrapping her right hand around his waist under the table ands
squeezing him into her.

Timmy suddenly realized that he WAS full, even though he had eaten only about
half of his small portion. He knew what was coming, and he knew that he
wouldn't be able to go through with it. He was already stuffed, and besides that,
all the attention was making him too nervous.

"Uh, if he rilly CAN eat it," Victoria began, with a lazy smile, "then let's see him
do it. I personly think he's tew lil ta eat anymore."

"I'm giving the rest of my cake to Sarah," Timmy said hurriedly.

Sarah gave him a silent smile and reached over to take his little plate away and
put it on top of her own, which by that time was empty.

"Thank you, Timmy," she said. "You're a sweetheart."

When the kids left, a few minutes later, to help clear the plates away, Martha
gave Timmy another squeeze under the table. Her hand began inching its way
toward his crotch.

"You are going to stay overnight, I hope," she said. It didn't sound like a question.

"Yeah, Martha, it's just..."

"Don't worry about it. I know, but it's fine."

"Y-you know? What do you know?"

Before she could answer, Sarah bounded up to her, told her "Mom!" and pointed
toward the door.

"Excuse me, Timmy."

She pushed the chair back and lifted him off of her lap. Timmy noticed that Sarah
was talking to a middle-aged man by the door. He had a coat on and was
evidently getting ready to leave. It was the same man who brought Sarah's piece
of cake over to her, the man who looked vaguely familiar to Timmy. He was not
tall. The tip-top of his head only came up to Sarah's shoulder. He seemed
somewhat sad as he talked to Sarah, but Sarah seemed to have a caring, loving

expression on her face as she talked to him. She was bending down a bit and
cocking her ear towards him, in order to hear him better and perhaps be more on
his level. A few times he put his hands up in a resigned, exhausted expression.
Sarah nodded at what he was saying, and would casually brush a few locks of
her long dark hair back over her ear as she listened. Timmy wished that he could
hear what they were saying.

Martha had walked over to them by now. Her body language was much different
from Sarah's; Martha approached the man with visible anger and frustration.
Timmy finally had a good view of Martha and Sarah's respective heights and was
shocked to see that Martha was only three or four inches shorter than her
daughter, even though Martha's boots were flat and Sarah was wearing sizable heels.
Sarah had obviously kept growing, which was normal for a girl her age, but 40-
something Martha seemed almost to be keeping pace with her, remaining only a
couple inches shorter, at most.

The man they were talking with, however, was smaller than both of them, and it
was almost comical to see Sarah as she seemed to be defending the little man
from her mother. A young girl still not quite thirteen defending a much smaller
middle-aged man from a middle-aged woman. And the girl was the tallest of the
three of them, and the woman seemed so much taller and bigger than the man
that were it not for her daughter she would bowl him over. Timmy admired
Martha's full figure again. She was nowhere near fat now; still voluptuous, but
now her body was almost toned in certain places. She must be working out, he
thought. These days it seemed like so many girls and women were working out
and getting so toned and strong, but retaining their feminine shape--even
augmenting it somehow.

Suddenly he saw Martha poke the man hard in the chest and then throw him
against the wall. Sarah quickly intervened, pushing her mother away. At this,
Martha shot the man a final dirty glance and then walked off. The man appeared
shocked and frazzled now. He looked up at Sarah, started to say something, but
then Sarah put two fingers to the man's lips to quiet him. She looked down on
him thoughtfully, bent to give him a kiss on the forehead, and then opened the
door so he could leave.

"That was my ex-husband," Martha said ruefully as she reapproached Timmy.

Of course. Timmy recognized the man now. Martha had divorced him years and
years ago, but Timmy had seen pictures and had met him once or twice. He
remembered him as being relatively tall, about 5'10" or 5'11". He only looked
about 5'6" now. He recalled that Martha was definitely much
smaller than him, even though he also remembered that Martha tended to
dominate him in conversations all the time. The comparison he had just seen,
however, showed Martha looming over his thin form and dominating him
physically as well. It must have been quite a shock for this man to see the recent
changes in his ex-wife's body. And, for that matter, to have seen the changes in
his "little" daughter Sarah.

"I wish it were just you and me here, Timmy," Martha said, sitting in the chair
next to him now rather than putting him on her lap. She leaned down, put her
elbow on the table, rested her head in her palm, and just looked at him dreamily.

Most everyone else had left the table and were getting their coats to leave.

"When they go, things will quiet down here a lot, I promise. But I hope you'll do
me a favor and be the adult watching Sarah's friends for me. This party has just
exhausted me and I feel pooped. Do you realize that that jerk ex of mine couldn't
even bring a decent cake for his daughter? That's all I asked him to do and he
couldn't even do that! He's lucky I didn't eat HIM for dessert."

"I-I thought the cake was okay," Timmy offered, trying to navigate his way in all
this, "but I know what you mean about it being kind of plain in comparison with--"

"With everything else here," Martha finished for him. "I know. And he wouldn't
even stay to help watch Sarah and her friends because he 'Didn't think he could
handle it,' whatever that means."

Timmy didn't think he could handle it either, though he didn't want to admit it. If
Sarah's own father, who was bigger than Timmy and a more natural authority
figure, couldn't handle it, then how could he?

"Anyway," Martha concluded, picking her head up, "I have to say goodbye to
family. I'd appreciate it if you could take all of the presents into the den and
put them next to the fireplace."

"Sure, Martha, I would be--"

"Well, I say 'all' of the presents but there are only about eight of them. Family
doesn't give my daughter and me presents, which is why family isn't staying for
the unwrapping."

Timmy thought all this family stuff sounded messy and he was glad he didn't
have to go through much of it.

*****

Timmy enjoyed being on his own for a few minutes. He had moved the presents
into the den and could only hear faint sounds coming from the other room. There
was a roaring fire in the fireplace, which made the room feel so nice and warm. If
only it could stay this peaceful and quiet for the rest of the day, then he'd be
able to get through it with no problem.

He heard the clock tick on the wall, and suddenly he had an idea. He realized
that he really didn't want to give Sarah those boots. Or rather, he didn't want her
to know that the boots came from him. It would be too awkward, and he wasn't
sure if the gift was even appropriate. He quickly dashed over to the present he
had brought and quickly ripped off the "To/From" tag and threw it into the fire. This killed two birds with one stone, as the tag had been filled out by his Aunt Rose, who wrote "To Sarah the BIG Girl from little timmy" in girlish handwriting and pink ink.

"What are you doing?"

It was Victoria and Stephanie, walking into the room hand in hand. He wasn't
sure who had spoken, because even though Victoria was much older and much
bigger, both girls seemed to have almost the same stupid voice.

"Um. Nothing," he replied, unsure of how much they had seen.

"I didn't know they let little boys in here on their own," Stephanie said, letting
go of her older sister's hand and bounding toward Timmy.

He instinctively sat down on the brickwork near the fireplace. He didn't want to
have a height comparison event with Stephanie. He was pretty sure he was taller
than her--she was only 10, for god's sake--but he didn't want her to even have a
reason to mention his vertically challenged status.

"Hmmph," Stephanie said as she stood before his seated form, looking down at
him. "Sarah's told me a lot about you."

"Really," Timmy said nonchalantly. "She hasn't mentioned YOU to me at all." He
actually thought it was funny to have some sort of contest with this little girl
regarding who was closer to Sarah.

"Well Sarah says I'm her PROTEGE and she tells me everything. And my SISTER told
me a lot about you too!"

Stephanie smiled a toothy grin and by that time Victoria had stepped up beside
her. The older girl was indeed wearing that same clingy, scandalously short dress
that she had been wearing that day in the mall bathroom. Her long, long legs
looked just as good to Timmy, and again she wore those same calf-high red
booties with four-inch heels. Timmy tried not to lust after her, which actually
wasn't that difficult to refrain from thanks to the impediment of his aunt's
medicine.

"Yeah I know lots about yew," Victoria said. "Sarah showed us a pic of you last
weekend, when I got back from volleyball practice and she was watchin Steph,
and I knew who yew were. From that day in the bathroom, 'member?"

"Yeah," Timmy said, putting his head down. "I remember."

"I 'member seein yer lil boner an' that big tall lady had ta wash ya after ya went all over yerself!"

Stephanie squealed with laughter after her sister related this. Victoria herself just smirked.

"Look, Victoria... Stephanie, let's just have a good time today, okay? Let's be
friends and not be weird to each other."

"Oh we're gonna have a good time, don't worry!" Victoria said through her
giggling. "I wasn't sure I wanted ta bring my sister ta a party for lil kids, cuz
I'm not rilly friends with middle-schoolers like Sarah--but now that yer here I
think this party could get pretty kickin!"

"You're not teasing my boyfriend, are you?!" Sarah rushed up with a silly,
sarcastic expression on her face.

Timmy felt like he was rapidly plunging down in quicksand, almost over his head.

"I'm not your boy--" he began.

"Oh, re-LAX, Timmy!" Sarah said, tussling his hair (or rather his blonde wig). "I'm
just joking! I want you to meet my friend Ting and HER boyfriend, though."

Timmy looked up and saw a very tall Chinese girl approaching. She had very
long legs, which were clad in black tights that ran under rolled-up jean shorts.
She also had a beautiful white sparkling button-up short-sleeved shirt on. She
looked like she was probably in Sarah's grade, and also in her ballet troop, and
she was holding the hand of a boy who was much shorter but looked much older.
He had blonde hair and a thin blonde beard.

"Nice to meet you!" the Chinese girl Ting said brightly reaching a hand way down
so that Timmy could shake it. The girl's nails were very long, pointy, and covered
with silver and gold glitter. Timmy touched her hand--which seemed both delicate
and dangerous--with his own and shook it carefully, which caused Ting to laugh.

"And this is my boyfriend, Hans," she said.

The blonde boy seemed just as nervous as Timmy was. They exchanged a
simultaneous "Hi" and gave each other a look that seemed to say "We're in this
together."

"He's 17," Sarah announced.

"Yeah he's in MY grade," said Victoria, stepping next to them.

The contrast between Hans and Victoria was startling. She was so much bigger,
more socially comfortable and confident than he was, towering over him by a foot
and a half or more. And they were apparently the same age, and sometime soon-
-if not already--they would be vying for college scholarships: the choice between
the two would be easy to make for any bureaucrat looking to decide which of
them had a better likelihood to become one of the leaders of tomorrow.

Ting and Sarah were only slightly shorter than Victoria. Timmy looked down to
check but couldn't tell if Ting's footwear--open-toed zip-up flush-heeled booties--
were higher than Sarah's heels or not.

"Ting's in my pilates class, and my ballet class," Sarah told him.

"And I'm in your ballet class too!" Stephanie chirped. "I'm a lot more graceful than
I look!" she said, putting her hand on her chubby hip.

They laughed and then for some reason everyone's glance fell on Timmy, who
was the only one still sitting down.

"Uh, y-you're not in ballet too, Victoria?" he asked, trying to take the group's
focus off him.

"Nah," she said. "I do other things for fun."

The girls laughed, and for whatever reason Hans exchanged a nervous look with
Timmy that seemed to say "Get me out of here." Ting's long nails and fingers
were massaging his neck in a way that almost seemed threatening--though
perhaps Timmy was just paranoid. He noticed that Hans' clothes were quite frilly
and that he too was wearing some makeup--not as much as Timmy, but still...

"Wow I thought your cousins would never leave!"

The voice came from a redheaded girl who had just entered the room. She was
dragging something behind her, and that something turned out to be her
boyfriend.

"Timmy, this is Hannah and Dewey," Sarah informed him.

"'Hannah and LITTLE Dewey'," the redhead corrected her, hoisting her male
companion up into the air by his arm, as if he were a prize fish that she had
caught. The boy seemed familiar to Timmy, but he didn't know why.

"Hannah, please put me down," he murmured.

"Uh-uh!" Hannah said. "And what did I tell you about WHINING!?"

The boy whimpered and then said "Sorry."

"You want me to let you down?" Hannah asked.

"Yes please."

"Okay then!"

She suddenly let go of him and he dropped the floor in a heap. The drop wasn't
so very far, but he wasn't expecting it and he shrieked and collapsed on impact.
All the girls laughed.

"Hi," Hannah said, turning to Timmy. "Nice to meet you!"

She extended a hand for Timmy to shake, which Timmy did. When he tried to
pull back, however, Hannah wouldn't let him go and then pulled him towards her.
She lifted him up out of his sitting position and yanked him towards her. Just
before he would have collided with Hannah, she let go of his hand. He awkwardly
stumbled but then caught his balance. The girls all giggled and Timmy felt self-
conscious.

Hannah was dressed in tight jeans that were a bit worn (he couldn't tell if they
came that way new from the store, or if she was just that much of a tomboy). She
also had on a red tanktop that perfectly complimented her red hair and showed
off her solid arms. She wasn't as dropdead gorgeous as Victoria, or as cute-as-a-
button as Sarah, but she was still nice-looking and had a face that was genuinely
interesting and seemed to hint at a spunky girl with a style all her own. And her
deep red hair was really stunning. She wasn't as tall as the other girls--"only"
about 5'9"--and she wore Converse sneakers.

Timmy reflected that if he wasn't who he was--if he wasn't in the position he was-
-then looking down on this group of kids he would have felt that they were all
good, relatively innocent youngsters (with only the possible exception of Victoria).
But as it was, he felt that some sort of personal catastrophe was right around the
corner.

"Hannah and Ting and I are all in the same grade," Sarah said, putting her arms
around them.

"And so is Dewey!" Hannah added. At that moment the little boy had just
recovered from his fall and gotten back up on his feet--just in time for Hannah to
give him a bump with her hip into his chest that sent him back down to the floor
again. Lucky for Dewey, the floor was carpeted and the fall couldn't've really hurt
him.

"Okay, everybody, okay!" Martha called as she entered. "Let's get a group picture
and then open presents and then I've got to go lie down!"

She held up her camera and all of the girls instinctively formed a line. Sarah was
in the center, with Ting and Hannah on either side of her. Hans was in front of
Ting and Little Dewey was in front of Hannah. The tops of both boys' heads only
came up to the mid-chests of their girlfriends; Ting was a good measure taller
than Hannah, and Hans was a good margin taller than Dewey. Timmy was glad
to note that he was the tallest male there, just a bit taller than Hans. Being
taller than two boys much younger than him wasn't something to be so proud of, he
realized, and his head didn't come up any higher against Sarah, relatively
speaking. Still, he stood in front of her proudly and started to smile.

Then he was nudged a bit to the side. It was Stephanie, who wanted to stand in
front of Sarah too. Timmy noted that he was, thankfully, three or four inches taller
than Stephanie, who wore flats. With trepidation, however, he noted that the
pudgy ten-year-old girl was taller than Little Dewey, who had to be twelve or
thirteen, and was only an inch or two shorter than 17-year-old Hans.

"You don't want to get in the picture?" Martha asked Victoria. The older girl had
walked to the side and perched herself on a stool that caused her to show off an
indecent amount of skin as she crossed her legs and bounced her feet
lackadaisically.

"Nah," she said. "No offense, but I only came here t'bring Steph. And the pic
should just be Sarah's real friends, y'know?"

"I understand," Martha said. "No offense taken. Now--SMILE!"

Everyone smiled and the flash blinded them for a few seconds.

*****

They all gathered round the fireplace so Sarah could open her presents. Timmy
put up no resistance when Martha suggested that he hop back on her lap. They
sat in the same chair they were in that day two weeks ago. Martha rocked him
gently and squeezed him a bit when the kids weren't looking. Hans sat on Ting's
lap and Little Dewey sat on Hannah's. (Timmy still thought that he recognized the
latter boy, but couldn't place him). Stephanie had the job of handing Sarah
presents. Lastly, Victoria lounged out on the floor and played with her cellphone,
her short dress still revealing far too much skin for Timmy's comfort.

Sarah smiled and gave happy exclamations as she unwrapped everything from
chic shirts and jeans to makeup, jewelry, and a few Disney DVDs starring teen
stars ("Oh I'll watch those with you!" said Martha, who liked anything Disney).

The final unwrapped present was the one Timmy brought her. He hoped that
Martha wouldn't remember that.

"It says..." Stephanie said, looking for the tag, "...Hm. It doesn't say who it's
from."

"Well," Martha said, "not everyone could bring a present, so maybe someone
brought an extra to make up for that."

The explanation sounded weak, and Timmy wasn't sure why Martha said it, but it
had the effect of convincing everyone that the present was in fact from Martha to
her daughter.

Sarah shrugged and began to unwrap the big box.

"Oh COOL!" she yelled as she pulled out one of the black pleather thigh-high
boots.

"Whoa," Victoria said, paying attention for once. "Those're like hot."

"They almost match YOURS, mom!" Sarah said.

"Well," Martha considered, "mine have spikes on them. And those looks like they
have taller heels."

Timmy still thought this was a bad idea, for a number of reasons.

"Try 'em on!" said Stephanie.

"Eh," Sarah said. "We were going to play some games, and--"

"Try-'em-on! Try-'em-on!" Stephanie chanted, and Ting and Hannah joined in.

"Okay, but I gotta put all this other stuff in my room anyway."

She scooped all her presents up and started walking out of the den. Just as she
passed Timmy and Martha, who were sitting closest to the exit, one of the boots
fell.

"Oops," Sarah said. "Timmy, grab that and bring it."

He was frozen, not really wanting to have anything to do with this. Then Martha
bucked her knee a bit, which bounced him up in the air, and he came down hard
on her kneecap.

"Ow," he said.

"Hurry up please, Timmy," Martha said. "Get going so we can get this over with
and I can take a nap."

With that Timmy climbed down Martha's solid, shapely leg and crouched to pick
up the big heeled boot he had gotten Sarah. It was pretty big even compared to
his entire body. He took it and scampered after the birthday girl, but she was
already out of the room. He ran after her but found the long hallway empty by the
time he had gotten there. Which room was hers again? He didn't remember, and
all the doors were closed.

Though he was lost, he still liked this quiet aloneness. He had half a mind to
simply hide in one of the empty rooms here, or even bolt for the exit and make
his way home. But he liked the idea of spending the night if he got to spend some
intimate time with Martha. Her body looked so big, powerful, curvy and hot to
him. Even if he couldn't get an erection, maybe she would understand, and he
could still get somewhat turned on if he really put his mind to it.

He tried one of the doors and found that it was Martha's room. He looked on the
bed and saw a mess of lingerie and several tubes which, upon closer inspection,
proved to be lotions and lubricants of all sorts. He imagined him laying belly-up
on the bed before him, with Martha's heaving naked body bouncing on top of
him, his hands rubbing masses of lotion onto her bouncing goliath breasts.

"Timmy, where are you?" came Sarah's faint voice from somewhere.

He quickly pranced out of Martha's room and back out into the hallway.

"I'm right here," he said, wandering further down the hall and passing several
more closed doors. "Where are--?"

Suddenly he realized that a door had opened behind him and a big hand had
closed around the scruff of his neck. He was pulled backwards into Sarah's
bedroom and then the door was shut behind him.

Sarah giggled as she hugged Timmy and spun him around in the air.

"YOU got me those boots, didn't you?"

"Huh? Sarah, please put me down, I--"

"Thank you, Timmy!" She stopped spinning around but still hugged him tight and
held him high off the floor.

"Sarah, please--I think your mom got them for you, and--"

She gently lowered him and then looked down at him skeptically, her hands
kneading his shoulders.

"That's funny," she said. "Because I have a policy of snooping in my mom's
room, and those boots weren't with the other presents her got me. AND I had
already asked my mom for a pair of boots like these and she told me I couldn't
have them."

"Err, well, maybe your mom's right and you shouldn't have them. For a girl your
age they might be a bit too--"

"NO, Timmy," Sarah tilted her head back and rolled her eyes. "Mom said I
couldn't have them because they were too expensive, not for any other reason.
Although she probably thinks I'm tall enough as it is."

"Actually, Sarah," he said, gently trying to brush one of her big hands off his
shoulder, "I kinda think you're tall enough as it is too, and I'd appreciate it if
you didn't wear those boots back out there."

"Really?" Sarah said seriously, a look of genuine concern on her face. "It'd make
me too much taller than you, huh?"

"Well..." Timmy pondered. "I'd just be too uncomfortable, I think, and--"

"Too scared, you mean," Sarah corrected. "You'd be too scared and intimidated of big tall Sarah and her big tall body in her big tall heels. Just admit it... and I won't wear the heels out."

"I..." Timmy was taken aback. "U-u-uh o-o-okay, S-Sarah... I-I a-admit it."

"Say it," she commanded.

"I-I-I'd be too s-s-scared."

"Of big tall Sarah."

"Of big tall Sarah."

"And her big tall body."

"A-a-and her big tall body."

"In her big TALL heels." Sarah smiled.

"In her big tall heels." Timmy put his head down.

"Then it's no problem," Sarah said matter-of-factly, straightening up all her gifts, which she
had dumped on her bed, and setting the two thigh-high boots upright next to her
bed. "I won't wear them out there. You're also worried that the other kids will make fun of you. Fine. But I can and I WILL wear
them later, after they leave, when it's just you and me,"

"Um."

"Oh PLEASE, Timmy, WILL you let me wear them?" Sarah asked sarcastically with a smile.

"U-uh s-sure. I guess."

Sarah gave him a smirk. "So if you didn't get me the boots then what DID you get
me? Don't tell me that my bestest little buddy in the whole wide world didn't get me
a birthday present." She gave him a gentle, pretend punch in the shoulder. "Ol'
buddy, ol' pal."

He squirmed beside her.

"I did get you the boots, Sarah," he admitted, looking down.

"Ha! I knew it!" she placed a long index finger under his cheek and tilted his head
up. "WHY did you get them for me?"

"I guess I thought you'd look nice in them," Timmy said. "It seems that girls like
those kinds of boots."

"Yeah, we sure do," Sarah said with a wink. "And I think there's something else to all this,"
she added.

"Err... what?"

"I think you LIKE me being taller than you!"

She stepped even closer to him, so that their bodies were touching. She still had
her finger under his chin, and she stood on her tiptoes.

"I think you LIKE it in some way! DON'T YOU?"

"Uhm... S-S-Sarah..."

"'S-S-S-Sarah' what?" She smiled down at him. "Don't you think I'm awesomer
now that I'm so tall? C'mon--aside from how embarrassing it might be, because of
your stupid little male ego, don't you think I'm pretty frickin' cool because I'm so tall?"

"...Yes, Sarah," Timmy admitted.

"HA! I knew it! Right again about you!"

"But, Sarah," Timmy began again, "please don't get the wrong idea. I... I'm... I
only like you as a friend."

She squealed and playfully backhanded his shoulder. "I know that!" she said. "I'm
not some silly little schoolgirl, you know! And, no offense, but the thought of you
really coming on to me, like for real, would really freak me out. And make me very angry."

"Okay. Good. I mean--" Timmy paused and she laughed at him again. "You know
what I mean."

"I do," she said. Then she bent way down and gave him a kiss on the forehead,
exactly as she had done to her father earlier.

"It's like I told you once before, Timmy," she said, playfully putting him in a
headlock and messing up his hair a bit, "I think of you more like a LITTLE
BROTHER. Or maybe even a little SISTER. THAT's how close I think we should
be. You understand that, right?"

"Y-yeah, I guess so," Timmy said, trying to straighten his hair after Sarah let him
go.

"Good," she said. Then she pinched his nose between the knuckles of her index
and middle finger, made a beeping sound, and said, "Now c'mon, let's go back
out to the party. I promise not to TOWER over you any more than I already do."

Timmy took her hand and she guided him back out into the hallway. He was
actually happy and proud to be walking beside this tall young girl--she in her 3-
inch pumps that made her well over a foot taller than him, and he in the little old
Mary Janes that he had borrowed from her, which she had outgrown years ago.

As they got to the end of the hallway Martha greeted them coming the other way.

"I can't take it anymore," she said as she passed them. "I'm too pooped and must
take a nap. I'll be up again later to give you guys snacks."

"Oh, Martha, wait!" Timmy said, turning back the other way and attempting to
free his hand from Sarah's grip.

"What is it, Timmy? I--Oh. Sarah. You aren't wearing the boots?"

"No," Sarah said. "They didn't fit."

"Oh well," Martha said. "Maybe you and Timmy can go to the mall tomorrow and
exchange them."

Timmy really didn't like that idea, but he had more immediate concerns.

"Martha, I need to talk to you," he said. "Quick."

"It better be quick," she said in a sharp tone that Timmy hadn't heard her direct
his way in quite a while.

Sarah let go of his hand and he followed Martha into her room. Before he passed
through the door he heard a loud collective grown from elsewhere in the house.
Probably, he thought, that was the other kids--or at least the girls--reacting in
disappointment when Sarah returned wearing heels that kept her closer to the 6'
mark rather than the 7' mark.

Inside the room, he turned back to see Martha undressing before his eyes. Her
breasts were gigantic, and they were facing him held only in a lacy pink and
black bra.

"Okay. Now what is it, Timmy?"

"I... I was just..."

He had forgotten what he was going to say and could only stare in amazement at
her cleavage. Not knowing what else to do, he began to approach the two more-
than-basketball-sized objects, which were roughly eye-level with him, and began
automatically reaching his hands up towards them.

Suddenly Martha shoved him away.

"I didn't invite you in here for THAT!" she said, but then seemed to soften as he
flew back onto the floor a little harder than she expected. "Sorry about that," she
said, reaching down to pick him up. "Sometimes I don't know my strength anymore. Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, too. I was
just tired and wanted to undress."

"Martha," he said, coming back to his senses. "About this idea of my staying here
tonight--"

"I told you, I already talked with your aunty."

"I know, but... Sarah thinks I'm going to have a sleepover with her, and--"

"And you are. Right?"

"Yes, but--"

"And when Sawah fawls asweep yew can come cwimb into bed with wittle old
mee," she said in a babyish voice, giving him a seductive smile and placing one
of her hands on her boob. "And then I get tew pway wif your widdle body as
mutch as I want, and I pwomise not tew bweak it TEW mutch."

"Yes, but--Do you really think it's okay for me to have a sleepover with Sarah? I
mean, the way she talks, I get the impression that--"

"Well why wouldn't it be 'okay'?" Martha said in a voice that was nearly angry,
taking her hand off her breast and thrusting it onto her hip.

"I'm a 26-year-old man, and Sarah says that at the slumber party she wants to
snuggle and play with me on her lap, and--and aren't you a bit, I don't know,
worried? About all that?"

Martha gave him a confused look. He wasn't sure what she was thinking but had
the distinct impression that it could go either way. There was a 50% chance that
Martha was going to backhand him into next week, if not throw him out of the
house right now by picking him up and tossing him through a window. He had no
idea what her perception of all this was, but he knew that Martha Thollen was an
easily insulted woman.

"Am I worried?" Martha repeated, openmouthed. "About what? About you,
perhaps, taking advantage of Sarah?"

"Um. Well. Yeah. A-aren't you at least worried about something like th-that? I
mean, I WOULDN'T, but--Aren't you at least, um, not wanting her to be in a
situation like that, that could lead to, um, any guy, um... taking advantage of her?
Not that I would."

Martha gave Timmy a long blank expression. Then suddenly she burst into the
loudest, longest laughing fit he had ever seen her come down with.

"Worried about--! AHAHAHA! Worried about you--? AHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!"

Timmy stood there stupidly, not getting the joke.

"Worried--!" Martha continued, laughing all the while. "A-and then he says--
HAHAHAAAA!--'Not that I would'! HAHAHAHAAA!"

Timmy was getting annoyed. "Martha, what are you--"

"Not that you would? More like 'not that you COULD', you mean? HAHAHAHA!"

Timmy was on the verge of leaving the room altogether when finally Martha
calmed down, grabbed Timmy and clutched him to her, bending down a bit so
that his little head pressed deep into her cleavage.

"Oh you are ADORABLE, Timmy!" she said. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?
Do you have some sort of eye condition or depth-perception problems? I don't
worry at all about you 'taking advantage' of Sarah! You couldn't, even if you
TRIED. I doubt you could have 'taken advantage' of Sarah anytime in the last two
years, actually. If anything, I might have to remind Sarah not to play rough with
you--but I think she knows her own strength by now. And I can also assure you that
she is a polite young lady who will not be 'taking advantage' of YOU in any
improper ways."

"Okay," Timmy said, a bit embarrassed but enjoying the breast flesh that his
head was enveloped within.

"But I do think it's VERY sweet of you to show such concern," Martha said,
pulling back, popping his head out of her cleavage. "And I want you to--
HAHAHAHA--to promise me that tomorrow at the mall you'll be a chivalrous little
gentleman and defend poor defenseless Sarah as she accompanies you in heels
that make her two feet taller than you. If anyone tries to bully her, which
happens quite often to girls of her meager defenseless build, make sure you
rush to her defense, Timmy!"

"Will do," Timmy said, unamused by Martha's sarcasm.

"Good! Now, run back to the party. I need to rest. For you. For later. I'll be
back out in a while to fix you guys snacks. Until then, please watch the kids
for me, Timmy. As best you can, you manly man."

"I'll try," he said nervously, stepping out her door.

"Thank you," Martha called after him. "And thanks for giving me a good laugh! I
needed that!"

*****

When he returned to the den he saw the two boyfriends being carried piggyback
by their respective girlfriends. Ting held Hans so high that his head came within
a hair's breadth of the ceiling. And though Hannah, in her Converse sneakers, was
over half a foot shorter than Ting, she made up for that with an excessive amount
of rambunctiousness, running poor Dewey all over the room in circles, spinning
him around so fast that the diminutive lad had to hold on tight to his girlfriend's
shoulders.

"Chickenfight!" Stephanie called, and Ting and Hannah turned to face each
other.

"Oh wow," Victoria said, sprawled out on the sofa and putting down her cellphone.
"This could be good."

"Who do you think's gonna win?" Sarah asked Timmy as she sidled up next to
him and put her arm around his back.

"Um, I don't know. Your friend Ting has the height advantage, and Hans is older
and bigger than Dewey. But Hannah is kind of a fireball."

"Heh," Sarah chuckled. "Yeah she is."

At first the two girls seemed content to just stand next to each other and let their
boyfriends go at it. It was a rather pathetic slapping fight, Timmy thought. Both
Dewey and Hans behaved quite like sissies, so afraid of getting hurt that all either of them
could do was turn his face away from the opponent and throw blind, wimpy
slaps in the other direction. Stephanie shrieked with laughter at this, and Victoria
murmured a few phrases like "OMG that's so cute... so damn cute" under her
breath.

"Okay, that's enough of that!" Hannah decided, stepping back and shifting Dewey
into a different position. "It's time to play ram-man!" she announced, and started
to run directly at Ting, aiming Dewey's head right at Hans' chest.

Ting herself was giggling at all of this and couldn't stop. She did her best to get
out of Hannah's way but couldn't avoid her path entirely. Dewey the human
battering ram hit Hans on the side--not enough to send him flying or knock him
out, but not a light blow for a small man to take.

"Owie!" both boys said simultaneously on impact.

Though Hans was four formative years older than Dewey, they both acted very
similarly. When Timmy was in school, which wasn't so long ago, a 17-year-old
boy would make short work of a 13-year-old. And neither one of them would fight
by playing slappy games and hiding their heads. But times were changing.

Ting spun around and told Hans, "Come on! Suck it up! Next time yank him off!"

"Okay, okay!" Hans said. Timmy thought that Ting's strict tone seemed like kind
of a put-on, like she was just pretending to sound like a tough person should
sound. But evidently Hans took her seriously.

"Hey Dewey," Hannah said, "if you don't knock him off next time... you know
what's going to happen, right?"

Dewey didn't say anything but Timmy saw the little fellow wince a bit. Hannah had him trained well.

The two girls both ran towards each other. They were both looking at each other
and smiling. When they came near each other, Dewey just took his hands off of
Hannah's shoulders and put them over his face, as if he didn't want to see what
was going to happen. Hans took that opportunity to grab onto one of Dewey's
arms and then twist him around enough so that he could get a grip around his
waist. It all happened so fast. With his little face under his blond hair turning
red with effort, Hans strained and pried Dewey off balance enough to send him
falling off of Hannah's shoulders. The little guy dropped down but just a few
feet before hitting the floor, he landed in Hannah's arms as the quick, athletic
girl squatted to catch him. And while this was all going on, all Timmy could hear
was Stephanie squealing at the top of her lungs.

"And the winner is Ting!" Sarah announced to the room as she squeezed Timmy
tighter against her.

("Not Ting AND HANS?" Timmy thought. "Hans did all the work.")

As Stephanie clapped and approached them, Hans slid down Ting's body and
seemed relieved to set his feet on the floor again. Ting looked down at him and
winked. Then she bent and scooped him up in her arms again and gave him a
deep long kiss. Timmy could tell that Hans was a bit annoyed to be off his feet
again so soon, but the little man made the best of it and made out with his giant
Asian girlfriend.

Meanwhile an annoyed Hannah was leading a crying Dewey over to a chair. The
redhead kept a tight grip on her boyfriend as she sat down and then patted her
jean-covered thigh.

"Come on up, Dewey. You know what's comin'."

The boy was still crying but was doing so silently now. He had some trouble
climbing up on his girlfriend's lap, and Hannah used that as an opportunity to
roll her eyes and take off her shirt, revealing tight muscular shoulders,
defined abs, and a black sports-bra underneath. She started stretching her arms
and spinning them around in wide circles, warming them up for what was to come.

"You're just lucky WE didn't compete," Sarah whispered to Timmy. "Because I
wouldn't like having to discipline you if we lost."

Timmy was beginning to feel more than a creeping sense of dread again. Was he
really about to see Dewey get spanked by his girlfriend? Wasn't that domestic
abuse?

"You know what they say," Hannah said to no one in particular as Dewey finally
made his way up onto her lap, "'Spare the palm and spoil the boyfriend!'" All the
girls laughed.

Dewey draped himself over Hannah's thighs and the girl raised her hand.

"Wait!" little Stephanie yelled. "Aren't you gonna do bare-butt? I always give MY
little dolls bare-butt spankin's!"

Hannah chuckled and brushed a long lock of her silky dark red hair behind her
ear. "Well maybe we'll put that to a vote," she said. "Who wants me to give
Dewey a bare-butt spanking? Raise your hand."

Stephanie eagerly raised both of her hands and started jumping back and forth
from one foot to the other. Victoria gave a snorty laugh and also raised her big
manicured hand.

Timmy looked up at Sarah and found that she was already looking down at him,
expectantly.

"I don't think this should be a democracy," Sarah said.

"Yeah I don't either," Stephanie said. "Oh! Wait! Are you voting for bare-butt?"
She turned to Ting, who had just raised her hand. Ting nodded.

"Well, I wasn't going to vote," Hannah said, "because I don't think that'd be fair
since I'm the one doing the spanking and was just going to spank him over-pants.
But if it's a tie then I'll vote for bare-butt."

"So that gives us..." Stephanie tried to count and figure out if they had a
majority.

"I think Timmy should decide for all of us," Sarah said. "He's the oldest."

"And the cutest!" Stephanie added, laughing so much that Timmy didn't know if
she was serious.

"I didn't think males had the right to vote in things like this," said Hans. Timmy
couldn't tell if he was being serious either, or making some kind of ironic joke.

"Um," Timmy said. His instinct was just to defer power to Sarah, but that wouldn't
make any sense since she had just given him the decision. He wasn't sure whether or not this was some sort of trick--Would HE be spanked also if he chose "incorrectly" and said that Dewey should be allowed the dignity of keeping his pants on? It occured to him how it seemed that the girls had played the situation masterfully, for it was not even a question of whether or not Dewey should be spanked by his girlfriend--the fact that he would be spanked was a foregone conclusion--rather the topic of discussion had been centered around HOW he should be spanked. All of these thoughts whirled in Timmy's mind as he began to speak: "I say... I say he
shouldn't be spanked at all--" A collective gasp emerged from all of the
women in the room, including Sarah, so he quickly added "But if he has to be
spanked then it should be up to his girlfriend, and she already was just going to
spank him with his pants on. So I say leave his pants on. That-that will at least
give him something more to f-fear later, because if he does anything wrong
again, then next time it'll be bare-butt."

Stephanie gave him a stink face. It was her idea to have a bare-butt spanking in
the first place, and Timmy had ruined it.

The general disappointment didn't last long, however, for just a second later they
all heard a loud slap as Hannah's strong hand came down hard against her
boyfriend's backside. Timmy noticed that Dewey just had on thin purple tights
anyway, so it wasn't like his ass was getting much protection. But he was
probably grateful in that he wasn't deprived of that last little bit of decency
that he had while being spanked by his girlfriend.

Timmy lost track of the number of times that Hannah's hand came down. He
noticed that she was a very athletic girl, especially for a 13-year-old. She had
defined abs and knotty arms. Though she was a tomboy now, he looked like she
might develop into a real knockout in a few years, especially with that gorgeous
dark red feathery hair.

Finally she was done and Dewey had stopped crying.

"What should we do now?" Hannah asked, sending Dewey off her knee by
bouncing him up into the air. He landed hard on the carpet, tumbling in a little
pile, but refrained from crying again.

"I know," Sarah said quickly, "Let's have a measuring contest. I KNOW that
Timmy has been wanting to find out just how tall I am now."

"Measuring time! Measuring tiiiime!" the girls chanted.

He hated this idea, but had somehow known that it was coming. The girls got
excited and starting pushing chairs out of the way to make room. They got a
blank piece of paper and started recording everyone's name on it. Sarah ran to
get a tape measure.

While this commotion was going on, Dewey walked up to Timmy.

"Hi," he said. "Thanks for that back there. Thanks for helping me."

"No problem," Timmy said. "Besides, it didn't really seem like leaving your pants
on could have helped that much."

"It did," Dewey said. "So thanks."

"Um," Timmy said. "Does she hit you a lot?"

"Not a lot," Dewey said. "Only when I'm stupid or do something wrong. Like I did
back there. I just panicked and we lost the game because of it."

"It seemed like the spanking hurt an awful lot," Timmy said.

"Not really," Dewey said. "Believe me, if Hannah wanted to, she can hit a lot
harder than that. She's beaten up bullies for me at school, and she hits them lots
harder. I just cry around her sometimes because I'm a wimp. It's my fault."

Timmy just looked at him, a bit puzzled. Hans walked up and put his arm around
Dewey.

"Sorry for that back there," Hans said. "I wasn't trying to hurt you or get you in
trouble."

"It's okay," Dewey said. "I'm just a wimp."

He wasn't wrong.

"Hey," Hans said, putting his other arm around Timmy. "Your girlfriend is the
hottest one here."

"Huh?" Timmy asked. "What do you mean?! Sarah isn't my--"

"Well, whatever she is, you're a lucky guy to be so close to her," Hans said.
"Sarah is hot. The way she looks in that black dress is awesome. I wish Ting
would dress up like that more instead of just wearing jean shorts and stuff--"

"I like the blond girl," Dewey said. "I think her name is Victoria."

"Yeah!" Hans said hurriedly. "Oh my god I wish I could be spanked by her, laying
across those thighs! I changed my mind, Timmy, sorry but I think Victoria is
probably hotter than Sarah. But she's also older, so Sarah has a few years to
catch up."

"Yeah, when I was introduced to Victoria I almost started humping her leg right
there," Dewey said, laughing. "I'm just lucky that Hannah didn't catch me acting
that way. The last time she thought I was looking at another girl, she pinched my
peeper until it turned purple."

"Ting puts me between her legs and squeezes when she catches me being bad
like that."

Timmy thought this was too weird for him, but these boys seemed used to
conversations like this. What could Timmy say? Should he tell them how Brooks
spanked him or squeezed his dick out of shape when she wanted to?

Suddenly he remembered where he had seen Dewey before.

"YOU were at that restaurant!" he blurted out, pointing at Dewey. A second later
he wished he had kept the knowledge to himself.

"Restaurant?" Dewey said, and then it dawned on him. "Oh. Y-you were that guy.
Last weekend when... when that hot girl did that to my dad."

"Yeah, I was... that girl's date," Timmy looked down, feeling sorry for Dewey.

"My dad started crying when we left the restaurant. My mom had to drive on the
way home because he was too shaken up. That girl really did a number on him,
just with her words."

"I'm sorry," Timmy said.

"It's not your fault. Even my little sister can make my dad cry sometimes, if she
teases him enough. Did you have a nice date with that girl, at least? Once you
got our table?"

"Um. Yeah I did. It was a special night. You said even your sister makes your dad
cry?"

"Y-yeah. I mean, she's been able to make me and my twin brother Jeffy cry for about a year now, for... a lot of reasons. But now she can make my dad cry by teasing him. Now her and my mom tease him a lot, after what happened. Whenever he's being a pain
in the butt they just ask him 'Remember that girl at the restaurant?' and he clams
up and acts good again."

When Sarah returned with the tape measure they all had to line up. Stephanie
was the official bookkeeper.

"O-kay!" she announced. "First up is Dewey! State your age!"

"That's LITTLE Dewey," Hannah corrected, squeezing her boyfriend into her, mashing his head against her chest.

"Right!" Stephanie said, writing in the extra word on the official score sheet.
"LITTLE Dewey! State your age and go over by Sarah to be measured!"

Hannah flung him forward, and Timmy again admired the athletic nature of the
girl. Her upper body looked so trim and chiseled in her black sports-bra. She could totally kick the ass of the average grown man.

Dewey wobbled forward, lost his balance, and collided hard into Sarah's leg,
which he grabbed onto to keep from falling down.

"Well, hel-lo there," she said sweetly, chuckling and peeling Dewey's arms off of
her leg, which was bare from mid-thigh down. "Now how old are you, little boy?"

"Thirteen," Dewey said. "I had my birthday last weekend."

"Oh, so you are older than I am?!" Sarah chirped quizzically looking way down at
him.

"Yep, and his best birthday present was his first French kiss from me!" Hannah
chimed, which caused the other girls to laugh.

"O-kay," Stephanie said as she wrote, "Thirt-teen."

"Now take your slippers off--and stand up straight, Little Dewey," Sarah told him.
"That may make all the difference in the world."

"But if you stand on your tiptoes then Sarah gets to spank you," Hannah added.
"Bare-butt this time. And she spanks hard."

"That's right I do," Sarah said playfully, nodding down at him, her eyes wide as
she stared into Dewey's cautious upward gaze.

She then put her palm on the top of Dewey’s head, which only came up to her
upper belly.

"How tall is he?!" Stephanie squealed.

Sarah measured the mark she had made and announced: "Four foot . . . four."

"Four foot FOUR!" Stephanie said as she wrote. "And next up is... ME!"

Stephanie slipped off her shoes and bounded towards Sarah, knocking Dewey
out of the way and giving Sarah's leg a big sarcastic hug in order to mock Dewey
even more.

"I guess everyone who comes up here has to give my leg a hug for good luck!"
Sarah laughed.

"Yeah," Stephanie said, "especially Timmy!"

Everyone laughed.

"I'm ten years old," she said. "And how tall am I, Sarah?"

Sarah put a light pencil mark where the bottom of her hand was and then
measured: "Four foot . . . seven!"

"Four-foot-sev-en!" Stephanie chanted merrily, singing her stats as if they were a
song while she marched back to her seat to record the information: "Four-foot-
sev-en! I'm NOT-the short-est one-one!"

"Hans next!" Ting said as she lifted her boyfriend up under the armpits, walked
over, and handed him to Sarah.

"Ooops," Sarah said, lifting him up higher. "Take his little shoes off, Ting."

Hans' girlfriend took his shoes off--her long fingers with the long sparkling nails
looking almost twice as long as Hans' little feet--and then she walked back to
where she was sitting before.

Sarah set Hans down and scrutinized the little blond boy for a moment. "Ting, is
he allowed to give my leg a good-luck hug?"

Ting laughed. "No, but he's allowed to give your leg a goodluck kiss. NO
TONGUE, though!" More laughter.

Sarah raised the bottom of her dress a bit and then Hans politely bent forward
and gave her thigh a peck. All the girls clapped and whistled.

"He's seventeen, by the way," Ting told Stephanie.

"And he is..." Sarah said, measuring him, "Four foot eight."

"Only one less than me-ee!" Stephanie said merrily as she wrote, clearly very proud
of herself for being nearly as tall as a boy seven years older than her.

Timmy knew his turn was next. He already prepared himself by taking off Sarah's
old Mary Jane shoes, and was preparing himself mentally by trying to think brave
thoughts.

"I'm twenty-six," he said, serious as could be as he marched up toward Sarah
and the measuring tape.

"What are you, Tim, five-two?" Sarah asked him in a low, serious tone once he
reached her.

"Good-luck leg-hug!" Stephanie yelled from the back.

Sarah smiled and raised her big shapely leg provocatively so that it crossed
Timmy's chest. He wrapped his little arms and hands around it as best he could,
and suddenly there was a click. He looked to see that Victoria had
taken a picture of them with her camera phone. The older girl smirked and
snorted, looking at the picture on the tiny screen.

The next thing he knew, he felt Sarah's hand coming down on top of his hair. At
least the extra poof of the pigtail wig might give him a bit of extra height. The
last he knew, when Brooks measured him last weekend, he was 4'11".

"He's... Four foot ten," Sarah announced, audible disappointment in her voice.

"WOW, only four ten!" Stephanie said as she wrote. "Now why don't you have
Timmy measure you, Sarah?"

"I guess that's a good idea," Sarah said softly, kicking off her heels. She looked
down at Timmy, squatted a bit and then put her hands under his armpits and
lifted. The rest of the room cheered as she hoisted him up in the air, but she used
the opportunity to whisper to him, "Don't worry, Tim. I still like you even if
you're even shorter than I thought. In fact, I may like you MORE."

"Thanks, Sarah," he said, and he really did appreciate it.

He put his palm on top of Sarah's soft brown hair and held it there.

"Can you make a mark?" Sarah asked. "The pencil is behind my ear there."

"Um," Timmy said, fishing for the pencil and eventually dropping it to the floor.

"Here--I got one."

It was Victoria. She seemingly came out of nowhere and held a pencil out toward
Timmy. He took it and tried to make a little mark on the wall, but it was hard to
do so being held up like he was. He felt another set of very long hands--Victoria's
--come to steady him by wrapping themselves around his waist.

"I gotcha," she said in her dumb teenager voice.

Timmy finally made the mark and both girls gently lowered him to the ground.

Victoria moved off and, placing a hand on his shoulder, seemed to want Timmy
to leave with her. But Sarah casually reached over and held his hand tight, so he
stayed right there with her.

"What does it say, Timmy?" She asked him, once she held the measuring tape
up. "Surely you can at least see up that high."

"It says..." Timmy found it hard to believe his eyes. "It says... Wow. Six feet."

The girls in the audience clapped and whooped it up a bit. Sarah turned to face
them and her brown doe-eyes sparkled. She smiled and took a bow. Hannah
whistled at her. Sarah blew kisses into the audience and then bent down to give
Timmy a quick smooch.

"Sarah Thollen," Stephanie said, "Thirteen years and SIX! FEET! TALL!"

Timmy couldn't get over it. He was still losing height--though certainly his decline
was leveling out, thank god--and meanwhile little Sarah had reached the six-foot threshold.

"Wow, what a special day for you," Ting called. "If this wasn't already your Sweet
Thirteen, it could have been your Happy Six Feet party!"

"Yeah!" Sarah said. "I guess I really missed out on getting another party! Only
one party now instead of two!"

"Well maybe we can have joint parties when I have mine," Ting said, stepping up.
"If I haven't already hit it already without realizing it, like YOU, silly girl!"

Sarah chuckled. Timmy started to walk away but had to get past Ting first, and
she playfully moved right when he moved left, left when he switched tacts to
move past her to the right. With her long, hosed legs feeding up into her short
jean shorts, the Asian girl looked like a big praying mantis to Timmy. She smiled
down at him, then grasped him with her long hands, shuttling him to the side of
her so she could get past. Shaken, Timmy went back to sit down.

Sarah then measured Ting, who was thirteen years old and:

"Five eleven and THREE QUARTERS," Sarah announced, to more clapping.

"And now the RUNT of the litter!" Hannah said sarcastically, as she walked up.
Though she was noticeably the shortest of the three classmates, she made up
for that by flexing her muscles in front of everyone, which did illicit some clapping,
and a whistle from Ting.

"Hannah is..." Sarah said as she measured. "A hair over five nine. Not bad."

"Not bad considering I'm only seven!" Hannah joked as she went back to her seat
and pulled Dewey on her lap. (Everyone knew that she was thirteen.)

"Save the best fer last?" Victoria said, walking up.

"Oh you want to be measured along with everyone else?" Sarah asked, a
strange tone in her voice. "I thought we weren't friends."

"I guess we are friends," Victoria said. "Even though you're more my sister's
friend than mine."

"Then I GUESS we're sort of friends," Sarah said. Clearly there was tension between the two, as might be expected between the two most impressive girls in any social situation, both vying for the top slot. It was Sarah's party, and her house, but Victoria was significantly older, and as tall as Sarah was, Victoria's height put Sarah's to slight shame.

"Well, you're closer to my sister's age than you are to my age," Victoria reasoned.
"Cuz I'm seventeen." She was beginning to sound quite conceited, like she was
above everyone else. Which, one had to admit, was true.

"Whatever," Sarah said. "I'm closer to your sister's age, but I'm closer to your
height. And when I'm your age I'll probably be taller than--"

"Hey," Victoria interrupted, "I don't mean to sound like a bitch, but you aren't
going to be able to see the top of my head, so maybe I should lift up one of the
boys. Timmy?"

He didn't want to move, but he felt it would be more awkward if he refused to. So
Timmy crept up to the two girls again and, once again, Victoria wrapped her long
pink-nailed hands around his waist and lifted him up.

"Hi, little guy" she said as he reached eye-level with her, and then she raised him higher. "I can't get over how light you are." Then in a whisper she added, "Oh the things I could do to you..."

He put his little hand on top of Victoria's platinum blond head and made a mark.

"Holy shit," he said as Sarah immediately placed the measuring tape next to
them. "Six ten!"

"She's got her heels on--DUH!" Stephanie screamed. All the girls laughed.

"Oh Timmy!" Sarah exclaimed, in a good mood again. "You should have seen
your little face!"

"Yeh, I'm not THAT tall," Victoria said, "YET!" At that her eyes got big and she
looked into Timmy's eyes as she still held him aloft. "After all, I AM still a growing girl." She winked, flexed a bicep, and flashed a provocative pose to the audience.

Timmy felt her kicking her booties off and then they tried it again.

"Six six," Timmy announced. That was still really tall.

Victoria set him down before her and stepped back into her booties. She gave
him a little squeeze on the shoulder and said, "Thanks for measuring me,
smallfry. I REALLY appreciated it."

Stephanie pounded her hands on the little table she was at. "Attention please!"
she barked. "The tallest male--since it's 'males first' rules--is Timmy at a
WHOPPING Four feet and TEN BIG inches! The tallest female is my lovely sister
Victoria, who is six feet and six inches--even though from Timmy's
perspective he believes she might as well be about seven feet tall!"--Everyone
laughed--"The tallest thirteen-year-old girl is our wonderful friend Sarah, who is
an amazing six feet tall. Our SMALLEST boy is the lovely Dewey--excuse me,
LITTLE Dewey, aka 'Snuckums'"--Hannah laughed mightily at this new nickname--"who earns that designation by being only four-foot four. And our shortest
girl is yours truly--at four-foot seven--though I'm already much taller than a boy
who is three years older than me, and I'll probably pass our other two resident
menchkins sometime in the next year. And I bet I will be taller even than Victoria.
Eventually."

Stephanie gave a self-satisfied nod and dropped her pencil to the table, to signal
the end of the proceedings.

"What's next?" Hannah asked.

"I think maybe we should have some more contests," said Sarah. "There's still a
lot of fun stuff we could do if we clear the furniture out and roll out the mats.

"What about your mother?" Ting asked.

"Oh that's right," Sarah reflected. "We'll have to wait till she goes away again
after snacks."

"We shouldn't wrestle on a full stomach," Hannah said. "Well, I guess we could
just not eat much."

"What kind of 'contests' are you talking about?" Timmy asked, beginning to get
nervous again.

He looked up at all three girls before him--Sarah and Ting and Hannah--and they
all towered over him so much and looked down at him as if he were an amusing
little pest.

"Oh don't worry about it, Timmy," Sarah said, pulling his blond wig down over his
face. "But you might want to take those pigtails off so that your opponent doesn't
pull on them and have an advantage over you."

Timmy grabbed the wig and pulled it up again, then pulled it off his head entirely.
As soon as his hands were out of the way, Sarah snuck in again and pinched his
nose between her index and middle finger, making a honking noise as she did
so. Ting and Hannah laughed.

"He loves it when I do that to him. He used to do that to me when I was his
size."

"Awww!" the other two girls cooed.

"That's not true!" Timmy squeaked. "Y-y-you weren't my height when I did that to
you. When I babysat you, you were shorter than me!"

"Hmmm," Sarah said. "That's true, but you've lost some inches since then,
Timmy. I think if you went back in time, you'd find that when I was ten I was an
inch or two taller than you are now. You wouldn't've been able to babysit me."

That thought was scary to Timmy, to say the least.

"Who wants snacks?" Martha asked, stepping into the room.

"Right on cue," Sarah muttered.

Dewey and Hans were the first ones to race up to Martha, who was dressed only
in her bra and panties and a see-thru nightgown. Timmy couldn't get over how
good she looked. Her breasts and ass-cheeks were busting out of her frilly pink
and black lingerie, and her slinky nightgown added a gossamer glow to her entire
form. Even with so many other people around, and even with his penis shriveled
up into the shape of a little pea, he had to fight the temptation to jump on top
of Martha and start dry-humping. Dewey and Hans looked so small next to her. He
saw that she had on purple slippers with slight heels on them, and suddenly he
had an idea.

"Sarah," he said. "Measure your mom."

"Oh! Gooood idea, Timmy!" she said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Mrs. Thollen, Mrs. Thollen," Dewey was saying to Martha, bouncing up and down in
front of her. Timmy noticed that about two Deweys could fit inside one of Martha's
thighs.

"What is it, Dewey? What is it? Calm down, sweetie."

"Mrs. Thollen, Hannah spanked me."

"Oh? Just now she did?"

"A-a little while ago," Dewey said, suddenly a bit uncertain of himself.

"Hannah, is that true?"

The redhead walked up with her hands behind her back, inadvertently thrusting
her sports-bra out at Martha, as if unwisely challenging the big-breasted woman
to a contest that no one with boobs smaller than basketballs had any chance of
even competing in respectably.

"Yeah, I spanked him," Hannah said.

"In front of everyone?"

"Yup. I didn't spank him real hard, though."

"And have you been instructed in how to spank a boyfriend?" Martha asked.

"Yes. They taught us in school."

"Did they also teach you how to spank one real hard?"

"Um, not real-real hard."

"Well then it's good that you didn't try to spank him real hard until you've had the
proper training. But you, Dewey"--she turned to the little boy in front of her, who
seemed to shrink down as she put her hand on his shoulder--"you shouldn't be
such a little whiner or a tattler. So Hannah spanked you--Girls will be girls, after
all. Don't come to me with these silly problems ever again, or else you'll find
yourself draped over MY thigh. And I promise you, I spank very, very, very, very
hard. Just ask my ex-husband."

Martha then sent a trembling Dewey back into the care of his girlfriend by
shoving him into Hannah's muscly arms.

"What did I TELL you about tattling?" Hannah asked Dewey rhetorically, pulling
him along by his head, which she had put in a headlock. "You're gonna get a
REAL-REAL hard spanking when we get you home."

After Martha had handed out the snacks, which turned out to be candies shaped
like little purple pills, Martha smiled and laughed and, a bit self-consciously,
put her back to the wall while Sarah measured her. When she had her slippers on
she seemed taller than her daughter, but when she kicked them off Timmy could
see that there was a notable heel on them.

Martha looked into Timmy's eyes and gave him a big Mad Hatter-ish grin as
Sarah announced:

"Five... ten, or... Wow, mom! Five eleven! Actually, a smidgen over that."

Timmy couldn't believe how tall Mrs. Thollen was getting. This was someone
who used to be a very diminutive woman who was very much "on his level".
Now she had lapped him by more than a thirteen inches.

As she walked out of the room, Timmy reached toward her bag of candies.

"Oh those aren't for you, Timmy," she said in a hushed voice. "You didn't have
any, did you?"

"No, I didn't. Why?"

"You're already on big person formula, from what I understand."

"What do you mean?" Suddenly it hit him. "Oh that's why they're shaped like
pills?"

"They're just standard youth formula. They get them at school in homeroom
anyway, but these are just mixed with extra sugars and such."

Timmy really didn't understand any of this, but it didn't really bother him.
Health care was more of a woman's thing anyway; men just didn't have the mind
for it, and he knew it was better to defer to women in all of these regards.
The alternative, to deny any woman anything she wanted in the field of health
and medicine, was to be sexist and barbaric and old-fashioned. Women were in charge of all that stuff now, for themselves and for the whole of society, and it was better that way. That's how the story went.

"You're sure growing a lot," he remarked.

"Ye-ess!" Martha said, so happy that he noticed. She turned to the side, squatted
up and down a few times, showing off her extreme curviness and flexing her
gams. Then she arched her back and thrust out her spectacular cleavage.

"This is all from those same pills, like the ones I'm on?"

"That's right," she said. "We're both becoming such sexy people, aren't we?"

"I sure hope I start to fill out a bit. YOU sure have!"

She just smiled at him.

"Uhm..." he stalled. "W-when Sarah falls asleep, I'll..."

"You'll climb into my bedroom and you will fuck me in the ass longer and harder
than anyone's ever fucked me in the ass, little boy, or else I'm going to swallow
you up into my ass and grind down on you until your skull's nailing my colon."

With that she walked away and crossed her steps so that her gigantic globular
ass-cheeks swayed side to side, flexed and danced.

*****

When he returned to the rest of the group, he saw that Hannah had now
removed her jeans, revealing tight black shorts that matched her sports-bra.
Sarah was rolling out an 8x10 foam mat, and Stephanie was leaning her hand on
Little Dewey's shoulder, no doubt trying to bully him into fighting her. "C'mon, little boy," she hissed at him, "won't you let a ten-old-girl three years younger but three inches taller than you wrestle the CRAP out of you in front of your friends and girlfriend?"

Before Timmy knew quite what was happening, he noticed a long hand with long
fingers with chunky pink nails on them slithering down his right shoulder.

"Yew get to wressle me or wressle my sister. It's yer choice." It was Victoria;
he spun around to face her. "And if yew lose, then u get spanked. Bare-butt. And
I can't wait."

He instinctively made to step back away from her but she scooped his butt with
her other hand and gave him a sharp little pinch.

"Ow," he whined. "I-I don't want to wrestle either of you."

"Then yew jus forfeited and I get ta spank yew anyway," she chuckled.

"No!" he said.

"Yew know lots of guys would like to wressle with me. I'm the hottest girl here,
too. So yew should feel lucky that me and Steph picked yew ta wressle with. But
yew don't wanna wressle her, so yew should choose me."

"No, Victoria," Timmy said, trying to extricate himself from the situation again, trying to turn his age and maleness into the authority they used to hold over younger people and females.
She had backed him up against a wall. He couldn't believe how tall and
domineering she looked, especially with that clingy black dress that was way too
small for her. It barely reached down below her butt cheeks.

"Just c'MONNN," Victoria whispered, putting her pretty face down to Timmy's
level. "Those other two little boys can't keep their eyes off me. I bet they'd
lose it if I asked one a-them ta wressle with me. I bet they wish their dinky
little girlfriends were as big and hot and tall as I am. Whatta YEW think,
Timmy-Tim-Tim? What do you thinka my big hot body that wantsta get ta know yer lil dinky body better?"

"Victoria, please--"

"Don't you wish I was your girlfriend? I 'member how you looked at me that day in
the bathroom when your aunt was washing you up. 'Member when I gave you my
red sucker? I saw yer little dinky dick, too. Yer little boner. 'Member that?"

"Vicki, please--"

"VICKI?" She stood back up to her full height and glared down at him. "What did
yew jus call me? I HATE bein called Vicki!"

"I-I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"I oughta whip yer ass right here, lil boy," she hissed. "Yer on my shit list now."

She stormed off, her four-inch booties thundering against the floor. Timmy turned
and went back further into the den, only to see Hannah pinning her boyfriend
Dewey to the mat. Her compact, muscular physique rippled as she stretched on
top of Dewey and yanked one of his legs up with her arm for leverage.

"1... 2..." Stephanie counted. And just then Hannah let him go on purpose. "Only
2 again!" Stephanie squealed.

Dewey was drenched in sweat and had been stripped down to just his pink
panties. The little boy was totally overwhelmed, but his girlfriend wouldn't stop
pouring it on. She lifted him in all sorts of carries, yanked his body this way and
that. Her already dark red hair was also drenched in sweat, which only made it
more striking in Timmy's mind.

Suddenly Hannah seemed to go into a sumo style of combat. She clutched Dewey to her
chest, lifted him a half a foot off the ground, carried him forward a few feet and
then dropped him. Next she picked him back up and threw him over her shoulder,
jumping and slamming him into the mat. Timmy was amazed that Dewey wasn't crying,
although maybe he was simply all cried out. Hannah bashed him again and again and again,
inventing new ways to show her absolute dominance.

Finally Hannah got a smirk on her face, made a show of putting her right hand
behind her back and then attacked Dewey only with her left. Even trying to fight
her off two hands against one, Dewey proved unsuccessful. Simply with the
power of her left hand, Hannah forced Dewey to the mat by putting pressure on
his chest. She had laid him out on his back, and it was clear that the little guy
had had it.

"You better struggle as hard as you can!" Hannah warned, keeping him down
with just her left hand. "You know what will happen if I think you're faking it or
giving up!"

Dewey strained and strained but couldn't budge Hannah's hand a bit.

"1...2...3!" Stephanie called. "And Timmy's the next victim!"

Hannah giggled and kissed Dewey on the nose before letting him up.

Timmy stepped forward toward the mat, not sure what choice he had. Hannah
had exhausted herself but still seemed so formidable and scary to him. She
walked up to Timmy, looked down at him from her 11-inch height advantage and
snickered. Her chest was heaving and her black sports-bra was drenched in
sweat.

"You actually want to fight me, little man?" the girl asked.

"No, Timmy, you're wrestling me," came a voice over his shoulder.

It was Sarah. She pulled her black dress off, revealing a black pushup bra and
black panties. Timmy actually recognized them from the time he had spent in the
changing room with her at the mall.

Hannah walked past him and gave a snort as she did so, knocking his shoulder a
bit with her hip.

Timmy turned to face Sarah.

"Take your clothes off, Timmy" she instructed. "If you want to have any chance at all."

Timmy did as she told him. He faced her in just his little panties. A 26-year-
old man, who was 4'10", against a 13-year-old girl (actually still 12 for a few
more hours), who was 6'0".

"Hm," Sarah considered. "I think we should arm wrestle first."

Timmy was still in shock about seven different things, so this next trial didn't
surprise him much. They walked over to the table and Sarah put out her big right
hand. Timmy looked at her bicep. It looked so solid. He put his own arm up, and
all of the girls in the room tee-heed, except Sarah.

"I want you to TRY, Timmy," she said in a very serious tone. "I'll know if you're
not trying as hard as you can, and I WILL spank you afterwards if I need to. It
would actually be my duty as a female to discipline you in that case. So will you
try as hard as you can?"

Timmy didn't like Sarah talking to him this way. It was scary. He had been
thinking of her as a "safe" person. But here she was treating him almost like
Hannah treated Dewey.

"Okay," he said. He had to agree; he didn't have any other choice.

He put his thin little hand against her big smooth soft hand. Her strong fingers
closed around his and he admired not for the first time Sarah's clean trim nails.
Even her pinky nail looked bigger than his thumb nail.

"Are you ready?" Sarah asked.

"...No..." Timmy said in a tiny voice.

"TIMMY," Sarah said. "I will spank you very, very hard. I won't like doing it, but I
will do it. Now I want you to try as hard as you can, with every bit of strength
you've got left, so that you know just how you match up against me. On the count
of three, you just push. Okay?"

"...Okay, Sarah."

"One. Two. Three."

He pushed with all his might. Instantly he knew two things: one, Sarah was not
pushing back, and two, he was not even strong enough to move her arm an inch
from a natural fixed position. Sarah had flexed her arm and steadied it slightly,
but was not pushing back in his direction at all; she was merely holding it there
rather listlessly, and Timmy couldn't even overcome this modicum of inertia.
She had a calm but determined look on her face, and her doe eyes bore into
Timmy as she watched him struggling.

"I want you to understand what is happening, Timmy," she said. "I want you to try
as hard as you can, and I want you to KNOW that you tried as hard as you can.
And I want you to realize that it did nothing."

Timmy was choking air and grunting hard as he pushed pointlessly against
Sarah's big hand. "That's a good little boy," she whispered to him. He felt so weak, and felt also like his hand and arm were going
to break.

Then just as he was about to give up entirely and fall to the table in exhaustion,
he felt Sarah's hand come down as if it were a ten-ton mechanical press. She
slammed his hand against the table hard enough to make a loud bang, and she
kept it there for several seconds, just squeezing it hard, rubbing it in.

He looked down at her big hand, the back of which completely covered his own
hand, and he looked at her bare arm and bicep, which was really only slightly
toned, but very solid.

"Ow," he said as she steadily crushed his hand. It was an understatement. Sarah
just continued to stare at him.

Slowly there was a round of applause from everyone else. Hans leaned over to
Timmy and whispered "I told you you were lucky; she--is--HOT" in his ear.

When the clapping died down, Sarah, who had not stopped staring at him, said in
a very matter-of-fact tone: "Okay Timmy, now let's go back to the wrestling mat
so I can show you just how weak you are compared to me in other ways."

He followed her over to the mat, admiring her tall fit form and knowing beyond a
shadow of a doubt that this girl was superior to him in every way. When they
were in position she turned to face him and looked him up and down. Without
any expression on her face, she said, "Timmy, I am probably going to make you
cry quite a lot, but I promise that you won't be hurt permanently, and maybe ten
minutes later you'll be ready to go again and will have to wrestle another girl. So
at the very least you should use this opportunity to try to gain some experience
for your next fight. Because the next girl you wrestle may NOT promise not to
hurt you permanently."

"Okay," Timmy said. What had he gotten himself into? How was this happening? Under what authority?

The next thing he knew, Sarah had grabbed his shoulders, raised a knee, and was
pressing him down hard against her thigh--just cramming him against it bluntly,
without any technique. Next she let him fall to the floor, dazed, and did an
acrobatic bellyflop on top of him. She grinded against him, chest to chest, doing
makeshift pushups and letting herself drop down on top of him every time,
dropping her whole weight on him again and again and knocking the wind out of
his little lungs.

"Try to push me off of you," she said, baring down harder, arching her back and
thrusting her taut stomach into Timmy.

"I c-can't!" Timmy said, choking.

"TRY!" she commanded. She had intertwined her legs with Timmy's and was
spreading them outwards. Timmy's legs couldn't bend as far as hers could, but
she was forcing them to bend that far anyway.

"OWW!" he yelled, tears welling in his eyes.

"What if some girl was raping you? What would you do?"

"OWw! I don't know, Sarah, p-please stop! WAAAAH! WAAAH!" He began crying
openly, like a baby blatting.

"NO, I won't stop!"

"P-please, Sarah," he tried again, reining in his crying and whispering this time.
"Please stop hurting me."

"I have to do this, Timmy," she whispered back. "You have to learn your natural
place in all this. You may be older than me, and you may be a man who was
once put in charge of me when I was a LOT littler than I am now--" She began to
talk louder, which embarrassed Timmy because he knew everyone in the room
could hear, and she began squeezing him hard beneath her and flexing her
muscles with every word she emphasized--"But now I'm STRONGER than you...
FASTER than you... maybe even SMARTER than you... and I'm NOT holding
back anymore just out of consideration for your poor little fragile MALE EGO!
With all due respect, Timmy, you are UNDER ME!"

She squeezed him really hard then, pushing him into the floor simply by sticking
her chest out, and straining his legs to the breaking point by stretching them
along with her own.

Timmy screamed and started to cry again.

"P-please, Sarah! Waaaaah! Stop being so m-m-mean to m-me!"

"Being 'mean' to you?" Sarah asked in a harsh tone. "Little boy, you're lucky I don't want to
start being mean to you for REAL, because this is my party and I can play with
you ANY WAY I WANT! If I wanted to be 'mean' to you, Timmy--you little fucking
baby--I would be REALLY fucking mean and you'd know it!"

Timmy hated it when Sarah used the "F" word. It scared him so much when she took that tone with him. He trembled.

But with that, she flexed, squeezed and stretched Timmy one more time--a good,
hard flex--then got off of him. But it wasn't to let him go, as he had hoped.
Rather she speedily flipped around and now laid down on top of him the other way,
with her backside to him as his back was still against the mat. He instinctively
put his hands up against her back, but there was no way he could lift her up or
even budge her enough so he could wiggle out from beneath her.

She then began bouncing up and down, raising herself slightly off the ground and
then dropping her full body weight, butt first, onto Timmy's small exhausted form.
Again and again she dropped her butt right against his stomach, and again and
again he chocked air out when her big healthy body collided down on his small shriveled form.

After a few minutes of this, which greatly entertained the rest of the girls, Sarah
simply leaned back on top of Timmy, stretched out and rested. She made
sarcastic noises as if she were getting sleepy, and then she closed her eyes and
pretended to be snoring. The peanut gallery laughed but Timmy didn't think it
was very funny. He grunted and tried to get out from under her, but still he
couldn't manage it. He reflected that he wasn't exactly hurt or injured in any way,
but Sarah had really humiliated and knocked the wind out of him, though
somehow she seemed to know exactly how much he could take and how much
breathing room to allow him. It was clear that she was so dominant over him that
she could even fine-tune her level of control. She knew his meager limits better
than he himself did and adjusted her domination accordingly, so as to deliver the
exact sort of message she deemed necessary for him to learn.

"Sarah," he whispered politely. "Please get off of me."

Sarah, still with eyes closed, yawned dramatically and licked her chops as if she
were asleep. Timmy continued to try to rouse her, putting his little hands against
her strong shoulders and tapping her with his fingers, but she kept the game up,
yawning again and wriggling her body a bit as if she were tossing in her sleep.

Eventually she decided to toss in her "sleep" so much that she rolled over and
was now face down on top of him again.

"I'm dreaming of a beautiful prince," she said, with her eyes still closed. "Oh
hello, beautiful prince! What a wonderful dream to meet you in! Can I have a kiss,
beautiful prince?"

Timmy looked at her incredulously.

"Oh sorry, beautiful prince! I didn't realize you were so short and couldn't kiss
me without my letting you!"

With that Sarah scooched down a bit so that her face was even with Timmy's.

"I hope that's better, beautiful prince! NOW may I have my kiss?"

Timmy obediently gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Oh what a timid kisser you are!" Sarah said. "The least you could do is give me
a peck on the lips! I promise not to get mad or beat you up or spank you if you do
that! And I also promise not to be sneaky and capture your little lips between my
own much stronger lips and suck on you without letting go!"

Timmy nervously gave Sarah, whose smile was very broad by now, a light kiss
on the lips.

"Whuh...? Huh?" Sarah opened her eyes and pretended to come out of her
dreaming state. "Why, Timmy! It was just YOU kissing me while I was asleep?
Oh you dirty boy! You 'took advantage' of me, didn't you?"

With that the room erupted into laughter. Even the other boys laughed--everyone
did except Timmy.

Sarah rolled off of him but quickly took hold of his body and draped him across
her lap.

"I ought to spank you for doing that, you know!"

She began patting his bottom and rubbing it in a light, circular motion, as if
warming up for a spanking session.

"Sarah, no, I--"

"But instead I think I'll just play with you some more! Maybe... with a...
little... TICKLE-TIME!"

With that Sarah began tickling the little man in her lap. She tickled Timmy all
over and he squirmed this way and that, tossing around in her lap like a fish out
of water and giggling and laughing wildly.

Finally Sarah took him in her arms and squeezed him to her in a big hug that was
hard but not too hard. Timmy found himself hugging her back and burying his
head in her shoulder. Then she pulled him back and gave him a little kiss on the
forehead.

"How are you, Timmy? I hope wrestling with me didn't hurt you much?"

"N-no," Timmy admitted. "It just felt like it did sometimes."

"That's just because you're a little wimp," Sarah said matter-of-factly, no hint
of meanness or derision in her voice. "As a male, it's natural for you to get
nervous about everything and assume that your body, which IS delicate, is likely
to be injured even when it isn't."

Stephanie's voice came from the peanut gallery: "We want to see more wrestling
and less kissing and hugging!"

Sarah laughed at that and gave Timmy a cocked smile. "I think I'm done wrestling
with him, but before I let someone else take a crack at him, I guess I could do a
few other things with him on the mat."

She then carefully, almost lovingly lifted him off her lap and sat him next to her.
She skillfully moved his body around so that he was facing into the mat and his
feet were free for her to play with. She held both of his ankles in one of her
hands, and with the other hand began to tickle the soles of his feet lightly,
which brought a very manly, high-pitched shriek from Timmy.

"LOOK AT HIS LITTLE FEET!" Stephanie yelled, and the rest of the peanut
gallery gave an "Awwwww!"

"Hey guys, my hand is longer than his foot," Sarah told the room, placing her
long hand against his right sole for comparison.

"Compare your feet to his!" one of the other girls called.

Sarah twisted Timmy's body around and then moved her own so that the bottom
of her right foot could be placed against the bottom of Timmy's left. It was no
contest: her foot was much, much bigger and much, much longer. She held the
feet together so that everyone could come up and get a close look.

"Dewey and me play these kinds of games all the time," Hannah said. "Don't we,
Dewey?"

"Yeah..." the little boy said quietly.

Finally Sarah had had almost enough satisfaction on the mat, and she told
Timmy, "Okay, you can go, as long as you can get away from my feet."

With that she clamped her feet against Timmy, her right sole against his tummy
and her left sole against his back. Her feet hit him before he knew what was
happening. He tried to get away, but Sarah wouldn't let him. Leaning back
against the mat, she threw her legs up in the air and took Timmy along with
them. She held him in mid-air using only her feet and then began raising him
up and down as if she were lifting weights with her legs.

Through all of this Timmy's body was quite limp and placid. He knew he had no
way to escape unless Sarah let him. She was just so much stronger than he was. Finally she lowered him to the mat, let go
momentarily, and then slammed her right foot down against his chest.

"Try to pry my foot off, Timmy," she instructed, sprawling out on her back to
appear as casual and leisurely as possible. "At least TRY or else I WILL spank
you."

His back against the mat, Timmy had no choice. He put his little hands up and
started working on Sarah's toes. They were elegant feet; her nails were close
trimmed and unpainted. He worked on them but could barely even budge her
pinky toe.

"It's more like a foot massage than anything else," Sarah said, and the whole
room laughed.

Next she walked her foot up to Timmy's neck, held it there for a moment but did
not press too hard against his windpipe.

"Here it comes," she said. "I want you to kiss my foot and suck my big toe."

Timmy wimpered at the thought.

"Go on," she told him. "Like a little puppy, lick the foot of your mistress. Lick the foot of your goddess, peon." She chuckled.

She then raised her foot up to Timmy's face. Her big toe proved to be a full
mouthful for Timmy. He sucked it and licked it readily. He wasn't sure what was
happening to him. He got no real satisfaction from this humiliating behavior,
but he felt an acquiescence. He accepted the fact that he had to do whatever
Sarah said. It was as simple as that.

He then kissed her foot all over, rubbing it with his hands as he did so.

"Very good, Timmy!" Sarah said, withdrawing her foot, which was now wet with
Timmy's slobber, and placing it back against his throat, putting a little pressure
on it this time. "Now comes the final test. I hope you pass this one. Though at
this point I think it's out of your control. But if you fail this, I really am
going to have to punish you for being so naughty."

She slowly dragged her foot back down Timmy's body, first pressing it hard
against his throat, then against his chest and stomach. As she drew near his
crotch, everyone's attention focused on Timmy's little panties. Was there a little
tent in there or not? It was hard to say.

Sarah's big foot slowly dragged lower, her heel coming in contact with his crotch
area first. She arched her eyebrows, but no one knew what she meant by that. Then
the arch of her foot passed down over the contested area. Finally the ball of her
foot passed and then her toes made a final drag across Timmy's panty-covered
private area.

"Hm," Sarah said when it was over. "I guess you really are a gentleman, Timmy.
Thank god."

She helped him up to his feet, gave him a quick hug, a kiss on the cheek, and
then she started to put her black dress back on.

"I wanna wressle next!" someone yelled. It was Victoria.

"Well, Timmy gets to choose," Sarah said, her head popping out of the collar of
her dress as she fitted it back in place. "He gets to choose between wrestling you
or wrestling Stephanie. We already established that, and--"

"Well I wanna wressle next no matter if he picks me or not," Victoria said. "I want
some action here already!"

With that the older blond made a show of whipping her super-tight dress off,
revealing what could only be described as a banging body, partially concealed
only by a red velvet bra and matching panties. There was a collective gasp and it
was clear that more than one of the girls present was quite jealous.

"Um," Timmy said.

"Pick me!" Stephanie yelled. "I wanna beat you!"

"Who..." Timmy began nervously, "who else gets to wrestle?"

"We don't have all night," Sarah said, putting her heels back on. "Dewey already
wrestled Hannah and-- Ting, do you want to wrestle?"

"Ah," the Asian girl said, partially embarrassed at the idea, looking at
Victoria's fully loaded 6'6" body. "No, definitely not. I don't want to wrestle
her."

Then a small voice said: "Can I?"

It was Hans. He was sitting on Ting's lap and looking up at her warily, half
expecting her to slap him for even asking.

"Uh," Ting stalled. "Sure, I guess."

"Oh this is gonna be good," Stephanie said, giggling. "Battle of the seventeen-
year-old blondes."

"Okay," Sarah said hurriedly. "So you two wrestle and then I guess it's gonna be
Timmy vs. Steph?" She looked at Timmy for confirmation.

He had no time to think. He was sure he could beat Stephanie, who was not only
younger but also--thank god--shorter than him. But he really hated the idea of
wrestling again anyway--not that what he had just done with Sarah, or rather
what she had done to him, could really be called proper "wrestling", but still...

"Sure," he said finally. "I guess. Sure."

In the back Stephanie pumped her fist and hissed "Yesss!"

Facing each other on the mat, Victoria towered over Hans by 22 inches. While he
was scrawny, she was in perfect shape and looked like she probably weighed
over twice as much as him. He looked so thin, standing there in just his little
pink panties, which were loose on him, while Victoria exuded confidence in her
form-fitting red velvet lingerie, smiling and seeming in every way a natural
winner. Hans' scruffy blond hair and light beard made him look like a little
dog--one of the yippy ones--while Victoria's long smooth platinum blond tresses
made her look like a cross between a purebred, best-in-show specimen and a regal
lioness. The contrast was immense.

Timmy couldn't understand why Hans would volunteer to face her. Actually, on
one level he could certainly understand it. He would bet anything and everything
that Hans wouldn't pass the same "crotch test" if Victoria administered it to him
after their match. But wasn't Hans nonetheless afraid of getting hurt? Victoria's
body might be very attractive to him, but it could also damage him greatly. Timmy
didn't understand how Hans' girlfriend Ting could let this match happen. And he
wasn't sure he understood everyone else's interest in it, either. Of course Victoria
was going to win; it was plain to see on first glance that she could easily
devastate him.

At the moment, however, Victoria was just standing there in the middle of the
mat, letting Hans put his arms around her waist and legs, trying to bring her down
with all his strength but getting nowhere. If Hans was using this match as an
excuse to feel up Victoria's body--and Timmy couldn't imagine that he WASN'T
doing that--then he was at least hiding it quite well. He seemed to be a great
actor. He strained his little twiglike arms and gritted his teeth and grunted as he
yanked on each of Victoria's thighs in turn. It was like watching a little lumberjack,
with no ax, trying to bring down a tree by pulling on its trunk.

"Oh yer so cute," Victoria remarked from high above him. "Too bad you already
have a girlfriend."

She nonchalantly grabbed each of his hands with each of hers, and they began
to struggle that way. Though "struggle" might not be appropriate for such a one-
sided affair. It was so comical and pathetic, to see Hans' tiny fists disappear
entirely within Victoria's long-fingered clutches. Hans' arms seemed pumped to
the breaking point: their musculature was in fact fairly well defined, but only
because the boy had no fat whatsoever on his body. His little wiry chicken arms
stood out and strained as he struggled, hopelessly, against Victoria, whose long
womanly arms were scarcely defined or flexed at all. Though hardly making any
effort at all, she easily forced Hans' down to the mat again and again, bending at
her waist, only to lift him up again each time, swing him in the air, still
clutching his hands within her own, and then set him back down on his feet so they
could have another arm-struggle. Each go-round Hans appeared weaker and weaker,
shaking on his feet, his arms wobbling ever more. Before long it looked as
though Victoria had to manage a difficult process of holding Hans' weak-kneed
body up just well enough that she could put on enough of a show of forcing it back
down. It was as if he was already so spent that she had to do his work for him,
just to make the match seem semi-interesting.

Eventually she let him go, but then reached down again with just her right hand.
Her fingers and long pink nails with the square chunky ends wrapped halfway
around Hans' waist and hoisted him into the air.

"Let me show ya a new way to spank," Victoria said, holding Hans sideways at
the level of her taunt stomach.

With her other hand she pulled down the back of his panties so that his bare,
hairless butt was showing. Then she rubbed his butt lightly in a circular motion
with her free hand. And then--

WAPP!

WAPP!!

WAPP!!!

She spanked him three times, each harder than the last. She didn't wind up to
strike him at all, but only held her hand three or four inches away from his ass
before giving him short, succinct slaps. The sight was incredible; she held him
aloft with one hand, very easily, while spanking him with the other.

WAPP!

WAPP!!

WAPP!!!

By this time Hans' lips had twisted and he was beginning to cry. Victoria smirked.

"What a baby," she said. "I'm not even hittin him hard. He's like all guys. So
scared that they start cryin no matter what. Yew bad lil boy. I wouldn't spank yew
so much if you took it like a woman instead of like a baby. But I guess all men are
rilly more like babies anyway."

WAPP!

WAPP!!

WAPP!!!

Hans was outright balling now. Victoria calmly lowered him to the mat and then
sat down Indian-style beside him. She pulled his little body between her big
smooth legs and put his waist behind her left knee. Then she pulled her left foot
towards her so as to squeeze Hans between her calf and thigh. He balled louder
now when she squeezed. It was like she could turn an ambulance siren or police
horn on louder or softer just by pulling on her left foot or letting it go.

"Hans!" Ting shouted. "Hans!" For a moment Timmy hoped that Ting was going
to rescue her man, but Ting's next words dashed that idea: "Stop being such a
little wussy! She isn't squeezing you that bad! I squeeze you harder than that and
you like it!"

Victoria chuckled. "Yeah but I have hotter legs so it makes him more nervous ta
be scwushed by them."

Ting didn't reply. Obviously Victoria's comment had shut her up and in a sense
put her in her place. Victoria was clearly the dominant female here, especially if
Sarah was being quiet.

Hans' whining and crying continued unabated as Victoria decided to flip him
upside down and hold him above her with one large hand placed on his chest.
She raised him high above her head and then carefully stood up while still
holding him. She was so tall that she could push him hard against the ceiling.
Hans' yelled for help but to no avail.

To be honest, Timmy was starting to think that the girls were right. It didn't seem
like Victoria was REALLY being so rough with Hans. He wondered if it had been
the same case when he cried when wrestling Sarah. Maybe most of this IS just in
our minds, Timmy said. It seemed pretty obvious that guys were far more
cowardly and less confident than girls. Most every guy he had seen in quite a
while now could be described as a scaredy cat in some way. Meanwhile all the girls seemed just so effortlessly awesome, confident, strong, and able to control every guy in their vicinity.

Still, that didn't make it right. And when Victoria dropped Hans from the ceiling
all the way down to her raised knee, which collided with his freefalling groin,
Timmy had cause for concern. Hans' limp body was draped over Victoria's gigantic,
flexed thigh, and when she lowered it Hans dropped again to the mat, landing in
a little heap at her feet. Then Victoria reached down, wrapped a manicured hand
around his neck, and repeated the process: she lifted him up with her big palm
spread over his entire chest, pressed him against the ceiling, raised a big athletic
knee, dropped him from the ceiling so that his groin and lower stomach collided
with her waiting thigh, and then lowered her leg so Hans would tumble the rest of
the way and crash to the floor.

"Yew wanted to wressle me," Victoria said to Hans, "so why aren't ya wresslin?
Looks like yew'd rather feel my legs. Well how many times yew gonna let me do
this just so yew can feel my big thigh each time? Huh? Or maybe yew really can't
stop me from doin this even if yew wanted tew! But YEW wanted ta wressle me!
Yer playin with fire, little boy! If yew rilly want yer body to feel mine, it's def
gonna HURT, duh, cuz I'm so much STRONGER then yew are!"

Then Victoria pulled the dropping maneuver again. The fourth time she did it,
Timmy stood up and took a half-step forward. The fifth time she did it--every
successive time to increased laughter from all the girls, even Ting--he thought
about trying to get Sarah to do something to stop it, but she was on the other
side of the room, wide-eyed and her mouth open in amused awe at what Victoria
was doing. Maybe he should run to go get Martha, but he knew that she wouldn't
want to get up just to put a stop to something like this, which she would no doubt
just consider "girls being girls", and, besides, she had already told Timmy that it
was HIS job to watch the kids at the party.

As Victoria's smiling, red-lipsticked face looked up at Hans for a sixth time, and
as her big palm spread itself across Hans' naked little stomach, pushing his back against
the ceiling--Timmy finally said something:

"Hey, don't," his little voice came. "Don't. You're hurting him."

Everyone looked at Timmy then. For all he knew, he was about to be yanked
across any number of teenage knees and his bottom would be blistered. But
instead Victoria simply lowered Hans back to his feet, steadied his wobbling
little legs, crouched down in front of him and asked, "Are yew okay, lil guy?"

"Y-y-y-yeah," Hans said, tears in his eyes.

"Oh," Victoria said. "I'm jus so sorry. I jus kinda got carried away. It was jus
too much fun ta dominate yer cute lil bod that way. But I din mean fer it ta get
so outta control."

She reached for him with open arms and he collapsed into her, limp and
powerless. She hugged him hard--but not too hard--and kissed his cheeks as
they shared the special bond that can only be forged by dominating woman and
dominated man. She stood up, taking him in her arms, and began walking him
back over to Ting. Timmy noticed Hans' little hands rubbing Victoria's naked
shoulders and then making their way down to her chest. She then pressed him
tighter to her so no one could see what might have happened next.

"I hope I didn't break him," Victoria said to Ting, handing her Hans' little form,
which her arms had moved into the fetal position.

"Oh it's okay," Ting said to the taller, older girl.

"Yer a very lucky girl ta have a man so cute and tiny," Victoria told Ting. "I
hope someday you learn to dominate him as good as I just did. Cuz he rilly
deserves it." And then she turned and walked away, her gorgeous face wearing a
wide white smile. Still dressed in nothing but her red velvet lingerie, her big breasts bouncing a bit within the elegant cups, she
strode out of the room, presumably to go to the bathroom, and as she passed
Timmy she gave his ass a very sharp pinch.


*****

Stephanie seemed decidedly larger in her blue leotard than she did in her party
dress. As he faced her across the mat, Timmy still enjoyed the fact that he
towered over the 10-year-old girl by a whopping three inches, but he was no
longer as confident as he once was. His heart sank when Sarah brought a scale
out and declared that it was "Time for the weigh-in!"

Suddenly Timmy wished that he had eaten more cake earlier. He shivered in his
tight panties as Sarah helped him step onto the scale.

"78 pounds!" Victoria read with glee. The super-tall teen then looked over at
Stephanie and said "I think you got it in the bag, sis!"

"Jeez, Tim," Sarah said softly as she led him down and walked him over to his
side of the mat. "I thought you weighed more than THAT."

"I'm sorry," Timmy told her, as if it was his fault.

Stephanie smiled at Timmy smugly as she got onto the scale, one small step that
made her eye-to-eye with the 26-year-old man. She patted her gut, which had
not looked quite so big and hearty when she was wearing her dress, and in a
bold voice asked her sister "HOW MUCH?"

"100 pounds on the dot!" Victoria announced happily.

"I knew it!" Stephanie yelled. Then she looked across the mat at Timmy, squatted
slightly, flexed her muscles and made a noise that was somewhere between a
grunt and a growl. "I am gonna EAT YOU UP, little boy!"

Timmy looked up at Sarah's tall form standing next to him.

"Sarah?" he whispered.

"What, Timmy?" she said, a trace of annoyance in her voice.

"C-can I--can I NOT do this? P-p-please can you stop this?"

"NO, Timmy," Sarah said in a strict voice that was loud enough for others to hear.
"I COULD stop this but I won't. You need to be a big boy and try your hardest. No
one will blame you if you lose--it's expected--but you need to try. The only
alternative is just to concede and let Stephanie spank you NOW instead of after
the match if you lose."

The other girls were giggling. Hannah was enjoying it especially as she sat
crosslegged on the floor and hugged Little Dewey close on her lap. Ting sat next
to her, smiling as she held Hans, her long fingers encircling his tiny thighs.

Timmy couldn't believe that it was "expected" for him to lose the match. Even
though he didn't want to do it now, he still thought he had a chance. He suddenly
realized that, finally, this was his opportunity to exceed expectations and prove
himself a man again. All he had to do was outwrestle a ten-year-old girl whom he
WAS taller than. And even though she weighed twenty-two pounds more than
him, that wasn't such a clear advantage as, to an extent, it simply spoke to
Stephanie being husky and NOT in perfect shape like the other girls.

With renewed, mad confidence, Timmy surprised everyone by stalking towards
Stephanie and almost instantly overpowering her, throwing her chubby body to
the mat. The little girl squealed with rage as Timmy added insult to injury by
putting his foot against her shoulder and shoving it down to the mat.

Just as he was about to crouch down for the pin, however, Stephanie just
managed to scramble away on all fours, barely eluding his clutches. Her body
was faster than it looked. No matter, he felt that he had her on the ropes, so to
speak, even though there were no ropes in his makeshift ring.

Timmy used the excuse of an escaping Stephanie to plant his foot on her butt as
she crawled away, shoving her violently. His foot actually up-ended the little girl,
causing her own momentum to drive her face into the mat.

"HA!" laughed Little Dewey. Then Hannah shot him a warning look and he
clammed up.

"Wow," remarked Victoria. Timmy couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or just
her usual, dismissive teenage self. And at the moment, he didn't really care.

As Stephanie, still on all fours, finally recovered and turned around to face him,
Timmy was upon her again. He flew toward her head and knocked her down with
his right thigh. She grunted and gagged as Timmy found himself plopped on top
of her, her face under his butt. "If only I could fart right now," Timmy thought,
"and give this little brat a taste of her just desserts."

"Get OFFA me!" Stephanie screamed in total frustration as she put everything
she had into bouncing Timmy just high enough so she could wiggle out from
under him. Again she had escaped an early pin, but Timmy didn't mind; he hadn't
expected things to go so easy for him and was happy at the results of his efforts
so far.

When he turned to face her again he was somewhat surprised to find Stephanie
on her feet already. Breathing through her mouth, the young blond was heaving
her shoulders and looking at him with menace.

They grappled in the upright position for the next minute or so. Again and again
Stephanie just barely twisted out of Timmy's grip. Once she flailed her arms and
wrapped them around Timmy, but his slim form simply ducked and spun and got
away very easily. Finally when they locked hands, after a five-second stalemate
Timmy's arms began to slowly force Stephanie's downward.

When he had almost lowered her to the mat again, she suddenly headbutted him
in the stomach. It wasn't a hard blow but it shocked him and he let go of her
hands. Stephanie rolled backwards to get away from him and catch her breath.
Before long Timmy was striding towards her confidently, a smirk of amusement
on his face.

"Jus GIT HIM!" Victoria yelled. "Omigod, Steph, hurry up, you're embarrassin
me."

Stephanie suddenly looked nervous and desperate--two emotions Timmy had not
seen any trace of on the brat's face all evening. She practically ran away from
him when he got close--ran off of the mat and circled back around.

"Omigod, stop RUNNIN, Stephanie!" her sister called. "Yew don't have ta be
afraid--he's ONLY a guy!"

With that, a light seemed to come on in Stephanie's head. It wasn't a spotlight or
even a flashlight, but rather a tiny blinking light.

Without thinking, she quickly shoved Timmy in the chest with both hands. He
went flying and landed with his back to the mat.

A cheer went up from the crowd--or at least from all the girls, including Sarah, to
Timmy's dismay. "GIT HIM! QUICK!" Victoria yelled.

A disoriented Stephanie bounded towards Timmy with much uncertainty. Before
she could reach him, however, Timmy had sprung back up to his feet and, not
sure of what else to do, shoved Stephanie with both hands in her flat chest just
as she had done to him.

The shove caused her to teeter and eventually stumble to one knee. Timmy
reflected that he had been standing confidently when she shoved him, and he
went flying, whereas Stephanie had already been somewhat disoriented when he
shoved her, and she barely even went down.

Still, she was in a vulnerable position and Timmy wasn't going to let it go to
waste. He shoved one of her shoulders, throwing her further off-balance and
causing her to do a bellyflop against the mat. He then climbed on top of her,
wrapped one of his arms around her neck in a choke hold and hissed "Give!" in
her ear.

"No! N-n-no, Timmy, stop! Please," Stephanie sniveled.

"Omigod, Steph, you are embarrassin!" Victoria called. "Why don't yew jus agree
ta be his slave er somethin? Yew DO realize it aint 1800 anymore, right? Yew
CAN fight back, ya know?"

"GIVE!" Timmy said louder and more authoritatively, tightening his grip around
her neck and using his other hand to pull one of her arms behind her back.

Stephanie winced and she closed her eyes, in fear more than in pain.

"Stephanie!" Sarah called. "Just STAND UP, Stephanie!"

Timmy didn't like it that Sarah was saying this. He thought the birthday girl should
remain neutral, especially since Timmy was her special friend who was going to
spend the night with her. His grip thus loosened out of annoyance and
disappointment, he was unprepared for Stephanie's effort to stand up. She was
still quite lacking in confidence, and couldn't make it all the way to her feet, but
her male burden was thrown free from shock over the very fact that the female
mountain beneath him was starting to move.

Just as Timmy rolled off of Stephanie, so did she roll over to the other side of the
mat. Both fallen competitors glanced at each other, each thankful that the other
one was on the opposite end of the "ring", and each glad that the other wasn't
standing up.

Timmy needed something to make him feel like he could win again, and that
something came from Hans:

"Timmy! Go after her!" the boy yelled. "Don't let up! You're winning! It's amazing!"

"Hans!" Ting said in a shocked voice. "How can you be so rude!"

From the corner of his eye Timmy saw Ting lower Hans between her long hosed
legs and begin to squeeze his body as she continued to watch the show.

Before Timmy knew what was happening, Stephanie was almost upon him again.
He deftly sidestepped her attack, however, and spun around to catch her arm
and throw her to the mat. The elegance at which he did this surprised even
himself. He began, for the first time in quite a while, to take some pride his
physicality and performance. He hadn't felt this way since he had playfully bullied
two of his little cousins years and years and years ago.

"YE-AH!" called Dewey. "You GOT her, man! Show her what BOY POWER's all
about!"

"DEWEY," Hannah said in the most acrimonious voice Timmy had heard that
night. He then saw her lower her boyfriend in between her legs and give him the
same rough treatment Ting was giving Hans.

As he watched Stephanie's broad form struggle to her feet, Timmy realized that
he was fighting for more than himself. He was fighting for every male in this room
tonight. He was the oldest male and he was wrestling the youngest female. It
was a Woman's World, true, but if he could just beat Stephanie then it would
mean that his sex had some glimmer of respect and dignity left.

Stephanie lunged at him awkwardly and without even thinking he simply
sidestepped her again, turned, and guided her clumsy form back down into the
mat. It was like dodging a big stupid bull, he thought. Child's play.

She was totally limp now, and Timmy climbed upon her, rolling her onto her back
relatively easily, since she was already on her side. He lay upon her and put his
hands on her shoulders.

"Somebody COUNT!" he shouted.

"1..." said Sarah. "2..."

Stephanie jerked one of her shoulders up.

"YAY Stephanie!" Sarah chimed.

Timmy hated this. He shoved Stephanie's shoulder back down and again
assumed the pinning position.

"1..." Sarah said again. "2..."

Again Stephanie jerked her shoulder up and again Timmy shoved it back down.

"I can keep this up longer than you can, little girl!" he hissed. It was the meanest
he had sounded in quite a while. Stephanie's baby blue eyes looked up at him
quizzically.

"1... 2..."

This time Stephanie suddenly threw Timmy off of her entirely. Without him
noticing it she had snaked both of her hands up between their chests and was
waiting for the right opportunity to shove him off.

Timmy was a bit dazed, but he shook it off in seconds. Both on their knees now,
Timmy and Stephanie locked arms again and again Timmy began to force her
down, although slower than last time and with slightly more difficulty.

Then, before he knew what was happening, he found himself between
Stephanie's legs. She had kicked them outwards, one on each side of Timmy's
little waist, and suddenly he was between her big baby-fat thighs.

"Good, Steph!" Sarah chirped.

"Roll him over!" said Victoria. "Then yew can rilly do a number on him!"

That's just what Stephanie did. She simply twisted, turned her lower body to the
side, and Timmy rolled over with them.

"Squeeze him squeeze him squeeze him!" chanted Ting and Hannah, the two
girls still squeezing their boyfriends between their legs.

"I'll t-try..." grunted Stephanie, still lacking confidence.

"Don't TRY," Sarah insisted. "You're a girl--so just DO it!"

Timmy was outraged by these recent developments, but still he wasn't that
bothered. Stephanie's "squeezing" seemed more like she was just stretching her
legs. He began to slowly work his way out from between her thick thighs.

"He's gettin away!" yelled Victoria. "Shove him back down, Steph!"

Stephanie hurriedly clamped both hands on Timmy's shoulders and forced him
back down so low that his chest was between the meatiest part of her thighs.

"Good!" said Sarah brightly. "Now cross your ankles when you squeeze him! It'll
be a lot more effective!"

Stephanie did as she was told and Timmy felt an excruciating, rib-cracking
amount of pain. He let out a scream so loud he was sure it'd wake Martha.

The girls all cheered at this.

"Ya got him now, Steph!" Victoria said happily. "Yer beatin up a guy like over
twice her age! That's my sister!"

"That's my protégé!" said Sarah.

Timmy grunted in disgust and pounded his little fists futilely against Stephanie's
thighs. His ten-year-old tormentor laughed at this and squeezed him again, just
as hard as the first time.

"Timmy, don't give up!" squeaked Dewey.

"Yeah, c'mon," said Hans. "Get out of there and just give that big bully one more
push and she'll topple!"

Both boys were instantly reprimanded by their girlfriends.

"On the count of three," Sarah announced, "all three girls squeeze! 1... 2... 3!"

Then, all at the same time, 13-year-old Hannah squeezed 13-year-old Dewey,
and 13-year-old Ting squeezed 17-year-old Hans, and 10-year-old Stephanie
squeezed 26-year-old Timmy. Three pairs of relatively large female thighs
crushed three skinny males, and three male screams were heard as one.

Timmy was nearly out of breath and knew he didn't have much fight left in him.
While everyone was still laughing over the group squeeze, Timmy used the
opportunity to reach up and simply sock Stephanie in the mouth. He hoped that
no one else saw this, and based on the continuing revelry from the peanut-
gallery he believed he had indeed gotten away with a cheap shot.

The sneaky tactic worked to his advantage. Stephanie gasped, shot her hands to
her face (she had been laying back on her elbows) and instinctively loosened her
thighs around Timmy. He threw his weight against the temporarily off-balance girl
and nearly wiggled free before her feet caught him at the last moment.

Stephanie roared and pressed his waist between the sides of her feet. Though
Timmy feared her anger now immensely, he also knew that she wasn't thinking
and wouldn't be able to formulate a sentence coherently anytime soon. He curled
down into the fetal position, his head down against Stephanie's feet. To everyone
else, it probably looked as if he were doubling over in pain, but Timmy had other
ideas.

He had to time it just right so that no one else was the wiser. He began to voice a
confident scream and started to flail his arms about. A second later he chomped
down on Stephanie's big toe, which no one else could see. The big girl instantly
spread her feet apart and shrieked in pain, but her yelling bled into his, and his
still-flailing arms made it seem as if he had thrust her feet apart himself.

Stephanie was now lying on her back in pain and all Timmy had to do was
scramble upon her and go for the pin. A second later he was walking on all fours
across the mat. He decided to position himself sideways across the girl's chest
and shoulders.

"1... 2--"

Suddenly Timmy was flying head over heels as Stephanie hoisted her shoulder
upwards and followed him down so that she was now on top of him.

He had an instant sensation of desperation and claustrophobia; Stephanie held
him down with one hand and began positioning her body length-wise on top of
his. He knew he couldn't lift her off of him; she weighed more than he did and he
couldn't even lift his own weight. He tried with both hands to push her one hand
off of his chest, but it was no use. She was too strong. Stephanie, though much
exhausted, smiled down at him sadistically.

"Well well, little boy. Looks like you're fucked."

She lowered her body face-down against his. At the last moment she wrapped
one of her forearms behind his shoulders and propped him up so that this
couldn't count as a pin. It was clear that she wanted there to be a little torture
before she let him lose.

"She hasn't won yet, Timmy!" yelled Hans. "Wiggle out! Try something! Don't give
up! You can't just give up!"

"Oh SHUT UP!" Ting yelled, slapping him violently with a backhand.

Timmy strained and squeezed but couldn't budge Stephanie or himself even a
centimeter in any direction. She was too much for him. At this point, no strategy
was necessary or even possible: Stephanie weighed much more than Timmy,
and much much much more than Timmy could lift.

"How does it feel to be trapped, little boy?" Stephanie asked him.

He closed his eyes and grunted and strained again to no avail.

"I said--LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!" Stephanie yelled. "Or I'll
REALLY start hurting you!" She bucked her body a bit, causing it to crush down
on him.

Fearful of what more she could do, Timmy cracked his nervous eyes open and
stared upwards. Stephanie's proud face gazed down at him. She shoved herself
down against him hard, then raised her head again to look at him.

"How does it feel to be such a wimp?" she asked, and she expected a response.

"Shut up!" Timmy yelled, and attempted a meager shove against her, at which
she just laughed.

"You should have beat me when you had the chance!"

She was right: he DID have a chance. And in a sense, this was worse than losing
to her outright. He had a chance to win--more than one chance, in fact--but he
blew it. At first he had been in charge of the contest, and as he proceedings wore
on it became apparent that he and Stephanie were more or less evenly matched.
It really came down to stamina, endurance, and--more than anything else--
willpower. He simply didn't have the willpower that a ten-year-old girl had--at
least, not the kind of willpower a girl would have in this environment and this
society.

Moreover, as the match neared its conclusion it became apparent that what
really mattered now was size and strength. He was still a little taller than
Stephanie--though she'd probably pass him in a few months--but she weighed
more, and it was her sheer, natural bulk that he couldn’t overcome. As far as
strength went, it was clear that Stephanie's muscles were more durable. Timmy
strained his little chicken arms against Stephanie's sturdy forearms, to no effect.

It was almost as if he could sense Stephanie surpassing him, not only physically
but mentally and socially.

"Just pin me!" Timmy squealed from beneath her.

"NO!" Stephanie said. She shook him a bit, gripping his body tight between her
left forearm, behind his back, and her right forearm, across his chest.

"You want me to give? Fine, I give!"

"NO!" Stephanie said again, giggling.

Timmy moaned in frustration.

"Tell them what you did," Stephanie said.

"W-what?"

"Tell them how you CHEATED!" With that final word she squeezed Timmy
against her, removing her right forearm and pressing him directly into her chest.
She also stretched his thin legs outward with her thick, intertwined thighs.

"OW! O-okay! I-I cheated! I-I bit her toe when no one was looking! A-and I
punched her in the mouth!"

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT, TIMMY?"

"B-because I was scared a-and couldn't win any other way a-at that point."

"You couldn't even win even WITH cheating!" Stephanie squeezed him again and
he screamed. "So how does it feel to be such a little wimp?"

Timmy moaned. "It feels bad," he said.

"How does it feel to be so much wimpier than me?"

"Baaad," he said, totally defeated.

"WRONG ANSWERS!" she bellowed. "TRY AGAIN! HOW DOES IT FEEL TO
BE SO WIMPY?!"

She squeezed him hard.

"G-good! I-it f-feels g-good!" he stuttered.

"Now ask me!" she sang. "Now ask me!"

"H-how does i-it feel to be so strong?"

"IT FEELS GRRRREEEEAAAATT!" With that the ten-year-old squeeze Timmy so hard that he heard his ribs begin to crack. He screamed. "Now ask the other way!" she instructed.

"Huh?" His head drowning in pain, he fought for consciousness and collected himself a bit lest she squeeze him once more in frustration. "O-o-oh, o-oh. H-how does i-it feel to be so much stronger than me?"

"IT FEELS REEEEEALLY REEEAALLY AWESOME!"

With that Stephanie slid her forearm out from behind Timmy's back, smacked him
flat against the mat, and brought her face down so low that their noses were
touching as Sarah counted:

"1... 2... 3! The winner is Stephanie!"

Timmy stared up into the face of the ten-year-old girl who had beaten him. Her
big blue eyes were staring back and she held him in this pose for another half-
minute or so, smiling down at him while the girls cheered, whistled and clapped.

"Never you forget this moment, Timmy," she whispered to him with a broad grin on her face. "Never you forget that I won and that means I'm in charge of you now."

When he finally was allowed to make it back to his feet, he turned to see Sarah
paying complete attention to Stephanie. She was hugging the younger girl and
telling her how proud she was of her.

Meanwhile Hans and Dewey looked as morose as if their pet dog had died. Both
Ting and Hannah looked down with bemused grins at their boyfriends, as if to say "Haha. What? Did you actually think a GUY was going to beat a girl at something?"

Suddenly a long familiar hand with chunky pink nails slithered down Timmy's
naked shoulder.

"Don't worry, Timmy" Victoria said leaning down, her long platinum blond tresses
falling against Timmy's vision. "Yew did the bes yew could, right?"

"Y-yeah," Timmy said, overcome with embarrassment and emotion.

"I beat my dad at wresslin when I was like 12. An he's not THAT much bigger'n
yew, so..."

Suddenly Timmy could take it no longer. He turned himself towards Victoria and
started to cry.

"Shhh, shhh," she said, delicately placing her long hands around his shoulders
and pulling him into her embrace. "Shh shh, little man, yew jus hug me and cwy, ok?"

He cried long and hard, wetting the front of Victoria's black dress with his tears.

When it was over he felt another long female hand on him, and he knew it was
Sarah.

"Okay, Timmy," she said. "We're going to put some music on and do dancing
before everyone has to go. But first--you know what comes next."

He actually didn't, he was so traumatized. He pulled himself away from Victoria
with regret. The older girl fingered his little hand as long as she could before
Sarah led him away from her. Stephanie was sitting on a little chair, patting her
thigh expectantly and looking at him with a big grin.

"N-n-no!" Timmy shrieked, and he tried to scramble away from Sarah like a cat
avoiding a bath.

"TIMMY," Sarah said in a strong tone. "You lost and now Stephanie gets her
reward. You're lucky I don't spank you myself since you CHEATED in the match."

He knew she was right. She was always right. All women were always right, and
he had to admit that he knew this was the deal and it was fair. Sarah lifted him
into the air and positioned him across Stephanie's thick lap.

"Can I do bare-butt?" the young girl asked Sarah.

"You can do it HOWEVER YOU LIKE, Stephanie. You BEAT HIM so you are the WINNER and he is the LOSER who must submit to whatever punishment YOU think is right."

Stephanie giggled and then paused.

"Timmy?" she asked.

"Yes, Stephanie," said the downcast 26-year-old man who was strewn across her
lap.

"I'm going to leave your panties on while I spank you."

He was too pathetically overjoyed to speak.

"Do you know why I'm leaving them on you, Timmy?"

"W-why, Stephanie?"

"Because I am a young woman and sometimes it is good of us to be kind to little
men. Even bad little men who don't deserve it."

"O-oh, th-thank you, Stephanie."

"You are WELCOME, my adorable little Timmy. I also know that if I spanked you bare-butt you are such an annoying little baby whimp that you were probably cry and blat more than I care to listen to right now, okay? Okay. And now I am going to spank
you as hard as I possibly can, but at least you will have the DIGNITY of keeping your panties on while I do so."

Timmy squeaked, and then Steph started in.

*****

Sarah had told him her mother kept painkillers on the bottom shelf in the
bathroom medicine cabinet. He eagerly gulped two of the pills down and gingerly
touched his ass through his panties. It was very sore.

Stephanie had slammed her pudgy palm against his backside more times than
he could count. When she was done, when Sarah had carried him away crying,
he had turned to see Stephanie's red face still heaving with sadistic rage,
breathing heavily and gnashing her teeth in triumph. If a ten-year-old girl could do all that
to him, it was clear that Timmy really did need protection in this world. He hoped
that one day he would find it, maybe from a girl as kind as Sarah.

Unfortunately, however, Sarah herself was in no mood to be that soft touch at the
moment. She set him down and then sent him on his way to the bathroom to find
the painkillers himself.

"Hurry back," she had send to him sternly. "We're going to play some music and
dance. Don't wimp out and hide in the bathroom or anywhere else. You're too old
for hide-and-seek, and you won't like it if I have to come looking for you."

Looking at his anxious little face in the bathroom mirror, Timmy imagined what
would happen if he did try to hide from Sarah. He imagined her massive body
thrusting its way under a bed to fish him out. He imagined the trepidation he
would feel were he to hide in a closet as she searched the room outside, getting
closer and closer to his hiding place. For some reason, these hypothetical
scenarios both terrified and thrilled Timmy. He was of half a mind to disobey
Sarah and really hide from her. Sure, she would no doubt punish him for doing
so, but in a way--in a way he couldn't understand--he was actually beginning to
like the idea of her punishing him. Besides, he knew that Sarah had such control
that she would never hurt or break him permanently.

In the distance he could hear the thumping of pop music. The dance had
evidently started. He had always hated dancing; even in high school he always
skipped the prom. Suddenly all he wanted was to be home, back at his Aunt's
mansion, curled up in his little bed with the covers over his head. He felt his penis
and found that it was still in the pathetic button-shape; Aunt Rose's medicine had
lost none of its potency in the 12+ hours since he digested it.

Still, boner or no boner, enflamed ass or not, at the moment the best option
seemed to be Martha's room. Maybe he could sneak in there and curl up in her
husky-but-shapely arms without even waking her from her beauty sleep. Surely
Sarah wouldn't take him away from her mother's bed. Maybe he could sleep like
that, in her tender embrace, all through the night and into the morning, when his
penis would be back to normal.

Yes, going to Martha's room now would definitely be the best course of action, he
thought to himself, as he opened the bathroom door and stepped through it--his
head bouncing right into Victoria's proud chest.

The towering teen giggled as a shocked Timmy jumped back a step or two.
Evidently she had been posed, waiting for him there with her knees somewhat
bent so that his face would be level with her boobs.

"I came ta see if yew were okay," she said, standing up to her full, very imposing
height now, advancing into the bathroom and closing the door behind them.

"I-I'm fine, V-Victoria," he said nervously, still stepping backwards and almost
tripping over the toilet seat. ("If only this bathroom had two exits," he thought.)

"Yew can call me Vicki if ya want," she said, smiling down at him. "I've decided
that'd be okay, if ya want."

"Um," he said.

"Actually, do ya think I'm more of a Vicki or a Victoria?"

"Uh," he said, staring up at her towering, confident form, her straight blonde
tresses flowing over her broad, bare shoulders, her breasts almost bursting out of
her clingy black dress, which ended almost before her thighs even began.
"Definitely a Victoria."

She gave a smug, self-satisfied look.

"Lemme see it," she said.

"Uh... W-what?"

"Lemme see it," she said again, advancing closer.

"Uh, s-see what?"

"What my sister did ta yew. Lemme see how red yer ass is."

"Uh, Vicki--Victoria, um, I don't really want t-to..."

"What, are yew embarrassed?"

"Well, y-y-yeah," he sputtered, now crouching down almost behind the toilet.

"What're yew so scared of, Timmy?" she asked, sitting down on the toilet and
crossing her long smooth legs. "I'm not gonna hurt ya. I came ta see how ya
were doin. If ya wanna cry any more, I can sit ya on my lap and ya can cry. I'll
hold ya if ya want."

Without waiting for him to respond, Victoria stretched her arms out to Timmy and
wrapped him up in them. She curled him up, sat his still-stinging bottom against
her lap, and held him like a baby. He started to fuss and form a protest.

"Shhh..." she said, bringing her head down and nuzzling his.

Timmy had to admit that Victoria sure did know how to calm him down. He felt
very much like he did when he was much younger and his mother would gather
him up into her arms and hush him when he was upset about something. This
night had certainly taken a toll on Timmy, and he found that he was suddenly
grateful for Victoria's uninvited presence. He put his arms around her as best he
could and buried his head in her shoulder. He just needed someone to hug,
someone to hug him back.

"I could rape yew right now," Victoria purred, "an' no one would be able ta stop
me. Least of all yew."

"PLEASE don't," Timmy said, closing his eyes and wishing that this conversation
wasn't happening.

"So yew admit that I'm in charge a yew right now?" Victoria asked. "An' ya know
that ya couldn't stop me no matter what?"

"Yes, Victoria," Timmy said. "I know that you're over me. But please don't treat
me mean."

"Aw, Timmy, yew are SO cute," she said, and she tilted Timmy's head up with
her fingers and gave him a wet kiss on the tip of his nose. "Don't worry, I'm not
gonna rape ya, or hurt ya."

"Thanks, Victoria."

"Yew--are--welcome," she said, giving him another wet kiss on the nose. And
then she bounced him on her lap again and stared down at him with a broad,
ominous smile.

"Uh..." Timmy said, after about half a minute of silence had passed. "Don't you
think we should be getting back to the party?" She didn't respond, so he added:
"Instead of... sitting here on the toilet?"

"Um... Timmy?" she said in a strange, almost nervous tone that he had never
heard from her before. "Can I ask yew a question?"

"Uh, s-sure, Victoria."

"Would you go out with me?"

"Uh, w-what do you mean? I... I don't really think that..." He began to try to
extricate himself from her lap, but he found that though Victoria's arms weren't
holding him fast they were still too big and long for him to get out of without more
effort than he felt safe exerting against her. He did not want to provoke the large
girl's rage.

"We could go out onna date?" Victoria added, hopefully.

"Um, I d-don't really think that would be--"

"It would be FUN!" Victoria said, her voice rising in an almost childish manner. "I
could drive to yer house an' pick ya up in my car an' drive us t'go see a movie or
somethin' an' then go out ta eat an' then, well, we-we-We could do whatever ya
WANT, Timmy, I mean we don't have t'see a movie or anythin' but we could jus
sorta hang out if that would be okay, an'--"

"Victoria!" he squeaked. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"W-why not?" she said weakly.

"Because you're only 17, right? And I'm 26 and, anyway, I kinda have--"

"Well when I'm 18 it'll be different!" Victoria announced, an air of arrogance and
snottiness returning to her voice in a way that intimidated Timmy.

"Well, I mean, that would be--"

"Becuz when I'm 18 I could just TAKE YOU if I wanted to!"

"V-victoria--"

"HUH?" she said loudly, wrapping her long hands around his shoulders and
shaking him in her lap. He looked up at her with eyes wide with fear. "When I'm
18 I could just throw myself atcha an' yew couldn't stop me even if ya wanted ta.
Which yew won't. Becuz I know ya like me rilly."

"Please, Victoria--"

"Or do you already have a girlfriend?!"

"Well, not really."

"Who was that buff chick who brought yew here?" Victoria asked. "We saw her
from the window. When ya hugged her ta say goodbye yew looked like yew were
gonna take yer panties off right there an' beg her ta finger-fuck yew."

"Um," Timmy said nervously. "That was Brooks."

"Is she yer girlfriend? I think I'm prolly a couple inches taller'n her. RIGHT?"

"U-u-uh, s-she's not my girlfriend really, but, uh--"

"'But uh' WHAT?"

"But, uh, we went on a date o-once, a-and she, uh, she-she p-protects me
sometimes."

"Protects yew?" Suddenly her voice dropped and she began to sound desperate
and childlike again. "I-I could protect yew, Timmy."

"I know you could, Victoria, but I don't need to you right now. I-I am really
flattered, though, that you would--"

"Yew make me sooo hot, Timmy," she said in the most girly teenager voice he
had ever heard. "When I saw my lil sis beat yew in wresslin I wanted ta just run
over ta yer lil body an' start makin' out with yew."

"Um, I don't really know what to say to that."

"Who would you rather make out with," she asked him, "me or that Brooks bitch?"

He didn't know how to play this. Victoria looked down at him nervously now,
brushing a few strands of her long blond hair behind her ear with her hand, then
absentmindedly biting on one of her long pink nails. She was a very pretty girl,
Timmy thought, and she would be 18 soon. He did sort of enjoy sitting on her lap;
her long supple thighs made a nice cushion for his still-tender ass. Then in his
mind he thought of Brooks' cruel, indomitable face and how her lips twisted into a
sneer whenever she dished out punishment to him or ground his cock between
her fingers. Whenever he was with her, he always wanted her to ravish him. And
sometimes he even found himself hopelessly wanting nothing more than for
Brooks to allow him the pleasure to kissing her like a real man used to kiss a
supplicant woman.

"Um, I wish I could make out with Brooks," he said.

Victoria looked like she was going to cry. She turned her face away from him as
her hands gently lowered him onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," he said, and reached over to put one of his little hands on her smooth
bare shoulder. "I do LIKE you, Victoria, it's just--"

"I'm okay," she said shyly, still sitting on the toilet seat, her face half turned
away and hidden by her long platinum tresses. "I'm just not used ta guys turnin me
down."

She looked up at him then, her baby blue eyes watering slightly.

"I'm going back to the party, Victoria," he said. "But... maybe after you turn 18 we
can go out on a date."

As soon as he said that he regretted it. But he wanted to comfort the girl and
please her, as if it were his duty.

"Thank yew, Timmy," she said. "I'm promise ya won't regret me takin ya out for a
night. I'm gonna have so much fun witchoo. Now give me a kiss."

He leaned over and gave her a polite peck on the cheek.

"I'll see you back at the party?" he said, leaving the bathroom finally.

"Yeah. I just need some time alone in here," Victoria said. "Sorry for acting so
silly and manly about this."

"I-i-it's okay."

*****

Approaching the main room, Timmy saw that the lights were dimmed. A soft
melodramatic pop ballad was playing and the couples were slow dancing.
Dewey's tiny form was pressed into Hannah's hard body, and Hans' feet were
actually placed on top of Ting's high-heels as she slowly danced for both of them.

"Where have you been?!" Sarah said, striding up to Timmy and looking both
annoyed and concerned.

"Um, I was just in the bathroom."

"Did Victoria go in there? Did she try anything with you?!"

"N-no, no. She's in there now but everything's fine."

"Are you SURE?" Sarah asked with much concern. She bent down, looked into
his face with her deep brown doe-eyes, and wrapped her strong feminine fingers
around his little bony male shoulders.

"Y-yeah, Sarah."

"Okay. Now c'mon. I get to slow-dance with you. Finally. Hop up."

He hated dancing and didn't know what she meant. He soon got the idea,
however, when she extended her hands toward him, palm upturned.

"Hop up," she said again. "I'm not gonna dance with you if you're way down
there."

Timmy stepped closer to her and she lifted him up with her left hand under his
butt and her right hand around his back.

"Your buns don't still sting too much from what Steph did to you, do they?"

"Uh, n-no. They don't hurt that bad."

"So it's okay if you 'sit in the palm of my hand' while we dance?" Sarah asked
brightly.

"Yeah. That's okay."

"Good," she said. "Now put your head on my shoulder so we can dance like
you're my little baby."

He did as he was told, and Sarah spun him around the room, slowly and
rhythmically, in time with the slow pop music that was playing. Glancing over, he
noted that Ting had bent down low enough so that she and Hans could make out
while they danced. Meanwhile, Hannah was making Dewey cling to her by
putting his arms around her neck and holding him a foot and a half off the
ground.

"Thanks for coming to my party, Timmy," Sarah said. "You made it really special.
I can't imagine it without you. Are you having a good time?"

"Yeah," Timmy said, feeling a little loopy as the painkillers started to kick in. He
hugged Sarah as best he could.

"Are you still looking forward to our alone time once everyone else leaves? Our
slumber party?"

"Um. Sure?"

"Heh. You don't sound very confident," Sarah said hugging him to her a bit
harder.

"W-well..."

"Don't worry," she said warmly. "I'm not gonna hurt you or do anything weird with
you. You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes," Timmy said.

"Good. I like that you trust me. And I like having a little male friend whom I can
hug and play with without the danger of it getting weird. Do you know what I
mean?"

"I think so," Timmy said.

She scooched him up higher by raising the hand that was under his butt. She
held him even tighter and snaked her other hand across his shoulder, wrapping
him close to her.

"Do you understand why I had to discipline you earlier?" Sarah asked, looking
him right in the eyes. "I know it must have been hard for you, and a little scary,
but I had to do that. Does it make sense for you to be shown your place like that?
I hope you don't hate me for it."

Timmy looked up at her pretty face. "I don't hate you, Sarah" was all he could
say.

"I'm really glad we've gotten to know each other again, Timmy," she said. "I just
love the idea of holding my little old babysitter in my arms like this on my
thirteenth birthday. It makes me really happy to be able to do this. It feels so
good to do this. YOU'RE my favorite birthday present, Timmy. My little doll-man
that I can carry around and play with. It makes me so happy."

"I... I'm glad, Sarah."

"Good. How does it feel to be so little and wrapped in my arms like this?"

"Um. Honestly. It feels nice."

"Heh," she said, and then bent down a bit to kiss his forehead. "You like being
the little boy in my arms? Just think what it'll be like in a few years when you're
like 30 and I'm way taller than I am even now. Would you still like me to dance
this way with you then?"

"Yes, Sarah."

He looked over to see that the other two couples had stopped dancing and were
more or less just making out with each other on the floor. Stephanie was sleeping
on one of the couches, and Victoria had just returned from the bathroom. She
gave Timmy a look and then took out her cellphone and pretended to be
answering a text.

Just then the doorbell rang.

"Shit," Hannah said, lifting her head up, a stream of drool linking her mouth with
Dewey's.

Sarah lowered Timmy to the floor, whispered "To be continued" in his ear, and
then flicked on the regular lights, which brightened the room considerably, so
much so that they all winced a bit and Stephanie woke up.

Timmy watched as Sarah in her little black dress and black high heels glided
across the room. Her tall, admirable form then opened the front door and towered
over the shlubby middle-aged man who entered.

Timmy recognized him. It was the bearded father whom Brooks had successfully
challenged at the restaurant. It was the patriarch whose table she took so she
and Timmy could have a place to eat. Timmy had remembered him as a fairly tall
man--maybe 5'11"--but the form in the doorway could scarcely be 5'8" or so.
Dressed in corduroy khakis and a tight grey vest, he looked quite puny and dorky
standing next to Sarah, who stood upwards of 6'3" in her heels.

"Can I help you?" she said.

"Yes. I'm Benjamin, Dewey's father, and it's past time for him to leave, so--"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Sarah said, putting her palm against the man's chest as he
attempted to walk in farther. "I wasn't aware that you would be picking him up."
She gave the shorter man a skeptical look, then guided a long arm over and
around Ben's head so she could push the door shut behind him.

"W-well," Ben began nervously. "Yes. Well, i-it's time for him to come home."

"O Hannah," Sarah called, "could you please come here?"

Timmy noted a wide smile on Hannah's face as she bounded up from her seat.
"Stay here," she told Dewey before she raced over to the doorway.

"Hannah," Sarah said to her once she arrived on the scene, still grinning from ear
to ear, "do you know this man?"

"Why yes I do, Sarah. It's Little Dewey's Little Daddy!"

Hannah then ruffled Ben's hair playfully. Timmy noticed with only mild surprise
that the 13-year-old Hannah, who was wearing Converse sneakers, was taller
than her boyfriend's father by a couple inches.

"Hi Hannah," Ben said in a low voice. "I-it's time for Dewey to go."

"Hmmm..." Hannah mused. "Who says?"

"Does it MATTER who says?" Ben asked, his tone still quite low, but Timmy
could sense the unhelpful male ego starting to rise, as if Ben couldn't help
himself and didn't know what was good for him.

"I think it DOES matter," Sarah remarked, folding her arms across her chest and
stepping over to Hannah so that they stood in a united front opposing Ben.

"Pleeease, girls," Ben said again, his words somewhere between annoyance and
pleading. "If you must know, Dewey's mother sent me to retrieve my son, and--"

"Where is SHE?" Hannah and Sarah said in unison. Timmy noticed that they
nearly started giggling over their unplanned synchronicity, but they caught
themselves and then resumed their stern gazes.

"Um, she is out with her friends tonight, but she gave me a call a few minutes
ago and told me to come get Dewey."

"How does it feel for your wife to be out on a Saturday night?" Sarah asked.

"Well, uhm--"

"And how does it feel for your wife to give you little bitch-boy orders like that?"
Hannah added.

"Well--Now, now look here, young lady," Ben said, feigning some authority, then
quickly catching himself: "Hannah, please don't cause any trouble. It's getting late
and--"

"It IS getting late," Sarah said. "Especially for men to be out alone. I don't think
I can let you and Dewey leave here."

"WHAT?" Ben guffawed. "Now look here--Who is in CHARGE of this party
anyway?"

"I AM," Sarah said boldly, stepping up closer to Ben and looking down on him.
She was over a half-foot taller. He instinctively cringed and backed away.

"I think you should stay here, Ben," Hannah added. "We already did some
wrestling, but maybe we can get the mats back out so you and I can have a
rematch."

"Uhm..."

"REMATCH?" little Stephanie squealed from the couch. She had perked her
head up, and indeed by this time everyone in the room was paying rapt attention
to Ben, Sarah, and Hannah. "Whadda ya mean?"

"Do you want to tell them or should I?" Hannah asked Ben with a smirk. She had
saddled up to him, put one of her sinewy arms around him waist, and was pulling
him deeper into the house.

"U-u-uhm..." was all Ben could say.

"Dewey!" Hannah called. "Get up here and tell everybody what happened when I
wrestled your Daddy a couple nights ago!"

Dewey dutifully stood up and waddled over to his girlfriend and his father. It was
quite a sight to see how dominant Hannah looked in every way--from her height
to her physicality to her posture to her confident tone--as she stood proudly in her
tight jeans and sports-bra.

"Two nights ago Hannah beat my dad in wrestling," Dewey said in an
expressionless tone.

"And?" Hannah asked him. "AND? What else?"

"And then me and dad teamed up but she beat us combined, two against one."

"That's right!" Hannah said brightly, raising a muscular arm and flexing it right in
Ben's face. "Feel it!" she commanded.

The man did as he was told.

"What do you think?" she asked him.

"You're quite a strong girl," Ben replied.

"Quite a strong PERSON," Hannah corrected him. "Not just 'strong for a girl' or
whatever sexist thing you were implying."

"I was not!" Ben pouted, throwing his arms down.

"Yes you were," Hannah told him. "Even if you don't realize it, you are a sexist,
Ben. Your wife and I had a little discussion about it a couple nights ago."

"Leave her out of this!" Ben whined.

"Dewey," Hannah called. "Where was your mommy when you and your daddy
and me were wrestling?"

"She was sitting and watching it," the little boy replied blankly.

"And what did she think?"

"She liked it. She was laughing."

Hannah smiled.

"Okay, look," Ben said, stepping towards Dewey. "I don't know what you kids
have been doing here, but it's time for us to go, so--"

"I already TOLD you," Sarah said, placing her hands firmly on her hips and
striking a dominant pose, "I can't let you two leave here alone."

"Hey, who are YOU to tell me when and where I can go?" Ben asked acridly,
showing his true colors in full for the first time and stepping up to Sarah,
pointing an index finger at her.

"I'm the BIRTHDAY GIRL, buddy," Sarah shot back, pushing one of her own,
longer index fingers into Ben's chest and nearly knocking him over in the
process. "That means I get to do whatever I want. And you're LUCKY that I don't
put you over my thigh and give you a spanking. I'm sure that's what my mother
would have already done with you if she were out here."

"YOU'RE the birthday girl?" Ben said skeptically. "You aren't thirteen. You can't be. You look more like... 20, or... You're too... t-t... You're NOT thirteen!"

"You're RIGHT," Sarah said. "I'm still really only twelve for another few hours."

"I don't believe that," Ben said.

"Well the world is changing," Sarah replied, "whether small-brained little men like
you are ready for it or not. Do you want to get beaten up by a 12-year-old girl? That can happen. That WILL happen if you don't start behaving yourself!"

"I'm not small-brained!" Ben whined. "I'm a professor, I--"

"Ben!" Hannah broke in. "I don't appreciate what you said just a minute ago,
about how you 'don't know what you kids have been doing here'. Just what are
you implying?"

"We-ell," Ben sputtered, caught off-guard. "You know, I just think it's a l-little
weird, with you dressed in your underwear and talking about wrestling and--"

"We're not dressed in our UNDERWEAR, you stupid man!" Hannah scolded.
"This is a sports-bra, Sarah's in a dress, and--and the only reason you think any
of this is inappropriate is just because you're a stupid old-fashioned man. If you
were in charge you'd probably have us barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen all
day, making you food while wearing big sack-dresses that cover us neck to
ankle!"

"That is UN-TRUE!" Ben protested. "I-I-I respect women! I don't think the way
you--!"

"You might as well!" Hannah said smirking, clearly enjoying how easy it was for
her to rile Ben up and manipulate his emotions. "If this was 200 years ago you'd
probably try to take charge of all of us girls in this room, ordering us around and
having your way with us! Well--it ain't like that anymore! Just the OPPOSITE, in
fact! WE'RE in charge of YOU!"

"NO!" Ben yelled indignantly. "That-that is not true! That's just not true, not how i-it was in history--Y-you're exaggerating!"

"WHAT isn't true, Ben?" Hannah said, getting right in his face. "That's all how it
was in history. I thought you were a smart professor?"

"He's more like a SMALL professor," Sarah remarked with a snort.

"You're lucky WE don't take advantage of YOU, Ben," Hannah added. "I've
already given your son a spanking tonight. Maybe I should give you one as well,
so you don't feel left out. You know what they say--A spanking a day makes a
man act okay!"

Ben just looked down, speechless and helpless and embarrassed.

"I'll give you a fighting chance, Ben," Hannah resumed, putting a hand on his
shoulder. "If you wrestle with me first, and you win, or even LAST for sixty
seconds without letting me pin you, then I'll let you go and you can run along
home with Dewey. But if not, then I get to play the bongos with your little buns,
and--"

Timmy could see the proud, stupid male anger rising in Ben's face. He had to
step in and do something, for Ben's sake, before this got out of control.

"Hey!" he shouted, quickly walking up to where they were standing. "I know you!"

Ben looked at him, puzzled.

"From last weekend!" Timmy said brightly. "At the restaurant!"

"Oh... oh, god," Ben murmured as recognition dawned on him.

"You were so nice to give my date your table. Thanks!"

"Uh..." Ben said. "Sure. Don't mention it. Actually, PLEASE don't mention it."

"Yeah, Brooks couldn't stop talking about you! She should actually be along soon
to pick me up to go home, so it'd be cool if you could stick around and see her
again."

"Oh god," Ben whispered. "I have to get out of here. PLEASE! I have to get out of
here!"

"Yeah," Timmy continued, undaunted. "She kept saying that if she ever saw you
again she was going to 'finger' you. Whatever that means."

Totally overwhelmed now, Ben gave a loud wordless moan.

"Ben!" Sarah said, putting a large smooth hand on his shoulder. "I'll let you leave
if Hannah goes with you and you agree that she's in charge."

"Uhm, uhm, okay. Okay."

"You agree that I'm in charge, Ben?" Hannah asked him.

"S-sure, Hannah."

"Not just for tonight," Sarah said. "You agree that she's in charge whenever she's
around you, when your wife isn't there at least."

"O-okay."

"Good," Sarah said.

"Awesome," Hannah said, and the two girls gave each other a high-five over Ben
and Dewey's heads.

Sarah walked the three of them to the door.

"Your wife will be home relatively soon, I hope?" she asked Ben.

"Uhm, in about a half-hour, I think."

"That's not too late," Hannah said, her voice trailing away as they walked outside.
"Maybe when she drives me home I can talk to her about how important it will be
to start training Hailey to out-wrestle you for her 12th birthday. The first guy I
'destroyed' was MY dad when I turned twelve, and..."

"Hailey is Dewey's little sister," Hans told Timmy, leaning over and whispering in
his ear.

"Oh," Timmy said. "Yeah I saw her at the restaurant last weekend too. She didn't
seem anywhere close to twelve."

"No," Hans replied. "But they say it's a good idea for girls to start training early."

"I don't understand any of this," Timmy said in a low voice. "When I saw them last
weekend, Ben looked about three inches taller than he is now."

"Yeah," Hans said. "I haven't seen him in a month or so. His beard is a lot thinner
too."

"Is it..." Timmy whispered, "the drugs?"

"Yeah," Hans said. "Even my beard is falling out. I'm 17 now, and when I was 15
I had a thicker beard than I do now."

Timmy wanted to hear more from Hans, but from out of nowhere Ting's long
pointy fingers plucked him off the ground and hugged him to her.

"Time to go, Hans!" she said. "My mama's here to drive us."

Timmy turned to see another Asian female standing in the doorway. She was
impossibly tall--taller than his Aunt Rose--the tallest person he had ever seen,
with the top of her head nearly scraping the high ceiling. Then Timmy looked
down to see that she was wearing very tall black platform heels. Still, he couldn't
help but be impressed by this woman and found himself drawn towards her. She
was the spitting image of Ting, though about a foot and a half taller. She had on
very tight, form-fitting blue jeans and a sleeveless white button-up vest. Her long
black hair was pulled into a ponytail. When Timmy got closer he saw that she
was in fact accompanied by a small Chinese man, ostensibly her husband, Ting's
father. He was very tiny, even shorter than Dewey. He was dressed in a
comically over-sized suit, and his neck was at his wife's thigh-line.

"My my!" Ting's mother said. "Who do we have here?"

She was looking way down at Timmy with a cheshire-cat smile. Timmy hadn't
even really been aware of walking over to the woman, but he felt compelled to
stand next to her.

"This is Timmy, Mama," Ting said brightly. "He is a friend of Sarah's."

"Ah, I see," Ting's mother said. "He is an older man who is comfortable around so
many big girls?"

Though she spoke of him in the third-person, the question was directed at
Timmy.

"Um, yes," he said.

"Very good," the tall woman replied. "I wish my husband would be the same."
With this she thrust her hip against the little man. Even though the blow was
gentle, it had the effect of bouncing him off of the nearby wall. "I have to drag him
everywhere with me and he's no fun."

"Oh Papa!" Ting said, helping the tiny man up to his feet, then picking him up in
her arms. He was like a toddler in his tall daughter's grasp--though in reality he
wasn't much larger than a real-life toddler anyway. Hans just stared up at them.

"I think little Hans is feeling left out, Ting," the mother said. "Here we go. Hehe."
She squatted and picked him up to carry him the same way her daughter was
carrying her husband.

"Thanks for inviting us, Sarah," Ting said, opening the door to leave.

"No problem," Sarah replied, stepping up to put a reassuring hand across Timmy's back.

"Goodbye Sarah, and goodbye Timmy," Ting's mother called. "Maybe when I
have a party I will have Ting invite you--Timmy, I mean. The sorts of parties I
have are too adult for Sarah. Hehe."

Timmy admired the mother's tight, jean-covered ass as they turned to leave. The ass
was level with his neck.

When Ting's family had left, Timmy and Sarah turned to find that Victoria and
Stephanie were about to depart as well.

"Thanx fer the party," Victoria mumbled. "Sorry if I wuz a bitch earlier."

"It's okay," Sarah said. "You aren't a bitch."

Stephanie looked at Timmy with a smirk.

"The next time we meet I'll be taller than you!" she said. "What do you think of
that?"

Both Sarah and Victoria chuckled at the pudgy little ten-year-old. She only had to
look up a couple inches to meet the 26-year-old Timmy's eyes.

"Um, you're probably right," he said.

"Do you think it'd be worth having a rematch then? I'll give you a rematch if you
want."

"Uh, no Stephanie. I don't want a rematch."

"Admit I'd win, no matter what."

"Yeah..." Timmy said sadly. He knew that the point of no return had been
passed. From this point on Stephanie was only going to get bigger and stronger,
and he was probably going to lose a few more inches and pounds. If he ever
gained any weight or height in the future--if the drugs actually, eventually helped
him in that way--then it would surely be too late, as he'd never catch up with
Steph. If he couldn't beat her now--and he couldn't--then he'd never be able to
beat her. She was already too strong and getting stronger every day. Timmy just
couldn't hope to compete.

"Awwww!" Sarah and Victoria said in unison.

"Poor Timmy!" Sarah said, rubbing his shoulder.

"Yew are so cute, yew know?" Victoria said, leaning way down to give him a kiss
on the cheek.

"Thanks, Victoria," he said.

"Gimme a goodbye hug!" Stephanie squealed, then wrapped her arms around
Timmy in a painful squeeze, lifting him a few inches off the floor.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Sarah said congenially, gently pulling Stephanie off
of a completely overwhelmed Timmy. "You've already bullied him a healthy amount for the evening."

"I'll jus shake yer hand instead," Victoria said, holding her long, soft, chunky pink-
nailed hand out to Timmy.

He touched her hand and instantly felt a thrill. Victoria winked at him. He was
looking forward to her turning 18.

"Bye, my protégé!" Sarah said, hugging Stephanie.

"Bye, my rolemodel!" Stephanie replied.

When they left, Sarah closed the door, spun around and exhaled.

"Whew," she said to Timmy. "Alone at last."

"...Yeah," he said, unsure of what would happen next.

"I hope you've had a good time so far. Now the slumber party can begin."

"Um..." he said, feeling a little awkward just standing there. "What happens first."

"We-ell," Sarah said, walking back into the house, Timmy following at her heels,
"first I'm gonna take a shower, and then maybe we can have popcorn and watch
a scary movie. Sound fun?"

"Sure," Timmy said, following her into her bedroom.

Sarah paused in the middle of the floor, then turned around to face him.

"Okay, so I'm going to go take a shower. I'll be like five-ten minutes. So... there
are Kleenex over there on the nightstand, and if you want you can dry-hump my
clothes while I'm gone--if you need release or whatever."

"What?!"

"Timmy," she said, striding up to him. "I know that you're a guy. And you probably
have a lot of anxiety and stress from the party to work off. So, you can just get
some of my dirty clothes or underwear out of the hamper over there, and you can
dry-hump them on my bed if you need to ejaculate. Just use tissues."

"Um, Sarah," he said, shocked that she would even propose such a thing, and
also recalling that his penis was currently shriveled to the size of a pea. "That
won't be necessary."

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking down at him skeptically, crossing her arms
and wrapping one high-heeled foot around the other. "If we're gonna have a
slumber party, I don't wanna wake up in the middle of the night and find sticky
stuff all over me."

"Ugh! Sarah, NO, I wouldn't--!"

"Timmy--if that happens--you're my best friend, but you're still a man and I will
discipline you if I have to. I know you wouldn't mean to do something like that, but
in school they tell us about how men can't control their desires, especially not
when they're sleeping."

"Sarah," he said calmly. "I know my own body, and I don't need to ejaculate
tonight."

"Okay, Timmy," she said, ruffling his hair, "I trust you." Then she put her fingers
around his nose and made a beeping sound.

She made her way to the door, then stopped and tossed her head back.

"While I'm gone why don't you take that costume off and put on some of my old
ballet clothes? They'll be much more comfortable. They're in that bottom drawer
over there."

"Oh. Um. Okay, Sarah," he said in a low voice, remembering how Martha had
dressed him in some of Sarah's old ballet clothes for sex the last time he was in
this house.

"'Kay," she said, suddenly stripping her black dress off to reveal the black push-up
bra and matching black bikini panties. "I'm gonna take a shower. If you change
your mind and want to dry-hump some of my clothes--just don't hump my new
dress, 'kay?"

*****

Timmy didn't do any dry-humping, but he did find himself trying on a pair of soft,
well-worn jeans that he found lying on Sarah's floor. The legs were so long that
Timmy's feet only made it down to where the knees were supposed to be. There
was a fashionable rip in one of the knees and Timmy imagined how the creamy
skin of Sarah's kneecap might look beneath it. Instead, his little toes were
peeking out that hole.

It was still unbelievable to him how much Sarah had grown. Looking around her
room, it seemed a mish-mash of different stages of a girl's development. There
were still childish things like stuffed animals and old finger-paintings hung on the
wall. There was the odd poster from a teen idol whose height of popularity was a
couple years past. Then there were the fashion magazines, high-heels, and
makeup kits that a girl in her mid-to-late teens would be more interested in. It
looked as if three girls of different ages were sharing this room. But really, Timmy
noted, it was just that Sarah was growing up so fast, literally, that there was
hardly enough time to remove the vestiges of her childhood and tween years
before she entered the next stage of development. She was a teenager now--or
she would be in a few hours--and was mature beyond her years.

Sitting on her bed, he looked down at the long, long jeans of hers that he was
clumsily wearing. While his feet dangled in mid-air, the bottoms of the jeans were
dragging on the floor. He felt a bit pathetic, but also derived a morose relish from
this. He knew he better take the jeans off soon, before Sarah came back, but part
of him wished that she could see him now, in this pathetic position. He knew that
Sarah would find it adorable, and would probably take him up into her arms, give
him a kiss, and then maybe sit him on her lap and call him a good boy. She might
even put the jeans on herself before sitting him upon her lap. The thought of that
made him feel strange--but good. He suddenly realized that, had his Aunt Rose
not given him that blasted anti-erection pill that morning, then he sure as hell
WOULD like to dry hump these jeans right now. Though he wasn't sure which
female he would think about while doing the humping--certainly not Sarah, but
maybe Brooks or Rose or Martha, or maybe no one in particular at all. There was
something about large women's clothes that turned him on.

Right now, however, he knew that he had better do what Sarah had told him. He
took the jeans off, tossed them back where they had been, and then scampered
over to the drawer where Sarah's old ballet clothes were kept.

"I better make sure not to wear the same outfit Martha put me in last time,"
Timmy thought. "That would be too weird: hanging out with Sarah while dressed
in old clothes of hers that I fucked her mother in a few weeks ago. Although, I
feel more like Martha fucked ME."

He settled on a purple leotard with pink leggings. There were also little purple
socks that fit him just fine. He carefully set his party dress over in the corner, and
returned the little Mary Jane shoes, which he borrowed from Sarah earlier, back
to their box under her bed.

Glancing over at a clock, he saw that it was 10:20PM. He wondered what time
Sarah planned to go to sleep. It would be after midnight, surely. But hopefully not
long after midnight. Even if he couldn't get a hardon, he still liked the idea of
creeping into Martha's room and snuggling up to her under the covers, maybe
wedging himself in between her boobs or between her chest and one of her nice
feminine arms. That would be a nice way to catch a few hours sleep, and then
maybe he'd wake up first thing in the morning with an erection and a horny
Martha lying next to him, ready to grind him between her massive thighs.

Just then the door opened. Timmy stood there in the middle of the bedroom floor,
dressed in the little ballerina costume, and as Sarah re-emerged from her shower
he was stuck again by how tall she looked, even though she was barefoot. She
had a single white towel wrapped around her from chest to mid-thigh, and her
long dark hair was still wet. He hadn't seen her with wet hair in years, and it
made her look different to him: older but somehow slightly vulnerable.

"Oh Timmy," she said, stopping in her tracks and glancing down at him. "You
look so cute. You know that was the outfit I took first-place in at a competition a
few years ago."

"H-how old were you when you wore it?" Timmy asked. It used to be that he was
afraid of the answer to such questions. Not anymore. He was beginning to
anxiously anticipate them, though he could not say why.

"Mmm," Sarah thought, tilting her head and teasing her hair a bit. "I was around
ten and a half."

Yet here he was, a 26-year-old man, and the outfit of a 10-year-old girl fit him
perfectly. If anything the leggings were a couple inches too long.

"So..." Timmy began, "that was about, what, 6-8 months after I last saw you then.
You must've really started growing after I stopped babysitting for you. Almost-
almost like I was holding you back; after I stopped seeing you, you took off like a
rocket."

Sarah giggled, walked up to him, leaned down and put her hands on his upper
arms.

"Don't be silly. You didn't hold me back. I know you're just joking, though."

"Yeah," Timmy said furtively.

"Stand up on the bed," she told him, turning away then. "I want you to get up
there so you can reach, and then dry my hair."

Timmy did as she said. Again he admired her wet black hair as he faced the back
of her head almost directly now. Standing on the bed he was almost as tall as
Sarah.

"Err, do you have a hair-dryer?" he asked.

"No, silly," she replied. "You're going to use this towel once I take it off."

Timmy gulped. He didn't want the added stress of this. Not if Sarah was naked
under that towel and--

Without warning she suddenly dropped the towel and revealed a form-fitting gray
mesh bodysuit that covered her almost exactly where the towel had been. Timmy
could tell that she had planned things this way, and knew that he would be
nervous about the idea of maybe seeing her naked. Even though he couldn't see
her face, he knew that Sarah was smiling. And even though Sarah couldn't see
him at the moment, he knew that she accurately guessed the brief spell of
nervousness and confusion she'd just put him through.

"Go ahead then," she said, handing him the towel back with one hand.

Timmy took the big towel and then lovingly dried her hair as if she were his own
daughter. He wondered if he ever would have any children. At this point, that
prospect didn't seem likely. If he did have a daughter--and he would prefer a
daughter to a son, because life was so hard for boys now--he hoped she would
be like Sarah.

"Sarah," he said, still fluffing her head with the towel, "what was Hannah saying
just before she left? Something about getting that Ben guy's daughter to 'destroy'
him?"

"Heh. Oh," Sarah chuckled. "Yeah, I guess they didn't have that when you were
our age, did they?"

"'Destroying'?" Timmy asked, puzzled. Sarah laughed.

"Some people call it 'breaking'. That's what my mom calls it. It's when a girl
shows a man who's boss for the first time. It's like her chance to prove that she's
in charge. I guess it only became a big thing in the last few years. It's sorta a
mother-daughter thing."

"W-what do you mean?" Timmy asked, though he was starting to get the picture
all too well. He smoothed Sarah's hair with the towel one final time.

"Well, when I was like 11 and a half or so, my mom started encouraging me to
train and workout and stuff," Sarah continued. "Not just ballet exercises, but
exercises for strength. And it was understood that when I turned twelve I was
gonna try to 'break' my dad. And I did."

Timmy found that he was absent-mindedly stroking Sarah's hair and the back of
her head with his hands. He paused now, a bit disturbed.

"Don't stop," Sarah said. "That felt good. Anyway, yeah, so a few days after my
twelfth birthday I just randomly went over to my dad's place one morning and told
him how it was going to be."

"Wait," Timmy said. "Did you tell him about this beforehand? Did he agree to be--"

"Uh, yes and no. I told him--actually my mom told him. And he didn't agree to it
but it was understood that it was going to happen anyway."

"So... what happened?" Timmy asked. Only a small, old-fashioned part of him
didn't want to know the answer.

"I told him that he had to do whatever I said now, and that I wasn't going to be a
cruel boss or anything, but I had to do things to prove that I had control over him.
Like, I told him that we were going to go shopping and he was going to let me
spend a lot of his money on stupid stuff--on stuff I knew was stupid and didn't
even want, but it would all be to show that I could make him do whatever I said,
even if it was stupid. But..."

Sarah paused, and from behind her Timmy could see her hands go up to her
face. Then it almost sounded like she sobbed.

"Oh, hey," Timmy said tenderly, putting a hand on her big bare shoulder. "It's
okay; you don't have to tell me anymore."

"No, no, I'm fine," Sarah said, getting to grips and turning around to face Timmy
with her big brown eyes. "I want to tell you about this."

Timmy still had his hand on her shoulder. Now she wrapped one of her long arms
around Timmy's back and bent her head down a bit so that their foreheads were
touching. It was almost as if they were in the proper pose for a slow dance.

"Anyway," she said. "What happened was that if he resisted me--if he was a
'resistor' as they say--then I would have to fight him or wrestle him or whatever
until he gave up and agreed that I was over him. So, I explained all this to my
dad that day, just like my mom had explained it to him a few weeks before. But
he still resisted, so I had to prove myself physically against him--'break' or
'destroy' him. And... and it was the hardest thing I ever had to do."

"Well..." Timmy was unsure of what to say. "How tall were you then when--"

"I don't mean it was hard because I wasn't as big then. I mean it was hard
because he was my dad. Still, it was the best thing I ever did and it helped me a
lot on my path to becoming a real woman."

"D-did you h-h-hurt him?" Timmy asked nervously.

"My dad?" Sarah replied. "Not that bad. 'Destroying' or 'breaking' is just a figure
of speech, Timmy. Normally, at least. Though I did see a report on the news
where one girl accidently did break her dad's ribs when she was 'breaking' him.
But in that case her mom should have known better, because you don't let a girl
be in charge of a man until she knows her own strength."

"I... I think that was your dad earlier, right? At the party?"

"Yeah," Sarah said. "That was him. He's so sweet and nice to me now, and he
tries so hard."

"Your mom looked like she wanted to break and destroy him right here tonight."

"Yeah. She's always that way with him now. So aggressive. I think she wishes
they were still married if only so she had the right to dominate him every day and
night. Especially now that her diet's got her so pumped up, and meanwhile my
dad has some health problems. In the last year or so I've had to intervene a few
times when my parents were in the same room together, otherwise I'm sure my
mom would have thrown my dad to the floor and just pounced on him like a cat
on a rat."

"Do YOU think he's a rat?"

"Hm," Sarah considered. "No. I think my mom was right to divorce him back then,
but she shouldn't keep blaming him now. He is just a run-of-the-mill male and he
can't help it. On the other hand, he still thinks that my mom's controlling me,
when she isn't. But he's got that in his head. Even when I 'broke' him--he thinks
that my mom put me up to that. But she didn't. She liked what I was doing, but it
was something all of my friends were doing anyway."

"Did-did all of your friends 'break' their dads too?"

"Not all of them. Although dads are a popular choice for that sort of thing. Ting
broke our math teacher, Mr. Spiff. He's a little tiny guy who kinda looks like a
slightly older version of Dewey. Ting was his star student, so in her case it was
like she wanted to experience the mental toughness necessary to do that to a
man who was someone she respected intellectually and professionally as a
student or whatever."

"Who did Hannah choose?" Timmy asked.

"Heh. Hannah chose one of her uncles. A real tough guy. Shaved head. Veteran.
Always wore one of those old-fashioned 'wife-beaters' or whatever they used to
be called. He isn't a bad guy, but he's way too macho and chauvinistic. So
Hannah trained for six months, got in shape, and kicked his ass. It was
awesome."

Timmy found himself laughing at this.

"Sarah," he said.

"What, Timmy?" She furrowed her brow and looked in his eyes, faux-serious all
of a sudden.

"Can we have popcorn and watch a movie? You said we could."

"Yes, baby," she said. Then she lifted him off her bed, kissed him on the
forehead in mid-air, then set him on the floor before her.

He instinctively wrapped his arms around her nearest leg and pushed his head
into her taut stomach.

*****

Timmy followed Sarah like a little puppydog as she went out to the kitchen and
prepared some microwave popcorn. As soon as the microwave started she told
Timmy to wait there while she went to change into something more comfortable.

"Be careful when it's done, Timmy. The bag is going to be very hot. When it cools
a bit, pour it into that bowl there and bring it back to my room. But... if that's too complicated for you, or if it's too much for you or the bowl's too heavy, then just leave it for me to do."

With that she left.

As the corn started popping, Timmy suddenly wished he had more time alone.
This night--this whole day, really--had already been so overwhelming for him,
and it wasn't done yet. He had half a mind to simply forego any erotic attempts
with Martha this time around, simply because he was already exhausted. He thought that just snuggling up to Sarah's big body and drifting off to sleep later on might be the nicest idea. He was not quite so tired yet, not ready for bed--but just not up for "performing" in the bedroom. He was
too tuckered out. And, anyway, his penis was still the size of a pea.

The microwave turned off and Timmy opened the door. The bag was indeed hot,
so he left it alone for a while.

He wished he had more time to reflect on the events of the day. There was so
much to process, and he needed to figure out how he felt about all of it: about his
aunt giving him that medicine, about Brooks and how he almost wanted to run
away and elope with her, about Martha, all of the different kids at the party, and
last but certainly not least about Sarah and his unique friendship with her.

Finally he opened the hot bag and poured the popcorn into the big bowl, which was indeed heavy but not "too heavy" for him. As he
took it in his arms and marched his way back to Sarah's room he suddenly felt a
sense of pride at having accomplished this meager task quite punctually and
successfully.

When he opened the door, he saw Sarah sitting in the middle of her bedroom
floor, going through DVDs. She had pulled out a relatively small TV and set it on
a few boxes. She was wearing boxer shorts and a tight t-shirt whose sleeves had
been cut off.

"You don't mind a scary movie, do you?" she asked him.

"No."

"You're not going to get too scared and have nightmares?"

"No!" he said, a bit indignant. He couldn't tell if she was joking with him or if she
genuinely considered him so delicate that a horror movie might bother him more
than it would her, even though he was twice her age.

"Okay. Have you ever seen 'Brides of Frankenstein'?"

"Uh...I've seen 'BRIDE of Frankenstein'."

"Yeah, that one's okay, but this one's a lot better," Sarah said, sliding a DVD into
the player. "Oh, hey, I forgot--Do you like the shirt?"

She turned toward him and pinched the bottom of her shirt to make it stand out
better. The dark blue shirt looked very small on her and didn't reach anywhere
near her bellybutton, even. Timmy thought it looked familiar.

"Um..." he said.

"What about these?" Sarah asked, turning toward a pile of clothes, picking up a
little pair of boxer shorts and flinging them at Timmy."

"These... these are mine," he said, turning the old boxers over in his hand.

"Yeah, you LEFT them here, a long time ago. And the shirt, too. One time when
you babysat me you had to stay most of the night and you brought a spare set of
clothes because my mom didn't know if she'd be back late that night or the next
morning."

"I... kinda remember that, I think," Timmy said.

"Anyway, you left them here and I snatched 'em up before my mom could find
'em. I used to wear 'em all the time when I went to bed. I grew out of the boxers a
long time ago, though. My thighs just got too big to even slide 'em on."

Timmy looked at the old pair of boxers in his hand. They would be big on him
now. He was bigger three years ago, when he was babysitting Sarah, than he
was now.

"The shirt looks awfully tight on you," he said. "Are you sure it's comfortable?"

"Yeah," Sarah smirked. "Yeah, it is very comfortable, actually. I love how it looks and feels on me. Sorry about the
sleeves, but I had to cut 'em off." She struck a double-bicep pose. "When you
leave tomorrow you can take 'em with you. Then you can wear them to bed again
if you want. We can have a clothing exchange if you'd like. I only took them in the
first place because back then I sort of had a crush on you."

She smiled and Timmy felt both flattered and nervous.

"Okay, c'mon," she said, patting her thigh. "Turn off the lights and sit on my lap."

She sat Indian-style on the floor and leaned back against her bed. Timmy fit
cozily between her legs, and on his lap was the bowl of popcorn, which they
shared, their hands bumping into each other quite a bit. Sarah reached back and dragged out a fluffy blanket from her bed, which
she wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. This created a nice little cocoon
for Timmy.

As she pushed the play button, Sarah told him, "Now, don't eat too much
popcorn, Timmy. We don't want you to ruin your reedy little manly figure."

Timmy blushed, then leaned back against her.

The film wasn't a very old one, but it was in black and white. It was made to look
like an old horror movie in the classic Hollywood tradition. The story was set in an
old European village of two and a half centuries past. The mad scientist Viktor
Frankenstein had already created two or three horrific creatures that had done
damage to the town, but he was being given a chance at redemption. Most of the
townspeople weren't happy about it, but Viktor had been freed from jail thanks to
the combined efforts of a politician/nobleman, a merchant/businessman, and a
hypocritical union boss/intellectual. These three gentlemen worked together
behind the people's backs to ensure that the gears of justice would set Viktor free
and return him to his laboratory. In return for his freedom, Viktor had promised to
create a perfect bride for each of the three gentlemen.

Soon, six of the town's pretty young maidens were mysteriously murdered by
poison. A few weeks later, Igor the servant dug up the corpses and Frankenstein
worked on each of them, expertly cutting, sewing, and recombining the six
regular-sized girls into three giant-sized women.

Interspersed throughout the movie were cut scenes of a mad old witch who lived
in the woods. Early on she had sent the three gentlemen visions of gigantic sexy
women. Each night they dreamed of these large, tall, strong females until they
could no longer be content with the normal, smallish, servile women they were
accustomed to having their way with. It is revealed that this is why they went to
Viktor Frankenstein to begin with, because they were driven mad by lust for
gigantic females and knew that he was the only one who could bring such
fantasies to life. When the three conglomerate corpses are finally animated,
during a lightning storm, the witch in the woods cackles madly with delight.

At first everything goes smoothly. Each of the gentleman are very pleased and
quite taken with their respective brides. The politician/nobleman enjoys the
presence of a towering gorgeous woman with long wavy blond hair. The
merchant/businessman is smitten with his giant-sized brunette, who is quite
plump and has extremely large breasts. And the union leader/intellectual falls
madly in love with an unbelievably tall, muscular young black woman with short feathery
hair and a penchant for leather lingerie.

Timmy was very impressed with the special effects in this movie and he wasn't
sure how they made it. The women legitimately looked like they were indeed
about 8ft tall. Perhaps they hired very small men and simply sized everything
down that way. Perhaps if the leading men were only Timmy or Dewey's height--
even though they appeared to be about 6ft tall, judging by the surroundings on
the sets--then a woman who was "only" 6'2" or so might seem a good two feet
taller than that.

The movie's tone changed entirely about halfway through. Prompted by a spell
cast by the witch in the woods, the three reanimated women suddenly cast off
the chains of male oppression. At first the three gentleman assume that their
brides are simply playing a bit rough or being more like dominatrixes, but soon
they realize that the women are serious in their revolt. The horror comes when
the men realize that these super-women are nearly invincible and could perhaps
take over the town--or even the whole country--if they are not stopped at once.

Timmy was quite frightened by this part of the movie. Wave after wave of men
are called upon to stop the women, and they all fail. The three super-women
smirk as tiny men with torches and pitchforks rush them only to be soundly
beaten and tossed aside. The three gentleman, after having used all their power
to send other men to die for their mistakes, eventually flee to Viktor
Frankenstein's lab. The three women track them there, break down the door, and
confront the male quartet who has been responsible for so much murder,
injustice, and carnage.

As the towering shadows of the three women fell upon the cowering men, Timmy
yelped and trembled. Sarah held him tight and rubbed his shoulders.

"It's almost over, little Timmy," she said in a hushed tone. "Close your eyes if you
want. I'm sorry; I should have realized this might be too scary for you."

Timmy did close his eyes. When he opened them, he saw that the three women,
now accompanied by the witch from the woods--who revealed herself to be much younger, sexier, and shapelier than previously seen--were dictating terms to a beaten
Viktor Frankenstein. He was to use his science to give all women size and
strength advantages--but he was to do so without killing them first or combining
any bodies. The movie ended with a montage of what the near future would be
like in the village, with tall women taking their little husbands by the hand as they
walked the streets, and with female politicians, merchants, and leaders of the
people all working together harmoniously, for the good of everyone and
everything.

"See, at least it had a happy ending," Sarah said, flicking off the TV and bouncing
Timmy in her lap.

"I'm sorry I got scared," Timmy said. "I just got r-really involved in the plot."

"I know. It's a good movie. But... look at what time it is."

Timmy glanced at the clock.

"Quarter to midnight. Almost your real birthday."

"Nnnoooooo..." Sarah said. "That wasn't what I was referring to."

"Um," Timmy said. "What, then?"

"Well..." Sarah replied coyly. "It's time for something."

"...What?"

"Time for something that starts with a 'T'."

"Uh..."

"Time for something that starts with a 'T' that we did earlier."

"Um... Oh. Oh, Sarah, please no."

"Yep. I think it's tickle time," she said, squeezing him a bit in anticipation.

"No, Sarah. Please."

"Yep. It's tickle time and I know one boy who is going to get tickled."

"Please don't!" Timmy said, wincing in anticipation.

"Yes, I know one little boy who is way overdue for another tickling," Sarah said
smilingly.

With that she struck, tickling Timmy's sides like mad. He wiggled all around, but
there was no escape; still sitting Indian-style, she had spread her legs just
enough for him to fall through to the floor, then she tightened her crossed legs
just enough to trap him. He giggled and laughed and screamed and squealed.

Happy tears were running down his face when Sarah leaned over to her left and
rolled onto her side, taking Timmy with her.

"Try to get out," she said, wrapping her legs around his little body in a tight--but
not too tight--scissor embrace.

Timmy breathed heavily, still recovering from her tickle attack.

"I can't," he said.

"TRY."

He tried with all his strength but it was no use. Her legs were too big and strong.
What leverage he had was not enough. He grabbed onto her knee, then onto her
thigh, but no matter what he couldn't pull himself out.

"I can't," he said again, deflated.

"Aw," she said, and reached a long arm down to ruffle his hair a bit. "Tired?"

"Yeah."

"Want to go to sleep?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

She spread her legs and set him free. After they had stood up, they embraced
each other, Sarah patting Timmy's shoulders as he wrapped his arms around her
waist lovingly.

"Go pee, then we'll get out the sleeping bag, so it'll be just like a real slumber
party."

Like the good little boy he was, Timmy did as he was told.

He went into the bathroom and let loose a long forceful stream of urine from his
button-sized cock. He remembered the last time he was in this room, with
Victoria. Part of him couldn't wait till that girl turned 18. Another part of him hoped
he never had to see her again, because seeing her again would mean that little
Stephanie might not be far behind.

In the hall he noticed that a light was on in Martha's room. There was no sound,
though. For all he knew, Martha had fallen asleep with the light on. He didn't want
to go in there anyway. Not yet. not while he was still so puny in the penis
department.

When he stepped back in Sarah's room he was greeted with one of the most
awesome sights of his life: There Sarah was, standing in the middle of the floor
again, only now she was wearing the black thigh-high pleather boots that Timmy
had gotten her for a birthday present. The heels were so high that Timmy knew
she was closer to the 7-foot mark than the 6. She looked so tall that he
couldn't believe it. She stood there, smiling down at him with one hand leisurely
placed on her hip. She was still wearing the boxer shorts and the absurdly small
sleeveless t-shirt that used to belong to him.

"Come say hello to the birthday girl," she told him.

Timmy carefully put one foot in front of the other and slowly approached her. It
was not so much that he was nervous or afraid; he was simply so awestruck by
her immense stature that it rendered him shaky and dumb.

"Well?" she asked. "What do you think?"

He found that he couldn't speak. The thigh-high boots themselves were so tall
that the tops of them reached up to his chest. He looked way, way up at Sarah's
smiling face.

"Cat got your tongue, huh? Just think, I'm gonna be wearing these around the
mall tomorrow when we go."

"Uh... Huh?" was all Timmy could manage to murmur.

"Remember?" Sarah said. "My mom thinks the boots were the wrong size. I told
her that lie because you didn't want me to wear them next to you out there when
my friends were here. Remember?"

"Oh," Timmy said stupidly. "Right."

"Yeah. But now we have to go to the mall tomorrow and pretend to exchange
them. So we get a free trip to the mall. Win-win." She smirked down at him.

An awkward silence began to set in, from Timmy's perspective anyway.

"Gee Sarah," he said, "you sure are tall."

She laughed loudly.

"Well, give me a birthday hug already, Timmy. Unless you're still too scared of me
in these heels, even though we're alone."

He tentatively placed his arms around her pleather-covered thighs, because it
would have been a stretch to reach up to her waist. He began to hug her but then
she stopped him by palming the top of his head with a large hand.

"Step up on the front of my boots to make yourself taller. Then hug me. I'm 13
now."

He did as he was told, carefully climbing up one big step and placing each of his
little bare feet on the toes of Sarah's boots. Now it was easier for him to lean in,
hug Sarah around the waist--actually, much to his chagrin, his palms fell on her big tight buttcheeks--and he pushed his head against her stomach, just below her
boobs.

"Happy Birthday, Sarah," he said, "the coolest girl in the world."

"It's getting pretty late," she said, chuckling a bit and cupping the back of his head with one of her
hands. "Do you think we have time to play one more game?"

At her prompt, he jumped back down to floor level. Gosh he felt small again.

"What game?" he asked.

"How about I be your Frankenbride? Like in the movie?"

She loomed over him and got a wild look in her eye.

"Uh..."

"We could reenact the end of the movie. I could chase you all over the house, and
act like a big monster, and--"

"Oh no, Sarah. Please," he said in an adorably meek voice.

"You wouldn't like that? You could hide from me and I could hunt for you. wearing
these big boots, you'd hear my big footsteps getting closer and closer!"

She bent one of her legs across the other one so that she could reach down with
one hand and pull on the heel. With her other hand she brushed a long strand of
her dark hair behind her ear, then bit her thumbnail.

"No, Sarah. Please. Let's just go to sleep," Timmy whimpered.

"Mmmm. Okay. I guess." Sarah sauntered over close to him and ruffled his hair. "Sometime, though, we're going to play some games like that, you and me. But not tonight."

"Thanks," he said, very appreciative.

"You know I wasn't being serious," she said. "I was just teasing. I wouldn't really
treat you so mean, like a Frankenbride. Although I could, if I wanted to. And it
would be kinda fun."

"For me," Timmy said, "it would be kinda scary."

"Aw. You don't think I'm scary, do you?" the towering 13-year-old asked.

"You CAN be," Timmy admitted.

"Like earlier when I wrestled with you."

"Yes. And like when you tickle me, sort of."

Timmy looked down bashfully and shuffled his feet.

"Well, however I act and however you feel about it, I do it for your own good. You
know that, right?"

"...Yeah."

"Good boy. Now, c'mon, time for sleep. I can't wait to curl up with my little Timmy-
bear."

*****

Sarah's sleeping bag was giant-sized. She got them some pillows from her bed
and they laid down in the sleeping bag next to the far window. It had begun to
rain outside, which created a pleasant mood for rest.

Timmy, however, was in no mood for sleep. He lay there impatiently, wrapped in
Sarah's arms, waiting for the big girl to go to dreamland so that he could sneak
out of the room. Comfortable as his current position was--and it was VERY
comfortable--he had become obsessed with the idea of sleeping with Martha.

In part, this current idée fixe of his was due to simply spending too much time
with Sarah. It wasn't that he resented her hold on him--indeed, he loved that they
had grown so close--but he didn't want his entire experience centered around
her. After all, he had had sex with her mother, recently, and was due to do so
again soon. Surely that sort of relationship and opportunity must count for
something more than a platonic friendship with a 13-year-old girll, even one so cool and unique as Sarah.

Sarah clutched him closer and closer to her as the minutes wore on. Was she
sleeping? Timmy doubted it. Or, if she were asleep, it was so light a slumber that
the struggle it would take to remove himself from her grasp would surely wake
her up.

The ticking of a clock only added to Timmy's annoyance. He could never sleep in
a room with a loudly ticking clock like that. And even though he wasn't trying to
fall asleep right now, the steady sound still infuriated him, wasted second after
wasted second.

Though he had enjoyed the events of the day far more than he ever expected to,
he began to hate certain aspects of his position. For one: here he was, a 26-
year-old man, and yet he was having to tiptoe around things. It would have been
much easier simply to tell Sarah that he did not want to sleep as her teddybear
when he could sleep with her mother as a sextoy. He didn't really even know why
Martha herself did not simply tell her daughter outright that Timmy would be
sleeping in the bed of the queenly mistress of the house, not in the sleeping bag
of the princess.

Still, he supposed that Martha had her reasons. Truth be told, he didn't
particularly want Sarah knowing about his sexual relations with Martha. And, on
another level, he liked the air of secrecy that Martha tried to cultivate when it
came to their trysts.

Was his aunt's anti-erection medicine wearing off AT ALL yet, he wondered? He
wanted to feel himself to find out, but his arms were trapped, pinned by the large
body next to him.

Just then, Sarah gave a long, wide, cat-like yawn... and decided to roll over on
her stomach. As he was still held in her arms, this maneuver absolutely crushed
him. He was trapped beneath her and could hardly breathe. The not unpleasant
smell of Sarah's body infused his lungs. Her weight pressed down heavy against
him, and the carpeted floor at his back felt harder than ever. Sarah's belly--
though he knew it appeared trim and taught in relation to the rest of her--felt huge
and wide to him as it spread over his body from his upper thighs to mid-chest.

His only chance was to tickle her. As his air was running out, he desperately
wiggled his fingers against whatever part of her he could reach. Luckily, in her
sleep Sarah chuckled a bit and started wiggling. Timmy eagerly gulped in the air
that her movement afforded him, then continued tickling. All of a sudden she
pulled her arms off of him and turned on her side, with her back to him. He was
free.

"Hehe, stop it, Timmy," she murmured as his fingers left her side. Clearly she
was still mostly asleep, however.


He wasn't going to wait for her to toss and turn again. He slid out of the sleeping
bag, and his feet were soon pattering down the hallway outside.

Martha's light was off now, which was no surprise. It was very, very late.

He crept into her room, closed the door behind him soundlessly, and moved
toward her bed. The moonlight guided him, and he suddenly felt like something
between a burglar and a Casanova. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but then
he realized that Martha was sleeping with a white noise machine on anyway, so
there was little need.

Martha was turned away from him and covered up to her torso. She slept on her
side facing the far wall, and he could see the back bra-strap of some very
expensive, dark lingerie, however. And her hair seemed somehow darker, too.
He crawled on her large soft bed and gave her big shoulder a light kiss. Then he
pulled the blanket down and slipped inside, behind her. He pressed his
disappointingly still shriveled dick against Martha's gigantic butt, which was barely
covered at all by a thong, put his arms around her as best he could, and then
began kissing her back. Throughout all of his she made no movement or sound
whatsoever.

After a few minutes, Timmy stopped kissing and simply nuzzled his face down
against her back. And then he fell asleep.

*****

He shook himself awake in response to a very sharp burning sensation on his
chest. He realized that he was completed naked, lying on his back, and Martha
had just poured a few drops of hot candle wax onto his little belly.

"Yeow!" he said.

The bedroom was dimly lit by only four or five long white candles. Martha was
looming over him, sitting on her knees and smiling softly. She was wearing bright
red vinyl lingerie, complete with matching knee-high red vinyl boots. Timmy
noticed that something else was red too.

"You dyed your hair," he remarked.

"Yes. You like it?"

Martha tossed her head from side to side. She had most of her dark red hair
clipped up on top of her head, held by a pearl-encrusted berette, but a few loose,
stylishly curled locks danced across her cheeks.

"It looks really sexy, Martha," Timmy said, admiring her face, which seemed
prettier to him than it ever had. He was really pleased to be spending some time
now with a woman, not a girl. "You look really sexy."

"Yesh," she said. "I decided I may as well go all out and dye my hair once it
became clear to me that you wouldn't make your scheduled appointment with me
this evening on time."

"I-I'm sorry," Timmy said, looking up at her. "I-I wanted to, but--"

"But you were too busy acting like a child with Sarah. I know."

"No, I--"

"You wouldn't believe how many times I peeked in at you two--probably three
times an hour between 10 and 12--and every time, Timmy, I couldn't believe how
silly you were acting. Needing her to hold you. Getting scared and needing her to
comfort you. Acting so delicate and fragile whenever she teased you in the
slightest. Looking up at her in total awe. A 26-year-old
man looking up to a 13-year-old girl like that. I really thought that one time when I
peeked in you would probably be sucking on a pacifier and having her change
your diaper."

Martha said all this without the slightest tinge of severity in her voice. She was
not making fun of Timmy, or insulting him--she was simply remarking on her
honest impressions of what she had witnessed in his behavior with her daughter.

"But--" Timmy began to protest.

"Oh don't misunderstand me," Martha hastened to add, "don't get the wrong
impression. Seeing you act that way really turned me on." She smiled and
showed her teeth. Timmy noticed that she had red lipstick on as well. "It's just
that you had an appointment with me and you didn't keep it."

"Martha, I was--I am--afraid that I can't perform very well because of..."

He glanced down to see that his pee-sized penis was no longer pee-sized. A
modest erection was pointing upward as he lay on Martha's bed.

"You men are so funny," Martha said. "And so insecure. A few minutes ago when
I stripped you I saw the tiny little peeper"--here Martha made a size-
measurement between her forefinger and thumb and placed them up to her eye--
"that your aunt had presumably blessed you with for the night. Then I simply
used some medicinal rubs of my own. It was easy, Timmy. I guess it's true what
they say about men simply being dummies when it comes to science."

"So--so you got rid of it?" Timmy asked, still a little drowsy and slow on the
uptake. "My aunt gave me a pill this morning--yesterday morning, now--and..."

"Yes, Timmy. I inferred as much. You should have heard the soft little cooing you
made when I put the counteracting salve on your little peeper and started to rub it
in. It was like watching a little worm grow and grow and grow."

Timmy felt foolish. Of course they would have some sort of medicine that would
counteract the erection-suppressant his aunt had given him.

He stared up at Martha, admiring how great her red hair, red lingerie and red
boots looked in contrast against her pale skin. Moreover, her continually
augmented size turned him on. A lot. And finally, for the first time in almost
twenty-four hours, he could enjoy the rush of his hormones. His penis stiffened.

"You must have had to buy a lot more clothes lately," he said.

"Yesh," she said, in that weirdly sexy babytalk voice she sometimes liked to use.
"I have been getting bigger and bigger. Bigger and bigger and bigger."

She leaned over him and began to play with his cock.

"A-are you nearly done, um, changing?" he asked.

"Noooo..." she said huskily, leaning over him on the bed and giving him a
tremendous view of her cleavage.

"H-how tall do you think you'll get?"

"Oh," she mused, pausing to bend down low and lick the length of his rod,
"possibly seven feet."

"WHAT?!" Timmy squawked, and just as he did so Martha gulped his entire
manhood inside her mouth and started to suck it loudly.

Next she opened wide again, reached down with her hand, and guided Timmy's
balls past her lips as well. With his entire testicles inside her mouth, Martha
sucked and sucked and sucked, making loud slurping noises and drooling all
over Timmy's crotch.

He moaned and moaned. Just as he was getting ready to come, he felt Martha's
hands reach under him--one under his shoulders and one under his ass--and she
lifted him up into the air. Still slurping away at him, she turned and began to
slowly lower herself onto the bed, onto her back. During this dizzying process
Timmy started ejaculating. He kept pumping out semen during the precious
seconds while Martha guided him down in a freefall motion, and his last blasts
were made as he came to rest on all fours on the big soft bed, with his crotch resting on
Martha's face.

She popped his testicles out of her mouth and licked them clean, then she asked
Timmy if he'd like to fuck her the old-fashioned way.

"Oh god Martha yeah," he said, exhausted but scrambling over her broad
voluptuous form in order to get in the missionary position. "But...what were you
saying, about getting seven feet tall?"

"Oh I don't know, darling," she said in a breathy tone. "It's just that I'm not slowing
down any. Unfortunately I'm not losing any weight. Though I think the weight I do
have is being better distributed, don't you?"

Still on all fours, he literally crawled over Martha's basketball-plus-sized breasts.

"Yeeeah," he said.

Once he had finally turned himself around, he eagerly slipped his hand in
Martha's panties and pulled them down a bit. His little willy was still hard, and he
slipped it into Martha's wet, greedy vagina.

"Now fuck me like a big man," Martha said to him. "Fuck me like it's the 1800s
and neither of us knows any better."

As his haunches began to give little Timmy-sized thrusts, Timmy wondered what
it would have been like if they had met in the 1800s. He could easily imagine
Martha wearing petticoats and other such fashions of that era. But what if Martha
was really somewhere between six and seven feet tall? Wouldn't that have been
the talk of the town in those days? Still, back then, no matter how large, strong,
and mentally tough she was, and no matter how tiny, wimpy, and mentally fragile
he was, at that time the man was expected to be in charge no matter what. In
those days Timmy could have had Martha when he wanted and how he wanted,
and it did not matter if Martha even enjoyed herself in the process.

"I'll fuck you," Timmy said in a grunting but playful voice. "I'll fuck you and you'll
like it, you itty bitty woman."

His little feet bounced off of Martha's big thighs. His head was wedging itself
deeper and deeper between her boobs, each of which dwarfed his head to a
comical extent. This little pipsqueak male creature was fidgeting and spasming on top of the gigantic female form that overflowed with softness and curvatures.

"Oh please don't INJURE me, big man!" Martha teased. "Why, you are so rough
and commanding."

Martha put her weight into it, bouncing herself in time, making it seem as if little
Timmy's humping was causing the bed to rock.

Next she reached down and put her hands on Timmy's ass cheeks. She spread
her legs wider and then pushed him in as far as he could go. He felt as if the
opening of her vagina almost spread from one of his hips to the other, and her
vaginal muscles were sucking his cock--and his body--with an almost alarming
force.

He grunted and grunted, then began to moan in relieved acquiescence as Martha took charge.

She then crossed her ankles, trapping Timmy's body between her thick but curvy
legs. Each of her thighs was much larger around than Timmy thin waist. She
scissored him a bit with her legs, gently at first. His constant moans turned into
yelps whenever she applied even the slightest bit of pressure.

He reached his hands up to grip her breasts. Once he found the nipples he hung
on to them and squeezed right as he climaxed. Martha orgasmed at the same
time, and then she fell back, sinking into the bed. He lay limply atop her, his
reedy little body all sweat, catching his breath and hoping that he could stay in
this position for the rest of his life.

"One more time," Martha said, sitting up and prying his head out from her slick
cleavage.

"Oh Martha," he said, "I'm so spent. Just-just give me five minutes and then I'll be
able to--"

"You've come twice," she said, "while I've only just had my first orgasm. So it
won't be necessary for you to get off again tonight."

She peeled him off of her, plopped his little form on the bed next to her, then
stood up and went over to her vanity. She took out one lotion bottle that looked
like it came with a prescription, and rubbed some of the ooze onto her hands.

"Stand up, Timmy," she instructed. "Get over here, bring that little stool, and hold
your dick out for me."

Timmy's dick, at the moment, was flaccid and spent and looking almost as pea-
sized as it had looked all day long--even without any of his aunt's medicine this
time.

He crept over to Martha looking and feeling like a childlike weakling. In her bright
red boots with their chunky heels, Martha towered over Timmy as she had never
done before. She seemed so imposing and commanding to him. He felt as though she could crush him so easily; just leaning into him would overwhelm him and cause him to fall over or give way to her bigger, stronger, superior form.

("She must weigh over three times as much as me," Timmy thought.
"Goodness I feel tiny. Her knees are at the level of my crotch, and I could fit
inside one of her legs with lots of room to spare.")

"Hold your little dick out, Timmy. I'm not going to go fishing for it."

He held out all two inches of it. Martha bent down and dabbed a big hunk of
ointment on its tip. It stung, but not that bad.

"Tell me something, Timmy," she said, pinching the end of his penis and
beginning to rub in the lotion. "At the party did the girls began to show their
natural dominance over males?"

"Yes," he said in a straining voice. Martha was kneading his member quite hard,
and the stinging sensation persisted.

"I thought they would. They're at the right age. Personally, I had to excuse myself
from the party like I did because, in those circumstances, I don't think I could
have held myself back. I didn't want to spoil Sarah's Sweet Thirteen by leaping
on top of you right then and there, Timmy, ripping your clothes off in front of
everyone and demanding that you fuck me up the ass lest I squash your little body and shove you inside me once and for all."

Timmy gulped, not knowing if Martha was serious. Was this really why she
retired to her room early instead of watching the kids in her house?

"Yesh," she said, in response to nothing in particular. "But that IS what I'm going
to demand of you now. You're to fuck me until you and I are both unconscious."

"Oh Martha, I don't know if I have it in me, I--"

Suddenly the stinging of his penis stopped. He looked down and observed the
biggest erection he had ever seen on himself, and yet it was insensate and
numb. He couldn't feel his penis, couldn't feel Martha's massaging hand on it,
and yet there it was.

"Take that stool there," Martha instructed, taking her hand away and turning
around. "You are too WIDDLE without it, so climb up. That SHOULD give you enough height to put
your penis inside my big fat bum. If it isn't, you can fit your little baby feet into a
pair of my old high heels, and try it again."

Luckily, Timmy could reach with just the stool. He had to stand on his tiptoes,
however.

Martha leaned down and spread her ass cheeks apart with her hands. Timmy
thrust himself in as deep as he could go.

"Give me your widdle hands," she said, turning her head to the side to see him out
of one eye and reaching back with her own hands. "Good. Now put them around
the reins HERE"--she led his hands to grip the sides of her bra straps--"and I'll
keep my hands around yours like THIS"--she squeezed his hands within her own--"and maybe
together we'll have enough PULL to get you up my ass nice and deep and far enough so that I do not turn and rip your widdle body apart in frustration."

Tired as he was, he began to wiggle and bounce up and down on his tiptoes,
squirming his way playfully into Martha's big ass.

Before very long he didn't even know why the stool was really necessary. He was
off his feet anyway, flopping in the air. Martha had seized his hands in hers, and
she began yanking him rhythmically forward against her backside.

"I want to keep hearing those little thighs of yours slapping against my butt
cheeks, Timmy!" she said brightly, grinding him against her big body while
writhing before him. "I can barely feel your little pecker, so you're going to have to
cram yourself in there harder than you are!"

Timmy knew that he would pass out before too much longer, well before Martha
reached orgasm. And he also knew that Martha would continue to dominate his
body long after he passed out, not stopping until she had gotten satisfaction.

"Feel free to go to sleep anytime, Timmy," Martha told him with a laugh as she grunted and
yanked and slammed him again and again, harder and harder, into her bulbous
ass. "We don't want little boys like you staying up too late, anyway. (grunt grunt)
You've got another big day tomorrow. (grunt) We're going to the mall right after
breakfast. My new convertible is only a two-seater. (grunt grunt) So you can sit
on Sarah's lap."



* * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *



Timmy's New Life: Chapter 5
by C.L.T.
A young man is brought to heel by tall dominant women


Chapters 1-4 here:
http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/1misc32/timmysnewlife.txt

Please vote for and discuss your favorite female characters here:
http://www.amazonlove.org/phpBB3/viewtopic.php?f=6&t=5708&hilit=


* * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *



Chapter 5: Shopping Trip with the Thollens!

When Timmy awoke the next morning, he felt as though he had slept for a
year. The first thing he noted was the immense amount of sunlight,
flooding in through the white curtains of Martha's big bedroom windows.
The second thing he noted was that he was totally immobile and couldn't
budge an inch. Gradually, as the fog of strange dreams lifted from his
mind, he realized what the problem was: In her sleep Martha had totally
encased Timmy's little body between her giant thighs. She lay on her
right side, breathing faintly, her head far above Timmy's; her right
leg was against the mattress, her left leg was crooked over it, and
Timmy was between the two, mashed tight in between the two colossal
thighs. Only his head was sticking out, and the rest of his body must
have been trapped and squeezed for so long that it had all fallen
"asleep". At least, Timmy hoped that this was the case. The only other
explanation was that in her violent lovemaking Martha had paralyzed or
wrecked Timmy's little body some other way.

"Martha," he said, and his voice sounded like a weak squeak, surprising
and dismaying him.

No answer,

"Martha!" he yelled, after clearing his throat, now more sure of
himself.

The big woman smiled in her sleep and made a little cooing noise.

Timmy could tell now that both of them were completely naked. He noted
that Martha still had traces of red lipstick on, and this reminded him
of all the fun they had the previous night--at least, the fun they had
before he passed out. Who knows how much more fun Martha had had with
his little body after she had overwhelmed him with sweat and exhaustion. She had
been so very rough with him, an insatiable sexual bully.

"Martha!"

She seemed to stir a bit and mutter something in her sleep that could
have been "Timmy". Then she absentmindedly squeezed him hard, simply by
straightening up her legs a bit and stretching.

"OW!" The pain came sharp and quickly, then stopped. Timmy was relieved
to know that at least he hadn't lost sense in his body, but the squeeze
was so piercing that he instantly feared IT may have paralyzed him
anyway.

He was still trapped and his body would not respond to his impulses.
His arms were trapped between Martha's legs and even under perfect
conditions he wasn't sure he would be strong enough to get out. He
couldn't even see his arms at the moment, but he could see Martha's big
bulging legs--he could see little else, in fact--and he knew for sure
that his arms weren't even a 10th as big around. Maybe not even 100th
as big in terms of volume. Martha's legs vs. Timmy's arms? It was no contest--a laughably unfair comparison.

Last night at Sarah's birthday party he had learned that he himself had
sunk to a height of only 4'10". And then he watched as Martha was
measured at just over 5'11". It was inconceivable to Timmy. She was a
middle-aged woman. A couple years ago they both looked each other
square in the eye, and they were both just a couple inches over the 5-
foot mark. But now, thanks only in part to the big heels Martha had
taken to wearing, compounded with Timmy's tendency to stoop a bit these
days out of general fearfulness, Martha completely dwarfed him to a
comical extent, not only in terms of height but also in terms of
girth and apparent strength and vitality. But wasn't HE supposed to be
in the prime of his life? And wasn't SHE supposed to be a bit "over the
hill"? Instead, it was almost as if they weren't even of the same
species anymore, as if she hailed from a race of domineering, well-fed
giantesses, while he came from a family of malnourished pipsqueak slave
imps.

Just then he felt a warm throbbing sensation, and realized that he was
getting a boner. He felt his little member pulsating helplessly, unable to extend quite as much, quite as easily as it wanted to, jammed as it was against one of Martha's strong inner thighs.

("At least one muscle in my body still works," Timmy thought. "Sort of.")

His penis must have been doubled-over or bent in some way,
for the uncomfortable feeling only increased. His penis was definitely
unable to straighten itself out and lengthen itself unimpeded.

Just then Martha cooed again, and Timmy looked up fearfully to see that
she had indeed awakened.

"Just what are you doing, my little boy?" she asked him, a sleepy
bemused look on her fair-featured face, her ruby-red hair falling down
across one cheek.

"Martha!" Timmy squeaked. "Help me!"

"Oh you are so adorable, Timmy," Martha mused.

Timmy's groin continued to tighten. God, he wished she would stop turning him on so much, so effortlessly, right now.

"Please!" he tried again. "Let me out!"

"Are you popping a STIFFY for MOI, Timmy?" Martha asked, that same
familiar wide smile returning to her face.

"Yes! But--Oh! It's trapped! I'm trapped, and--!"

"You are so cute and desperate, Timmy," Martha drawled, sitting up a
bit.

Timmy whined hopelessly.

"Oh all right," she said. "Out you pop."

She took her one leg off of him, leaving him laying against the length
of the other. The pressure on his penis finally abated, and the member finally flipped up and extended to its modest length, causing Timmy to breathe a huge sigh of relief.

"What a big sigh for such a little man," Martha mused. "But I said 'Out you POP', Timmy!"

Then she bounced her lower leg against the mattress, springing Timmy's
little body up into the air. Disoriented, the little man scrambled
uselessly, flailing his arms, before falling right into Martha's naked lap.

"Can't stay away, huh?" she asked him.

Her crotch was spread wide and Timmy could smell her sweet musk. So
overwhelmed was he, by everything, that he could only look down at his
throbbing boner, whine again, and then gesture from his crotch to hers.

"Oh Timmy," she said, "what are we going to do with you? Last night you
couldn't stay awake for it, but now you want it first thing in the
morning. And I am NOT a morning person."

She straightened herself up in bed, threw off what little expanse of
the sheets were actually covering her massive body, and then stood up,
totally unconcerned with how any of her movements might jostle Timmy
about.

He found himself face-down against the mattress, and when he picked his
head up he saw that he was staring into Martha's big rear end as she
was admiring herself in the full-length mirror.

She thrust out one curvy leg and then the other, posing, then raised
her arms--which were slightly chubby, yet slightly defined as well, and VERY
feminine--and flexed her bicep muscles. Next she put one hand and then
the other on her voluptuous hips and turned from left to right. Timmy
could see the reflection of her face in the mirror, and it was clear
that Martha was pleased with her changing body.

"Mmm," she said. "I love the new me. Don't YOU love the new me?" she
asked Timmy, whirling around to face him.

He had sat up a bit and dangled his legs over the edge of the bed. His
feet were nowhere near the floor, though.

"Yes, Martha," he replied dutifully.

"What do you like BEST about me, Timmy?" the naked woman asked, then
cupped and jiggled her immense breasts a bit. "And don't say my boobs.
That's just a boring answer."

Timmy's erection throbbed hard and he involuntarily shot his hands to
his crotch to simultaneously touch and hide it.

"Uh..." he muttered, so turned on now that he could scarcely think.

"We-e-e-e-ell?" Martha said, sashaying towards him, bending down, and
putting a single finger under Timmy's chin to force him to look up into
her bright eyes.

"Uh," he said again. "I-I g-guess I like how big you are."

"Well," she said, turning away from him again, clearly a bit
disappointed in his response. "YES, I SUPPOSE so... *I* like how big
I'm getting too. But really, Timmy, in your position pretty much
EVERYONE is 'big'."

"I-I know," Timmy murmured, ashamed of himself. "M-Martha?"

"Y-yes, T-Timmy?" she answered, whirling around again and mocking his
stutter.

"C-can I p-please have sex w-with you again this m-morning? My penis--
I-I'm just so turned on and h-hard. A-and I can't take it--I-I can't
take it--I-I n-need to come into your big b-body!"

Martha threw her head back and laughed, then provocatively posed for
him a bit, rubbing her hands all over her immense body while smiling
down at him wolfishly.

"The answer is NO, Timmy!" she said, seemingly happy to disappoint him.
"I already told you! I don't like sex in the morning! Don't be a
whiner!"

She bounded over to sit down on the bed next to him. This caused the
entire mattress to tilt and Timmy's body slammed hard into her big bare
thigh. ("How much does she WEIGH?" Timmy wondered.)

"Now if you make me tell you this a THIRD time," Martha continued, "I'm
afraid I will have no choice but to discipline you. I spank very hard
now--I spanked hard before all this, just ask my ex-husband--but I
shudder to think what your backside would look like, or how long it
would take you to recover, if I really went to town on your little
fanny now!"

Timmy whimpered.

"Perhaps we can come to an agreement, however," Martha said, picking up
Timmy with one arm and plopping his little body belly-down across her
lap. "Would you like that?"

"Oh! U-uh, yes, Martha," Timmy said, distracted by how she was running
her short nails along his back and buttocks.

"Perhaps I will let you have your way with me, let you 'get off'
however you'd like--PROVIDED that we are both standing up. And you can
have NO use of stools."

"U-um, um," Timmy murmured.

"No high heels on my part either, Timmy," Martha added. "Fair is fair,
after all."

"O-okay!" Timmy said.

"VERY good!" Martha chirped, then got up, holding Timmy by wrapping one
hand around the back of his neck before putting him down.

Martha walked back over to the full-length mirror, her insane curves
jiggling all over in the process.

"Here is where I'll stand," she told him, "the better that I can watch
the proceedings."

Timmy tentatively crept up to her gigantic body, unsure where or how to
begin. At this point she was just so big compared to him that it was almost like approaching another species that he was biologically incompatible with... and yet every molecule of his body wanted her body so very badly.

"NOW," she informed him, "you have five minutes. Do your worst, you
brute you!" She threw the back of one of her hands over her eyes,
sarcastically.

It seemed impossible, but to Timmy Martha looked a good deal more than
the 12 inches--or at most 13 inches--that she had towered over him by
as recently as the previous night. She certainly looked more than a
foot taller to him now, and she wasn't even wearing heels, as she had
worn when they made love standing up--or, more accurately, when Martha
had used his body to fuck herself--about eight or nine hours ago. His
eyes weren't even up to the level of Martha's nipples.

"You can stop STARING so much, Timmy!" she said merrily. "I KNOW I have
nice breasts! I know they are very big and don't sag very much--but you
are on the clock, little one! I'm not going to stand here in my
birthday suit forever!"

He waddled over to her, crouching a bit as he walked, almost feeling
weighed down by his throbbing boner--though this couldn't be the case.
His penis hadn't shrunk in recent weeks; it was the only part of his
body that hadn't! But, still, Timmy was not a well-endowed man, not in
any sense.

He came up behind Martha. Just noticing that her gigantic ass now
extended all the way from his shoulders to his waist now excited him
almost to the point of premature orgasm. He wrapped his hands as far as
he could around Martha's middle and just squeezed her. It was the sort
of hug a toddler might give. Still holding onto her, he attempted to
raise himself up, but he couldn't hold his own weight and soon fell
back down. Then, after struggling back to his feet, he couldn't help
but just bury his face in Martha's left ass cheek, smelling it and
kissing it and licking it ravenously.

"Just two or three more minutes, Timmy," Martha called, seeming to be
totally bored by Timmy's actions.

He whined and walked around Martha a few times, somewhat panicked and
not able to decide the best plan of attack. She was like an impenetrable fortress to him. She was just too big for him to do anything about.

There was nothing that he wanted more in the world than to put his
penis inside Martha Thollen's ass or cunt, but both were almost a foot
too high for his erection to reach.

Finally he stopped in front of her and gestured his open arms up at
her.

"Oh, you want me to pick you up?" Martha asked. "How adorable!
Unfortunately, no, the rules say I can't. We must both be STANDING UP."

Timmy whined again, his penis still throbbing more urgently than ever,
but Martha just smiled down at him.

"You are even more pathetic than I thought you were, Timmy!" she told
him, this time with real harshness in her voice. "You only have a
minute left. Why don't you just hump my leg like the little dog--or RODENT--you are and get this over with!"

He threw himself at her feet now, groveling and giving off a whine that
seemed ready to turn into crying. Why wouldn't she be nice to him? He
was driven mad with desire for her big body, for her to just pick him
up and put his penis inside the places of her heavenly body that were nice and
warm and cozy.

"OOooh, little Timmy!" Martha cooed happily from high above, suddenly
changing her tune completely, evidently because she pitied him so in response to his pathetic frustration. "I'm sowwy if I scaahd yew!"

As Timmy kissed and licked Martha's feet, the big woman knelt down and
put a friendly hand on his bent back. He furtively gazed up at her, and
above her massive cleavage saw her sweet face observing him with soft
understanding.

"We REALLY have to get ready to go to the mall, though, Timmy, so we
don't have MUCH TIME," she explained. "That's the point I was trying to
drive home to you."

She stood back up to her full height and put her hands delicately on
Timmy's shoulders as he stood as well. ("My god," Timmy thought, "she
HAS to be above six feet now. It ISN'T just my lowly perspective.")

"I present to you my left leg, Timmy," Martha said, thrusting her leg
out towards him and jostling him a bit in the process, her gigantic
thigh crashing against his groin and lifting him up in the air briefly.
"You may hump and love this leg now if you wish, treating it like it
was your girlfriend. And I want you to enjoy yourself, Timmy, but
please... be somewhat quick about it."

Timmy didn't need to be told twice, and by now he was most grateful for
Martha's patience with him. He knew that other women--Brooks, for
instance--would have put him over their knee and thrashed him soundly
long before now, if he had annoyed and delayed them even half so long
as he had delayed Martha this morning, delayed her simply because there was no easy way for his tiny little body to DO anything against a grown female form.

To start with, he noticed that his drooping little ballsack rested on
Martha's kneecap. Her hips came up to his shoulders, and just her leg
reached up to his mid-chest. Hunched over a bit as he was, overcome
with desire, he found that Martha's leg really was almost the size of a
woman to him. Of course, that was under the old, prejudiced,
stereotypical way of viewing things, when most women were expected to
be somewhat shorter than the men they were paired with. But even then,
Timmy couldn't help noticing, Martha's leg probably outweighed him. He
put his arms around it and felt how huge and solid it was. He
remembered how last night it looked as though two of Little Dewey might
be able to fit in one of Martha's legs. He was still bigger than Dewey
was compared to Martha, proportionately speaking, but he wondered how
long it would be, if she kept growing at such a rapid pace and he kept
slowly withering away, before he looked and felt even smaller than
Dewey looked last night.

He embraced Martha's leg feverishly--just barely able to wrap his arms
around it--and then thrust his groin against it. From high above he
heard her throaty laugh and felt her bounce and lift and shake her leg
a bit, almost as if someone had told her to "put her left leg in and
shake it all about".

He moaned in sheer ecstasy at the sensation of so much smooth soft female
flesh against his body. He rubbed his hands greedily over the gigantic
expanse of Martha's thigh. She continued to jostle his body
effortlessly, just by bouncing her leg a little bit. Clearly his weight
was no impedance to her. He stretched his right hand around to the side
as far as he could reach, and was just able to feel enough of Martha's
gigantic rump to placate his fetish for her big shapely ass. All the
while he humped her leg, mashing and jabbing his stiff little dick
against her lower thigh and kneecap.

"COME along now, Timmy," Martha teased. "Spunk your little load for me
already! I know you're obsessed with how at age 43 I'm suddenly
becoming the hottest girl in the known universe!"

Timmy licked her stomach and side and then stood on his tiptoes to just
barely lick the underside of Martha's left boob as she bent down a bit for him. His penis was rock
hard, and between his own grip and Martha's jiggling, they had gotten
into a pretty good rhythm of his little body getting bounced and
banged, dick-first, against her big leg.

"I know there are other girls in your life," Martha continued, in a
strange hypnotic tone, "younger and newer and taller for the time
being. And I know that I was just 'an old friend of your parents'. But
you know as well as I do, Timmy, that no one can compete with my sexual
appetite or curves! I know you think I'm getting to be the hottest
chick EVER, and I won't rest until the whole WORLD thinks of me the
same way YOU DO! But don't worry, my little special boy, when I grow to
MONSTER size, Timmy, you're gonna be the first little snack I crush and
gobble up, just as soon as I squeeze all the semen out of you!"

Martha's dirty talk had done it; her thigh bounced him up particularly
high and when he came crashing down, his sack hitting her kneecap, he
exploded in ecstasy, shooting a long, large load all over her thigh. He
collapsed as it happened, the life draining out of him, and he had to
grab onto Martha's leg for support.

He felt so weak and just wanted to shrivel up then and rest. Martha,
however, wouldn't let him. She held him up by putting one of her plump
but deceptively strong hands under his shoulder. With her other hand
she wiped up most of the semen on her thigh and then licked her palm
clean, flicking her tongue a few extra times for Timmy's benefit as she
stared down into his eyes.

A minute later, when he had relatively recovered, Martha let him stand
on his own feet again finally, and then walked over to her closet to
look for some clothes. Facing her gigantic ass again, which she had
just covered in lacy see-thru red panties, Timmy once again wondered
just how big she had gotten and how much bigger she was going to get.

Still totally naked, he clumsily walked towards her, looking down
bashfully and noticing how absolutely tiny his little feet looked in
comparison with Martha's. Then he looked up, to see that absolutely
huge creamy white ass again. He considered it the best ass ever, as it
was so shapely, and as he approached it now it seemed bigger and higher
than ever to him. He didn't care how much older than him Martha was, or
how strange she sometimes acted; he didn't care if she was going through
a midlife crisis or what. Whatever the negatives might be, her
attractiveness overrode all of them. From her sexy face, with its wide
lips and beaklike nose, to her relatively dainty hands and feet, to her
monstrous proportions everywhere else--he wanted her more than anything
and thought this big Jewish woman, whom others might call a "yenta",
was becoming the very epitome of sexiness on Planet Earth.

Even though she was turned away from him it was as if Martha sensed his
approach, for just before he reached her, his arms outstretched and
poised to hug his tiny little manform to her gigantic womanform, she
snapped:

"Timmy, go away now, hurry, and go get dressed! And I don't mean that
little costume you wore to the party, either! Last night I laid out
some nice little clothes for you in the bathroom down the hall! Go put
them on and meet me and Sarah in the kitchen for breakfast!"

-----

He wasn't all that surprised when he saw the little pile of purple and
pink clothing waiting for him in the bathroom. Of course Martha would
make sure that he was wearing the girliest clothes possible. No doubt
these were some of Sarah's clothes from when she was younger. None of
this surprised him. He put on the frilly pink panties, the little pink
socks, and the pink cotton tights with an unamused but resigned
expression on his face. After all, he DID just get to sleep and have
sex multiple times with a budding giantess. The situation wasn't ideal-
-far from it--and the sex itself was certainly problematic to say the
least. But all in all things weren't so bad for Timmy. Maybe this
simply said more about the rock-bottom expectations that he had going
in: the idea of attending Sarah's Sweet Thirteen birthday party and
then spending the night initially sounded like it would probably turn
into the worst 24 hours of Timmy's life. But it was far from that.
Sure, now he had to go shopping with the Thollens--and it wasn't easily
to look forward to such a sure-to-be obnoxious and prolongated affair--
but if he played his cards right he'd probably get to release himself
in Martha's presence, or maybe IN MARTHA, at least once more before
being driven back home to his Aunt Rose's mansion.

He stepped into the tiny little ballet-style slippers that Martha had
left out for him, and even this was bearable. No doubt both Martha and
Sarah would be wearing heels when they went out today, and after all
the ostensible reason for the outing was to return a pair of
gigantically heeled boots that Timmy had been coerced into giving Sarah
for her birthday; but still, Timmy was used to this treatment by now.
He put on the little tiny white shoes without any mental anguish, and
finally turned to the last item of clothing Martha had left him.

It was here that Timmy finally felt an upshot, a pin-prick of shame.
The bright purple garment looked familiar to him from the very second
he started unfolding it. It was an old shirt and he recognized it even
before he saw what was on the front of it. It was not only a shirt that
Sarah used to wear, it was a shirt that Timmy had SEEN Sarah wearing
plenty of times before. It was Sarah's favorite shirt from the days,
roughly two-and-a-half years ago, when Timmy had been her babysitter.
Timmy finished unfolding the shirt and held it out before him. There it
was: a vintage-style image of Wonder Woman in a muscular pose, her long
bare legs bent somewhat to the side, as if she were flying, one of her
hands on her hip and the other held forth in a clenched fist, with a
long red thumbnail showing. Beneath the superheroine it said "Girl
POWER!" in big cursive letters.

Timmy knew that NOT wearing the shirt, or turning it inside-out, would
cause more problems than it would solve. He frowned, gritted his teeth-
-clearly annoyed now at how he was being treated, demeaned and taken
advantage of--but then he put the shirt on.

And this is when "insult to injury" kicked in, for he realized that the
shirt was actually a little BIG on him.

"It can't be," he thought. But it was. Maybe Sarah had stretched it out
some? Very possibly she had continued to wear the shirt long after she
had outgrown it; after all, it WAS her favorite shirt from childhood.
Timmy couldn't convince himself that the shirt LOOKED stretched out--it
just looked very WORN--but perhaps the shirt was stretched in a way
that wouldn't show? Furthermore, perhaps Martha had purposely stretched
the shirt out before leaving it there for Timmy; possibly she wanted to
give him the impression that he was smaller than he really was. Any of
those things could be true, but the fact remained that there Timmy
stood, wearing a notable shirt belonging to the girl he used to
babysit--a shirt that she used to wear all the time when he babysat for
her--and now it was definitely BIG on him.

Had he shrunk so much? Did Sarah used to be bigger than he remembered?
As recently as a month ago, Timmy was nearly 5'2", and he had been that
height for years. As recently as last night, he was 4'10". Had Sarah
been 4'10" when he babysat for her? He didn't remember. During that
time he certainly had no worries of Sarah passing him in height in the
then-near future. She was definitely shorter than him. Could she have
come within four inches of his height without him noticing? Timmy
didn't know and he didn't want to think about it anymore. It made him
feel small and pathetic and weak, and besides, his little stomach was
gurgling. He was hungry.

Awash in fresh shame, he walked out of the door, wearing Sarah's Wonder
Woman shirt, and headed toward the Thollen's breakfast table.

-----

The smell of sizzling bacon greeted him, and Timmy didn't think
anything ever smelled so good. The strict vegetarian diet that Aunt
Rose had imposed upon him meant that he hadn't had any meat in longer
than he cared to remember. The one exception had been the pitifully
small bits of crayfish and lobster that Brooks had bought him on their
"date", but grateful as he was for that, it was only seafood. This was
real bacon!

The indignity of his girly attire totally forgotten, Timmy strode into
the kitchen. Martha was standing over the stove, humming to herself as
she cooked. She was clothed in a huge red bathrobe, and this made Timmy
think of how she had played "Mrs. Claus" for him a few weeks ago. He'd
love to sit on her lap again now, especially if she'd feed him
breakfast that way.

"Take a seat at the counter please, Timmy," Martha instructed him,
throwing hardly a glance in his direction. "Everything is almost ready.
There's coffee and milk and orange juice there, and there's glasses..."

Timmy had to climb, literally, onto one of the high stools by the
counter. His legs dangled two or three feet above the ground. It was a
precarious perch for such a little man.

"This all looks great, Martha," he told her, "and it smells fantastic!"

"Mm," Martha considered, still busying herself around the stove, "I'm
glad you think so. I've found that very few men these days--my ex-
husband, for instance--fully appreciate how some of us women still
SLAVE away to provide you men with good homecooked meals..."

("Jeez," Timmy thought, grabbing a napkin and some silverware from
across the counter, "ragging on the ex-husband again. Any excuse to put
him down. She wasn't even this obsessed with him when I used to come
over here to babysit, and that was fresh after the divorce happened.
It's almost like Martha is developing anger issues or something, though
why it's happening now is anyone's guess. Maybe the pills she takes?
Still, it isn't like I have any love lost for the ex-husband. Any guy
who wouldn't worship the ground Martha walked on and do everything he
could to get her back--that's a guy I can't understand. Of course,
Martha is overbearing, and she didn't have the body she does now back
when she was married, but...")

His thoughts trailed off as he noticed the flaw in his original
argument, but it was at that moment that Martha brought the sizzling
fryingpan over and slid two portions of sunny-side-up eggs onto Timmy's
plate. The little man was dumbfounded, especially once some bacon and
sausages--SAUSAGES too!--were placed beside them.

"Eat up, Timmy," Martha instructed. "If you don't clean your plate I'll
take it as an insult to my cooking. And you wouldn't like me when I'm
insulted!"

Timmy didn't really know where to begin. The knife and fork felt heavy
in his hands as they hovered over his plate.

"Hey," he suddenly asked, "where's Sarah?"

"Right here, spud," came a voice, and on cue the leggy teenager bounded
into the kitchen. She wore only black mesh exercise shorts that
scarcely came a quarter of the way down her thighs, and a black shorts
bra. Her hair was somewhat wet, and droplets of water collected at the
tips of her dark bangs. For the first time ever, Timmy noticed that
Sarah's navel was pierced; a teardrop-shaped pearl ornament hung inside
her bellybutton. Aside from that, the rest of her abdomen rippled with
a faint definition that Timmy had never seen on Sarah before. She was
officially a teenager now, and it was as if she really had grown up--
even more so than before--overnight.

She glided over to her mother, gave Martha a peck on the cheek, and
then the two women began dishing up their own shares of breakfast onto
their plates. Their shares, needless to say, were much larger than
Timmy's.

Timmy sat dumbfounded. This was so for many reasons, but at the moment
one single element captured his attention: Martha and Sarah were the
same height. Just last night he KNEW that the daughter was taller. He
had seen it with his own eyes. Sarah was--and maybe WAS was the key
word--exactly six feet tall, and Martha was measured at 5'11". Earlier
this morning Timmy thought that Martha was taller than she had been,
and this morning she looked just as tall as Sarah. But had Sarah grown
any overnight as well, or was it safe to conclude that they were both
6-feet even? Timmy didn't want to slide down from his stool to try and
find out if Sarah looked taller as well. He was too scared to find out.
Besides, he was pretty sure that he had shrunk some overnight--again--
so there was no way to be certain of anything unless they brought out
the measuring tape again, and Timmy's nerves could not handle that kind
of tension so early in the morning.

"Nice shirt, spud," Sarah said, snapping Timmy out of his reverie and
tousling his hair with her long fingers, "I used to have one JUST like
it."

She pulled up a stool, sat down next to him, and began to eat.

God she looked gigantic to Timmy. Her long bare legs easily reached the
floor. Her plate had roughly twice as much on it as Timmy's did, and
she was devouring it ravenously, while he had basically been too afraid
to even touch any of his, a fact which didn't escape Martha's notice.

"I said EAT, Timmy!" she bellowed. There was a touch of humor to her
directive, but only just a touch.

Then Timmy dug in, eating happily. The meat really did taste good to
him.

"Don't you want anything to drink, Timmy?" Martha asked. "Coffee?
Orange juice?"

"Err," Timmy began, undecided on what he wanted. At the moment he was
content with just the food. Couldn't Martha leave him alone for more
than two seconds?

"I would recommend the orange juice, Timmy," said Sarah, holding up her
own glass of OJ. It looked small in her hands, and Timmy couldn't help
noticing that her trim almond-shaped nails had been painted a smooth
shiny black. "Do you know why?"

Timmy nervously looked up at Sarah while pouring the big pitcher of
orange juice into the cup before him. It was almost too heavy for him
to pour with any confidence.

"Err, no, Sarah. W-why?"

The big teen smiled and then leaned way down to stare into Timmy's
little face.

"Because COFFEE stunts your GROWTH, Timmy!" she said, and then began
giggling.

Martha joined in the laughter, and Timmy looked over to see the older
woman shoving an entire meaty handful of bacon into her mouth as she
cackled.

Timmy felt a bit ill. It was weird being around them. It would have
been weird being at the Thollens' house for breakfast even under normal
circumstances--and how impossible it seemed that "normal" circumstances
would ever return for Timmy--but given the tenor of the conversation,
which seemed progressively anti-Timmy, everything seemed too nerve-
wracking. He didn't know how he was going to get through an entire
sure-to-be-long shopping trip with these two beautiful bullies.

"AW!" Sarah said sarcastically, as Timmy put his head down bashfully
and with growing frustration. "AW!"

Then she propelled herself forward, out of her high stool and towards
Timmy. As he clenched his arms close to his body and retreated inward,
he felt Sarah's big hands inevitably force their way under his armpits.
Still sarcastically cooing over him, Sarah stood up to her full height
and held Timmy in midair before her, at arms' length.

"Did the big mean girls make little Timmy sad?" Sarah asked him
mockingly, talking to him as if he were nothing but a little baby--not
even a big baby, but a little one.

Timmy said nothing. He was very aware that in any other situation he
would be seething in raw anger, but here Sarah was so humiliating him
by holding him aloft with such ease, that he had no choice but to feel
meek and modest before his obvious superior. And here he thought that
Sarah, well, LIKED him.

"I-I-I'm sorry, Sarah," he said, not knowing why exactly he was
apologizing but feeling that he should, since was obviously
deficient in some way.

At that Sarah smiled slyly and drew Timmy in for a long close embrace.
"Awww! Come here!" His head nuzzled against her bare shoulder and he
did his best to put his arms around her to hang on. Meanwhile she
easily wrapped her arms around his body and stroked him comfortingly
from his back, down past his butt and to his thighs, which she squeezed
and grabbed a bit in order to hoist him up and get a better grip.

Sarah then started patting Timmy's back reassuringly, swinging him back
and forth almost as if she were rocking him to sleep. His dangling
little feet randomly bounced against Sarah's legs, far above the ground
as she held him.

Suddenly a flash came, and Timmy turned to see that Martha had indeed
taken their picture.

"So adorable!" she cried.

"That's gonna be my new profile pic!" Sarah chirped, then bent in to
give Timmy a loud kiss on his nose.

"I take it you already did your exercises today, Sarah?" Martha asked.

"Yep!" Sarah said happily, holding out an arm and flexing a very
noticeable bicep right in Timmy's face. "Too bad you slept in, Timmy,
you coulda watched me do yoga in my supercool workout gear!"

Martha munched a final mouthful of meat and then began clearing the
counter. "Okay then, if you're almost ready then we can leave soon.
Timmy is all dressed, Sarah, so you need to--"

"I know, I know!" the teenager moaned, rolling her eyes. "Forgive me
for not wanting to keep you waiting at the breakfast table. I decided
I'd change AFTER we ate."

"No cheek today, young lady!" Martha warned, pointing a spatula at
Sarah. "We both get enough of it from Timmy." She walked over to them,
a smile growing on her face. "And rather than argue amongst ourselves,
we need to be a united female front against Timmy here, don't we?" Here
she began tickling Timmy's tummy, and the little male laughed and
squirmed in Sarah's arms.

"Alright, alright..." Timmy moaned. And once Martha backed off Sarah
gradually released him and let gravity slowly pull him down the long
length of her body.

When Timmy reached the floor and stood on his own two feet, he noticed
that Sarah's bellybutton, along with her pretty pearl piercing, was at
shoulder level to him. Clearly she HAD grown overnight. Or had he just
shrunk?

Sarah said, "Okay, I'll go get dressed now so we can leave," Sarah
said, and Martha turned back to the dishes.

Just as Sarah was about to leave the room, though, she leaned back over
towards Timmy, who was making his way back to his breakfast, and
abruptly yanked him out of the room with her.

They stood alone in the hallway. A confused Timmy looked way up into
Sarah's eyes, and couldn't help noticing that high above him on the
wall was the marking of "Sarah age 12 yrs. & 11.5 mos. - 5'9.6"!"",
which he had noticed two weeks ago. Here and now, the pretty head of
the just-turned-13 version of Sarah Thollen stood well above that mark.

She grinned down at Timmy in an odd fashion, guided his body around so
as to back him up against the wall, and then gazed down at him. Timmy
started to feel very, very small and nervous.

"W-w-w-what d-do you w-w-want, S-Sarah?" he murmured.

"We're going to have a NICE, NICE time today, Timmy," she told him,
ignoring his direct question. "We're going to go to the mall with my
mom and have a NICE, NICE time."

"O-o-okay, Sarah. I-I-I know that, a-a-and I a-agree. W-we'll h-have a
n-n--"

"Timmy, stop babbling and just listen to me," she said in the very
nicest way possible. "We're supposed to be friends, right?"

Timmy's eyes darted from side to side. "U-uhm, y-yeah, we're friends."

"Best friends," Sarah amended. It wasn't a question.

The very idea of a nearly 27-year-old man being "BEST FRIENDS" with a
13-year-old girl, a girl he used to babysit for years ago, now a giant
teen girl whose breasts were now above eye-level to him--it all
seemed insane to Timmy. Still, fearful of the repercussions if he dared
turn her down, as Sarah's long soft fingers with their black nail
polish were creeping around his slight shoulders, Timmy was forced to
conclude:

"Y-yes, Sarah. W-we're best friends."

"Then why did you sneak out of my room last night!?" she snapped, her
voice like that of a spoiled child--like that of the spoiled young girl
which in fact she was. And then she throttled him a bit, knocking his
bony little shoulders back against the wall.

"Why did you leave me, Timmy?!" she hissed again. Her big brown doe-
eyes had never looked so piercing and intense.

"I-I-I'm sorry, Sarah, i-it's just that I c-couldn't sleep a-and you
were hugging me t-too tight a-and y-your m-mom offered me--"

"Omigod, I KNOW what my mom 'offered' you, Timmy," Sarah said, throwing
him back against the wall and releasing him, turning around and rolling
her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," he said again. "I-I c-couldn't r-really h-help it."

"I KNOW you couldn't help it," she said, turning to him again and
squatting down so that she was roughly eye-level with him. "That's the
problem. You SHOULD be able to help it. You SHOULD do what your friends
ask you to."

"I-I'm friends with y-your mom too, y'know," Timmy said, and instantly
regretted it. The words were like an uppercut to Sarah's chin, like a
punch thrown by someone far larger than Timmy. Sarah's feelings were
getting hurt; she was quite aware of Timmy and her mother's
"friendship", but she wanted to be "best friends" with Timmy, friends
in a clean, perfect, honest way that superseded any other sort of
attraction. At this point, Sarah didn't have to explain the details to
Timmy; her wounded reaction told him everything. Feeling guilty, he
leaned into the still-kneeling girl, wrapped his arms around her
shoulders and hugged her tight. "I'm sorry, Sarah, I'll do better next
time."

After some sniffling and eye-wiping, Sarah patted Timmy on his head and
then stood back up to her full, imposing height.

"See that you do," she said, once she had composed herself. "You forget
that even though we're besties, and even though you're older than me,
I'm still in charge of you." Timmy definitely didn't like that idea,
but before he could decide whether or not to dissent, Sarah continued:
"I can be awfully mean if I want. AND I'm awfully strong, as you know
firsthand from yesterday. So DON'T get on my badside, ol' buddy of
mine."

With that she bent her knees a bit in order to playfully punch Timmy
right in his breadbasket--approximately right where Wonder Woman's fist
was on his shirt, in fact. The jovial blow caught Timmy off-guard and
it hurt him far more than he knew it should have. Still, he tried to
laugh it off; he was just glad that Sarah had stopped crying. It broke
his heart to see her cry.

"Remember, little boy," she told him as she walked down the hall to go
get dressed, "I'm the boss of you once we get to the mall and my mom
inevitably goes off on her own. Be on your best behavior, guy. You
might be my best friend but I will still spank you if I need to."

Unnerved, but unsurprised, Timmy turned back to the kitchen. His
stomach was beginning to hurt him, and not just from Sarah's punch. As
he climbed back up to his stool, he began wondering whether or not it
was a good idea to feed his digestive system meat again all of
a sudden. He wasn't used to eating it anymore and wasn't sure how
easily his body could process it.

"What's wrong?" Martha asked him, whirling around from the sink. "You
don't look very well, Timmy. I certainly hope you don't think there's a
problem with my cooking!"

"N-no no!" Timmy hurriedly told her. "It's just that I haven't eaten
meat in so long, because--"

"Due to your weird aunt's dietary rules," Martha finished. "Yes, well,
I certainly respect her decisions and her ability to put you on what
she thinks is the right diet..." ("Even if I'm a 26-year-old man who
wants to eat OTHER things of my own free will?" Timmy asked himself.)
"...but in my house I always like to feed little boys just what they
want to eat. You saw how I handed out candies to Little Dewey and Hans
last night? I like giving out sweets and goodies, or in your case meat
treats. It makes me feel... oh, like Mrs. Claus, I guess you could
say!"

She sauntered over to Timmy in a sexy walk, turned and then thrust her
big, red-robe covered ass in his direction.

Timmy certainly enjoyed Martha's banter and shape, but the illness
rising in his gut superseded everything else at the moment.

"You poor dear," Martha said. "Hang on a minute..."

As she left the room, Timmy raced over to the garbage bin. He opened it
and quickly vomited up everything he had eaten that morning: all of the
eggs, sausage, bacon and orange juice--gone. The upside was that as
soon as his stomach was empty, he instantly felt good again. Hungry,
but good. He drank a bit more orange juice and was sitting in his stool
again when Martha returned, as if nothing had happened.

"Here you go," she said, holding out two blue pills in the palm of her
hand.

"What are they?" Timmy asked, picking them up.

"They'll make you feel better today, Timmy."

"No funny stuff, r-right, Martha?"

She gave him a dirty look.

"You're going to be holding hands with my daughter most of the day,
Timmy. I'm certainly NOT going to want you to have a big, permanent,
out-of-control boner the whole time!"

Too tired to argue or question anymore, Timmy gulped down the pills.
("They must be some sort of digestive or painkiller," he told himself.)

Just as Timmy was about to tell Martha about his accident, and about
how he was still hungry, she abruptly snapped at him:

"DO finish your orange juice, Timmy! Sarah is dressed now and we're
BOTH waiting on YOU! How typical it is for the weakest link and slowest
person to be the one MALE in the house!"

("Jeez," he thought, "I've never seen a woman in a bathrobe so anxious
to get out the door to go shopping on a Sunday morning.")

"Uh," he offered, unable to help himself, "are you just going to wear
your ROBE to the mall, then, Martha?"

She smiled, as if she were expecting this question and had in fact led him to it.

"NO, TIMMY!" she bellowed happily. "I've decided to be a bit daring on
this fine winter's day, and it's only what's UNDER the robe that I'll
be wearing!"

With that Martha stepped back to give Timmy a better view.

She then promptly dropped her robe to reveal nothing more than the
skimpiest of bikinis. Its coloring was a swirl of hot fluorescent pink
and baby blue, and it barely covered any of Martha's humungous curves.
Her insane cleavage thrust out close to a foot from her chest. She
jiggled all over as she placed a dainty hand on a heaving hip and
beamed down proudly at the quivering little male sitting before her.

The sight caused Timmy to almost fall off his stool. He was in shock
and awe at Martha's boldness and daring. Was she really going to wear
nothing but an almost nonexistent swimsuit to the mall--in February, no
less?

"...Now," she said, clearing the air and stroking her cleavage absent-
mindedly with her other hand. "All I'VE yet to do is put on my 6-inch
platform boots and we're out the door! Sarah is waiting in the
convertible for you to sit on her lap--so once again, I know you have a
tiny tummy, but squeeze those last two drops of orange juice inside,
Timmy--for you are a growing boy and need your vitamin C--and LET'S
GO!"

And with that Martha turned around to storm out of the room, leaving a
stunned Timmy to gaze speechlessly at her monstrously large ass cheeks
as they moved and pulsed in a jiggling rage back and forth, the thin strip of bikini bottom
disappearing deep inside them.

-----

It was frightfully cold outside. Dressed in only his threadbare hand-
me-down clothing, Timmy hurriedly pranced down the driveway towards the
red convertible. Martha's mountainous form was in the driver's seat,
and Sarah was waiting in the passenger's seat. Just as she said, Martha
was indeed wearing only her swimsuit. Timmy couldn't believe it.
Thankfully, Sarah had on a long black coat, and as Timmy climbed onto
her lap--she was wearing dark blue jeans and a tight black turtleneck--
Sarah folded the coat over his body, protecting him from the cold.

"Is everybody finally ready, then?" Martha asked. Without waiting for
an answer she started the car out of the driveway and began to race
toward the mall.

Aside from being a cold day, it was also a clear sunny day. Both women had
sunglasses on. Sarah's were big, circular and dark. Martha's were
fairly big too, but they had light blue lenses, allowing for observers
to see her pretty eyes.

Timmy glanced over and noticed that, sure enough, the frigid air and
wind had ensured that the points of Martha's nipples were very visible
through her bikini top. In the confined space, both Martha and her
boobs had never looked bigger.

Timmy shivered. He heard Sarah make an "Aw!" sound and then snuggled
him closer to her. Her lap was relatively soft and warm. His feet
didn't even come close to touching the floor, but looking down he
noticed that Sarah was wearing a very sharp pair of brown leather
booties with 3-inch heels. As if she needed them.

Glancing over he saw that Martha too was wearing heels. She was indeed
wearing the 6-inch platform boots she had alluded to earlier. Made out
of a plasticky/pleather material, they came up to her knees. They were
bright blue, a shade that matched the blue in her swimsuit, and their
heels were very cartoonish, dramatic and chunky.

The thought of walking next to these towering superbabes--Martha
especially--in a public place made Timmy shiver again.

"Aww!" Sarah said again, louder this time. She squeezed Timmy tightly
and then snaked her hands back through the arms of her coat. She was
wearing simple black cloth gloves, and with her hands she rubbed
Timmy's little body rigorously, in an effort to warm him up.

"Th-thanks, Sarah," he said, quite happy for her to assume that his
shivering only had to do with the cold and not with any other sort of
nervousness. And what Sarah was doing really did feel good. Her coat
was still buttoned and wrapped around the both of them, and Timmy was
really starting to feel cozy, despite being in a convertible barreling
down the highway in wintertime.

Eventually Sarah stopped rubbing, squeezed Timmy tightly, and then
rested her gloved hands on Timmy's lap.

It was then that Martha decided to turn the radio on. Trashy pop music,
of course, but from the slight banter they made, it seemed that Martha
knew the songs better than Sarah did.

("A 40-something-year-old woman," Timmy thought, "dressed in an
outrageous manner, going to the mall on a Sunday morning. At times it
seems that the 13-year-old daughter is more respectable and mature. I
wonder what Sarah can possibly think of her mother? Isn't she
embarrassed? I mean...")

Timmy's thoughts trailed off as he glanced over at Martha again. She
was bopping the steering wheel in time with the music, and even that
slight action was causing her massive breasts to jiggle quite a lot.
There was almost nothing on her. Her incredible curviness was revealed
to a scandalous extent. Timmy began to wonder whether the mall would
even let her enter the building like this.

Before he knew it, he was developing a hardon. He shut his eyes and
turned his head away from Martha, trying to get her ungodly feminine
form out of his mind. Sarah's hands were still resting quite near his
crotch, and if he wasn't careful...

He opened his eyes and tried to concentrate on and care about the
passing urban waste. Few people were out and about at this hour, and
none of the rundown buildings caught his eye or imagination. All he
could think about was how gargantuan Martha Thollen was going to look,
dressed in next to nothing, stomping through the mall in heels that
made her closer to 7 feet tall than 6, as insane as that...

He couldn't help it.

"Hmph!" he heard Sarah say, from above and behind his head.

"I-I-I..." Timmy stuttered, trying to apologize and explain, somehow.

The girl pulled her hands away from his lap, paused, and then thought
better of it: she suddenly shot her hands back down to Timmy's crotch
and in one sharp motion grabbed onto everything down there and just
SQUEEZED.

"OOOOWWW!" Timmy screamed. And then Sarah snaked her hands back out
through the sleeves of her coat, as if nothing had happened.

"BAD little boy," she hissed at him in a low accusatory tone.

"What are you two kids doing, huh?" Martha asked rhetorically, not
taking her eyes off the road.

Sarah casually put her hands together over Timmy's lap again, but this
time through the outside of her long coat.

"I thought we might put our earlier unpleasantness behind us," Sarah
whispered in his ear. "But now I see that you want to be naughty today.
In case you were wondering, Timmy, that sort of naughtiness from you
does NOT amuse me. But I'll give you one more chance to prove to me
that you can be a good boy, and we'll have a nice day at the mall."

Then Sarah bent down and kissed him sweetly on the head.

Timmy said nothing, frozen in fear and trepidation, as Martha pulled
into the mall parking lot.

-----

Sitting on Sarah's lap as he was, Timmy had to be the first one out of
the car. He had but a short few seconds of pacing around nervously
before Martha appeared before him for the first time while wearing her
big blue boots with the 6-inch heels.

Nothing could have prepared Timmy for the sight before him. She stood
somewhere between six-and-a-half and seven feet tall. She was nearly
naked and her expansive curves almost completely filled little Timmy's
vision, blocking out the sun. Without a word Martha backed Timmy up against the car and
beamed down happily from behind her designer shades.

"You LIKE?" she asked him rhetorically.

His shoulders were below Martha's waist. Her bellybutton was level with the Adam's apple of
his thin, gulping throat. One of her big knees knocked--perhaps
unintentionally--against Timmy's raging boner and she pinned him tight
between the car and her naked belly. The tiny string bikini seemed
stretched to the breaking point, with Martha's big crotch thrust
forward into Timmy's meager chest.

He just gagged and made sputtering noises.

"Oh Mom..." Sarah mused. The tall teenager shut the car door and walked
over to stand beside her mother, her 3-inch bootie heels making loud
noises against the pavement. She had tossed her longcoat in the car and
only wore her tight jeans and clingy black turtleneck. "Poor Timmy. Let
him go."

Martha continued to grin down at him but then slowly backed away.

Freed, Timmy instinctively turned toward Sarah and gave her a hug
around her waist.

"Yes," the girl told him, patting his back, "hug your savior."

"Get the boots from the trunk, Sarah, and come along."

Smiling happily, the girl opened the trunk and removed the gigantic
heels--every bit as tall as the ones Martha was wearing--and handed
them to Timmy.

"Here, Timmy," she said. "I'm not the one who bought them. You did. So
you can carry them for me. Otherwise your 'gift' is just more work for
me, and that's definitely not how it should work."

Martha nodded approvingly.

The boots were each half as tall as Timmy himself was. He had his arms
full but thought that he could probably manage them all right.

Martha led the way, clearly eager to enter the mall. Sarah followed and
Timmy stumbled behind.

Sarah's black longcoat would occasionally get in the way, and the big
boots he was carrying obscured his vision somewhat, but he still had an
excellent view of Martha's gigantic asscheeks as she strode ahead of
them. They were such a big target that they were hard to miss.

He wasn't sure how it was all going to work out, though, especially if
Martha was there, when he returned the boots. Of course this was all an
elaborate ruse, an excuse just to go to the mall. Sarah had tried the
boots on last night and they fit her fine. He supposed that he and
Sarah would just wait until Martha went off on her own, and then they
would pretend to return the boots, tell her mother that they had, and
then simply walk back out with the same pair they walked in with.

"Don't slip, Timmy!" Sarah cautioned "Keep your mind on what you're
doing!"

There was still a bit of slush and snow in the parking lot. In his
pathetic little hand-me-down ballet shoes, which could have passed for
little doll's shoes, Timmy was not dressed for February. Then again,
neither was Martha.

"I wish you had a free hand I could hold!" Sarah complained, as they
neared the entrance. "I think I'd like to hold my little man-friend's
baby paw," she added quietly, giggling a bit and clearly trying to get
a rise out of Timmy.

"I wasn't thinking," Martha said, tossing her shoulder-length red hair
back as she addressed her daughter. "I agree it's best for Timmy to
carry your boots--but at the same time perhaps I could have carried
HIM!"

Sarah giggled.

"Would YEW have LIKED that, Timmy!?" Martha asked patronizingly,
turning around fully and bending down in Timmy's face for a moment. She
breathed in deep, heaved her chest out a bit, and did something between
a muscle pose and a "vogue" shot. She loomed large as a veritable wall of bulging, curvy feminine flesh.

"Mom," Sarah laughed, "I think if you so much as touch Timmy right now,
even with your pinky against the tip of his nose, I'd be needing to
escort him to the little boys room and help him change his panties!"

Both women laughed. By now Timmy was used to being embarrassed and
emasculated all the time, but this degree of raunchiness from Sarah was
something new and troubling to him.

They finally reached the mall doors, but both Martha and Sarah just
seemed to pause there. Blank expressions were on their faces. Timmy
looked up at both of them puzzled. Then Martha sighed and began tapping
the front of one boot. Then Sarah sighed and began examining her
painted nails. Finally Timmy got the idea.

He snuck his way in front of the women--they weren't making it easy,
since they were standing so close to the doors--and began to try to get
a grip on one of the door handles. This wasn't easy either, since his
arms were already full.

"Watch those boots, Timmy," Sarah instructed. "If they fall and get
slush and salt on them, that will probably mean they can't be returned.
And in that case I'll be very, very pissed at you, and you will
probably be getting a very severe spanking on the spot."

By now, Timmy knew that even though Sarah was currently joking, she
probably WOULD spank him in the event that he dropped a boot. And even
if Sarah wouldn't want to do it, he had the impression that Martha
would make sure it happened. It simply wasn't a wise idea for a woman
to threaten a man without making good on the promise. That kind of
laxity could throw off an entire training and obedience regiment.

"C-Can y-you h-h-hold the boots?" Timmy asked, as he struggled to get
enough fingers free to budge the door handle.

Both women sighed simultaneously, and then chuckled at this coincidence
under their breath. They were obviously not going to help him. It was
too much fun to watch him squirm and struggle.

Finally Timmy, using three fingers and the entire strength of his right
arm, was barely able to open the door just far enough for him to sneak
his little foot in. He couldn't maintain the pressure, though, and the
door swung back shut, silently crushing his leg in the process. He
stifled a scream. Thankfully he wasn't hurt too bad and was able to use
his leg as leverage to open the door again. Then, with his entire body,
Sarah's birthday boots still jumbled and somehow balanced in his arms,
he managed to hold it open wide enough and long enough for Sarah to
nonchalantly walk through.

Martha, however, was skeptical.

"I think you might have to open the adjacent door too, Timmy," she
remarked. "I'm afraid that I'm simply too... voluptuous to fit through
one door."

"I-I... I CAN'T," Timmy said, struggling to keep the one door open.

"Oh very well," Martha said dismissively. "But don't say I didn't warn
you."

She squeezed past Timmy then, and went out of her way to squish his
little body very hard against the doorframe in the process.

Timmy felt Martha's big curves crushing his existence away, and there
was nothing he could do about it. Just as he was about to pass out, and
just as he was also about to come in his panties, Martha let up. She
was inside the mall now.

Dazed and recovering from the experience, Timmy let one of Sarah's
boots slip from his grasp.

He shrieked and pawed the air, but it was too late.

Lucky for Timmy, however, the falling boot ended up inside the mall,
landing sole-down, standing upright, on the clean linoleum floor.

"Aw," Sarah said, rubbing her hands together, "and I was just getting
warmed up to give one naughty little boy a spanking. I guess that'll
have to wait for later." She winked at him.

Timmy picked up the boot and quickly scampered behind the two ladies.
His little legs weren't nearly as long as theirs, so he had to walk a
lot faster to keep up.

And he had reason to keep up. As no one had been out and about in the
parking lot, this was Timmy's first chance to see how people reacted to
Martha's lack of clothes. He didn't want to miss their reactions, and
half of him still expected some mall cops to try and convince Martha to
leave the premises due to some violation of public indecency conduct.

"Sarah," Martha said suddenly, "why don't you try on those boots right
now, just to make sure that they don't fit. No sense in wasting a trip
to the shoe store."

("Oh yeah right," Timmy thought. "Maybe you should've thought about
that before we left to go to the mall. That's what any sane person
would've done.")

"...Because if they actually DO fit you well enough," Martha continued,
"or are only a little too small, perhaps I could wear them."

("Oh there we go," Timmy thought. "So that was your angle. You just
wanted to get your daughter's present for yourself, if possible. What a
greedy, materialistic...")

"Okay, Mom," Sarah said, and motioned Timmy over towards a bench.

("Of course they're going to fit," Timmy thought. "We don't really have
to trade them in. So at least that means one fewer stop before I get
out of this mall.")

Sarah sat at the bench, patted the space next to her to show Timmy
where she wanted him to sit, and began taking her sharp black leather
booties off.

Timmy gazed over at Martha, who was standing about twenty feet away,
and noticed the first passerby: a man in his late thirties, dressed in
a tan sports jacket. He looked to be of slightly less than average
height, and Martha stood head, neck, and shoulders above him. She
showed the world a beaming smile, directed at nothing in particular,
and seemed to maneuver herself so that she got nearly in the man's way
as he passed. Timmy noticed that he looked up at her nervously as he
quickly walked--almost ran--by her. When he was past, Timmy's eyes kept
following him, and he caught the man glancing back three or four times
to look at Martha again. In particular, once Martha herself had turned
away, the man paused and looked for a long time at Martha's gigantic
bare asscheeks.

"Oh! They are WAY TOO SMALL!" Sarah said, making grunting noises as she
tried to put the boots on.

Timmy was puzzled.

Martha strode over quickly and squatted her bulky form down by her
daughter.

"Are you sure?" the mother asked, putting her hands on the boot and
trying to force it onto Sarah's foot.

"OW!" the daughter said. "Okay, enough, Mom! They don't fit!"

They really didn't.

But just last night Sarah had worn them in front of Timmy, had worn
them FOR Timmy, just to see how much taller than him she was when she
had them on. He suspected that Martha had grown overnight--No, he KNEW
that she had--but now he knew that Sarah had grown overnight as well.
And what's more, even her feet had gotten significantly bigger!

Timmy furtively put his head down and sighed. The picture of Wonder
Woman on his shirt looked back at him tauntingly. "Girl POWER!"

Sarah put one of her long index fingers with the glossy black nail
polish under Timmy's chin and tilted his head up.

"Hey," she told him, "buck up, little sprout."

Timmy just sniffled.

Sarah took the boot off and began to put back on her black leather
booties with the 3-inch heels. They had long thin laces, and the
eyelets that the laces went through were shiny silver circles, but all
Sarah really had to do was zip up the side zippers than ran down inner
side of the booties.

"W-wow," Timmy said, glad to finally have something to contribute in
the way of conversation, "th-those are really cool shoes, Sarah."

She smiled. "I'm glad you like them, Timmy."

She reached over and hugged him close with one arm, sliding his little
body along the bench with great ease.

"Maybe when you're older and I outgrow them, I'll hand 'em on down to
you!"

Timmy flushed with embarrassment. There was no way he could EVER fit
into those slick booties of Sarah's. They were probably at least ten
sizes too big for him. With their shiny leather heels, they looked
gigantic, dangerous and scary next to the innocent, childish little
baby slippers that Timmy was wearing.

"Would you like that?" Sarah continued. "I'm sure you'd like havin'
three extra inches of height, huh?"

Timmy blushed and shrank a bit in Sarah's gentle embrace.

"Those three extra inches of height MIGHT be just enough to get you
over the ever-elusive five-foot marker, huh?" Sarah teased.

Timmy blushed again, beet red. He liked it when Sarah paid attention to
him and made him feel this way. He was her special little guy.

Sarah zipped up the second bootie and ruffled Timmy's hair before
standing up and answering her own question by happily concluding: "Nah!
Even three extra inches wouldn't make little Timmy five feet tall! Not
anymore, anyway!"

In the precious seconds he had before they pressed onwards, Timmy's
mind raced to ponder this. Last night, as Sarah herself had measured,
he was 4'10", so three extra inches would have put him over the five-
foot mark. But today he did feel somewhat smaller. Did Sarah realize
that he was smaller? She must have, but--

"You go with Sarah," Martha was commanding him. "I'm going to go to the
spa and maybe get a bit of a makeover. I'll meet you at the restaurant
for lunch in two hours."

("She really thinks she needs a makeover AGAIN?" Timmy asked himself in
disbelief. Still, his seemingly permanent, pulsating hardon had the
effect of tempering his inner, passive-aggressive criticisms of Martha,
which until recently were the only things he had to feel good about
regarding her. Despite everything, he could, if nothing else, dismiss her as a silly woman and get some sort of ego-boost that way. Now, however, he got more out of just taking her all in
and experiencing her fantastic, powerful presence. He was learning to enjoy her superiority over him more than he enjoyed telling himself that on some level he was still smarter or more sensible. "I hope she doesn't
change herself TOO much," Timmy considered. "As it is, she's basically
become an impossibly sexy walking fuck-fantasy.")

"Come here before you go, Timmy," Martha instructed him, as if she were
going to miss ordering him around and nannying over him constantly, and
so she wanted to get one more command in before they parted company.

Timmy walked up and stood well in the shadow of the imposing woman. She
had to be over two feet taller than him. Around 6'10" to his 4'9", he
reckoned.

"Oh I can barely see you under these!" Martha opined, clutching one
massive breast in each hand. "Come give Big Martha a big hug and a kiss
before you go!"

She bent her knees a bit, wrapped her shapely arms around his tiny form, effortlessly lifted him a few inches off the ground, and
smushed him into her endless cleavage. His face lost in her boob-flesh,
Timmy was thoroughly overwhelmed and disoriented. Somewhere in it all
he remembered Martha's lips on his own, but more than anything he
remembered his tongue licking as much of her tits as he could manage.
They were so big that it seemed like it would take an hour for him to
cover all of them, but still, he got more than a mouthful and was very
grateful.

Sarah caught his hand when Martha was done with him, and as the teen
led him away he snuck a quick glance behind him to see Martha's
towering, bikini'd form as she lumbered past grown adults who looked
like children beside her. From their body language, Timmy could tell
that everyone in the vicinity--man, woman, and child--was totally
distracted almost to the point of obsession with Martha's very physical
presence. One man was so focused on staring at Martha that he came
within one step of walking into a pillar. Another man nearly walked
into a garbage can.

"I-I'm sorry, Sarah," Timmy squeaked as she led him onwards.

"Here, take the boots again," she snapped, thrusting the two boots
towards Timmy's chest.

They were easy for her to handle, but Timmy with his free arm could
barely carry them.

"I-I-I'm sorry," Timmy moaned again.

"What are you SORRY about?" Sarah asked, stopping midstride and
whirling around to face her diminutive companion.

"I-I-I-I--"

"'I-I-I-I--'. Spit it out, Timmy! Or I'll spank you right now without
another word!"

"I apologize for how I-I've acted a-a-around your mom, a-and--"

"Why should you be apologizing for that?" Sarah asked, an air of
genuine, growing concern in her voice, and even a slight softening of
tone.

"B-b-because i-it m-must be em-embarrassing for you--"

"Why would it embarrass me?" Sarah asked, confused.

"W-well because of how she acts, a-and... and b-because I'm sort of
supposed to be YOUR friend, b-but when your mom r-really uh th-throws
herself out th-there I-I can't r-really r-resist, a-a-and..."

"Oh Timmy," Sarah said, most concerned. "You really shouldn't blame
yourself for any of that. As I said before, I know you can't help it!
You're just a little... MALE, really. That's all. I understand it when
you act, well, pathetic."

The thirteen-year-old bent down and gave Timmy a kiss on the tip of his
nose. That did make him feel better.

"I-i-it doesn't embarrass you when y-your mom--?"

"My mom might annoy me sometimes, but I'm certainly not embarrassed by
her! On the contrary, I'm PROUD of my mom! I think she's awesome! And
it's so good to see that she's finally started to really move on since
missing my dad for so long. And I'm certainly not embarrassed by the
way she looks or dresses! She looks HOT--I know it and I can admit it!
She has a rockin' body and sure looks good reveling in her power, doesn't she? I'm not some repressed girl from a
hundred years ago who thinks that my mom should 'act her age', whatever
that means. I think it's really good that I have a strong, confident
mother. ALL women need to feel confident. You know that, Timmy, RIGHT?"

He wanted to say "What about the men, though, and how does this
bullying female narcissism effect them?" But all he actually did was
tell Sarah "Yes, of course," like the good little boy he was. The
threat of spanking was still in the air, and Timmy did not want to be
seen to contradict or second-guess his current female guardian in any
way, for fear of the resultant disciplinary action. After all, as he
had been well-informed in advance, Sarah WAS in charge of him now.
Sure, there was a time when he was in charge of her, but that was a
long, long time ago, before she was even twelve. And if we now lived in
an age when 12-year-old girls were quite handily beating up their
fathers as part of a coming-of-age rite, then what chance did little
Timmy have against a 13-year-old like Sarah Thollen? He looked up at
her indomitable, perfectly beautiful face, with its deep brown eyes and
slick black air, and he knew the answer: He had absolutely no chance at
all to exert his will--much less his body--in any way that even slightly
contradicted her own. Things had totally changed, and even if she were
smaller and weaker than him now, she was too pretty for him to want to
strike or even contradict in any way that would make her sad. The funny
thing was, she was the closest thing to a daughter he had, and the
situation they were in was quite like what a daughter-father
relationship had come to mean in this day and age.

"If you're good today, I'll buy you an icecream cone and let you sit on
my knee while you eat it," tall Sarah informed him as they walked along the
mall. "But you have to be a good little boy all day long, okay?"

"Okay, Sarah," Timmy said. As if on cue then, his little stomach
gurgled. He still hadn't had anything to eat today--well, nothing that
he could keep down. He couldn't eat meat anymore, but ice cream would
probably he okay. After all, even babies could eat ice cream.

"Sarah?" Timmy asked then, looking way up at her as she confidently
strode through the mall, her big soft hand with its strong fingers
thoroughly engulfing Timmy's thin little paw.

"Yes, Timmy?"

"H-h-how tall are you?"

"You know 'h-h-how tall' I am, Timmy. We just measured me yesterday,
remember?" She paused then, flipped her sunglasses up onto the top of
her sleek dark hair, and looked down at Timmy thoughtfully. "Don't you
remember when that big girl Victoria held you up so you could see 'h-h-
how tall' I was at my birthday party?"

"Y-yes, Sarah, b-b-but... uh... d-don't you feel t-taller t-today?"

"Of course I do, Timmy," the teen told him, giving him a warm smile. "I
feel a little taller EVERY day. Because I GROW a bit more every day. It
may be a foreign concept to someone puny like you, but that's what
girls do."

Timmy shivered a bit. For some reason, he felt really vulnerable right
now.

"Aw, what is it, little guy?" Sarah asked him.

"It's just that, y-yesterday the boots fit y-you fine," he began, in a
shaky little voice, "but t-today your f-foot g-grew so much, a-a-and--"

"Oh, come here, little Timmy," Sarah interrupted. "You are so darling, little Timmy who doesn't understand the great big world anymore and needs Sarah to guide him."

She squatted her big body down beside him, gently shifted the boots
from Timmy's arms down to the floor, then gathered Timmy's little body
into her arms and stood up again, holding him like a baby.

"You don't have to be so scared all the time," she told him, gently
stroking his head. "I'm right here for you and I'm not going to let
anything happen to you. And you know I'm never mean to you without
there being a good reason for it."

"I-I know," Timmy murmured. "Y-you are so good to me, Sarah."

"That's right," she said with satisfaction, nuzzling her face to his.

She then began putting one of her big hands on Timmy's stomach, snaking
it under his Wonder Woman shirt and ticking him a bit. Timmy giggled
then, and put both his hands on Sarah's one. She acquiesced and
withdrew her hand then, but left it there for Timmy to keep fingering
and playing with.

Timmy was captivated by how much larger it was than his own hands. It
was so long and soft and slender, yet at the same time quite strong.
The smoky black nail polish in particular emphasized how much bigger
Sarah's nails were than Timmy's. He compared one of his hands to hers,
holding them side by side, and his looked like that of a little
underdeveloped baby's beside hers.

"Hey Timmy, what's that?" Sarah suddenly asked, pointing with her pinky
toward his crotch, and then lightly pressing the finger onto the tip of
a noticeable bulge in his pink cotton tights.

Timmy whined.

"STILL thinking about my mom, huh?" Sarah said, chuckling a bit.

"Uh... yeah," Timmy agreed.

"Poor boy. We'll have to do something about that sometime."

With these words she set him back down on his little feet and took his
hand.

"Come on now, little one, let's exchange my boots."

-----

Sarah's ever-increasing physical superiority captivated Timmy, and he was just as interested in her feet as he had been in her
hands. As they sat next to each other on the bench of the lingerie
store's shoe section, Timmy was quite distracted. Her toenails were
painted with the same black polish that Timmy had found so captivating
on Sarah's fingertips. Most of all, of course, what struck him were the
size and length of Sarah's feet. Next to her bare feet, his little
shoes looked tiny. He had noticed this earlier but the comparison
endlessly fascinated him.

She caught him looking, of course, and insisted that he take one of his
shoes and little socks off so they could compare directly. He did this
with a mixed feeling of anxious excitement, eagerly pressing his tiny
foot against Sarah's gargantuan one, then putting his foot somewhat on
top of hers. Her foot felt so big and smooth against his miniscule
little tootsie.

"Let me see something quick," she said, reaching down. She grabbed
Timmy's bare foot in one of her hands and compared that way. Yesterday,
last night, her hand had been slightly longer than his foot. Now her
hand was noticeably longer still. She gave a big grin as she pressed
the palm of her hand against the sole of Timmy's foot.

"Ha! Not even close!" she said happily.

And then she curled her fingers, with their black nails, around the end
of Timmy's toes.

"Aw!" she said with adoration. "BABY feet!"

Timmy blushed.

Sarah giggled at this, let his foot go, and then sat back up, putting
one of her hands on his knee--in truth, her hand covered almost all of
his thigh as well--and gave him a few playful pats. Timmy looked over
and saw how much higher her knee was than his as they sat next to each
other on the bench, and how much bigger her thigh and overall leg was
compared to his own.

Just as he was about to lean over and give Sarah another big hug around
her waist, and maybe venture a kiss as well--he couldn't resist much
longer--the clerk returned with a replacement pair of boots for Sarah.

It was the same freckle-faced man Timmy had encountered there last
time, when he was with his Aunt Rose. The clerk had looked him over,
and there was an unspoken recognition between the two men.

"Oh thank you, dear," Sarah said to him, as she took the big pleather
boots from his grasp and began putting them on.

Timmy hurriedly put his own sock and shoe back on and stood up. He was
instinctively afraid of these boots. The pair he had gotten Sarah were
big and scary enough, but this even larger size was unbelievable. He
noticed that the clerk himself seemed to show trepidation just carrying
them. The hard femininity that such items helped create--and the parts
of women's personalities that they helped to unlock and encourage--were
inherently fearsome to males.

Timmy noticed also that the clerk, just as before, didn't seem much
taller than himself. ("Has he shrunk since last time as well?" Timmy
wondered.) He wondered what the man's own situation was. What sorts of
women were in charge of HIS life?

"Yes, I can already tell that these will fit better than the others,"
Sarah remarked. "TIMMY here got me the wrong size!" she said pointedly,
but not without some palpable teasing. "What a way to ruin a girl's
Sweet Thirteen, huh?!"

She addressed this last question to the little clerk, who instantly
began to get more nervous, really feeling the pressure of having to
interact with this most impressive girl.

"U-uh, y-y-you're only thirteen?" the man asked.

"Yep!" Sarah said brightly, looking up. "Timmy here used to be my
babysitter--but now he's just my little buddy!" With that she reached
over and grabbed Timmy around his waist with only one hand, pulling him
back closer to her. He had been sort of absentmindedly moving away,
still scared of the boots. Now his meager form crashed awkwardly into Sarah's much bigger, stronger body, which would have caused him to collapse had she not continued to hold him up with the same hand that grabbed him. "Pretty neat--right?!"

She was addressing the clerk again, and paused in her boot-lacing to
make sure he gave her a response.

"Um, y-yeah I guess it is n-n-neat. H-how old i-is he then?" the man stuttered,
trying to make conversation in a way that would somehow put him at ease
in this high-pressure interaction. "H-how old are you?" he added under
his breath, to Timmy specifically. It was very telling that he felt
that the proper way to do things was to address questions to the female
present, rather than to the man, even if the female was much, much
younger than the man, and even if the questions were about the man
anyway.

"TELL him how old you are, Timmy!" Sarah instructed. It was like a
parent forcing their child to recite their age proudly, to show off to
inquisitive company.

"I-I'm a-almost twenty-seven," Timmy said.

"Oh, I-I see," the clerk said.

Sarah smiled, finishing up her laces. The tall black boots went up to
her knees and had flaps to cover them.

"Yes," she remarked, "because of our ages, he isn't really
proportionately old enough to babysit me anymore. He's a few years too
young, is the problem." At this Sarah quickly and affectionately messed
up Timmy's hair again with one of her long-fingered hands. She was
joking, of course, and everyone knew it. Yes, THAT was the only
problem: their ages. If he had been a little older, it would be FINE
and conceivable for the tiny little man to still watch over a girl who
was so much larger and stronger and confident than him. Right. Then, as an
afterthought, Sarah added, "Say! How old are YOU, mister?"

She leaned forward, putting her arms across her knees and resting her
chin on them. Even sitting down on the low bench, she was almost the
same height as the men.

"I-I'm th-thirty-three," said the clerk, whose name according to his
nametag was Tommy. He was really starting to shake a bit in dread of what
was coming.

"Wow!" Sarah said brightly and loudly. A few other shoppers, mostly
women, were on the periphery of the shoe section, and they could very
possibly have picked up the spirit of the scene, if not quite grasped
every single word uttered. "Twenty years older than me! Does that mean
YOU might be able to babysit me?!"

As Sarah said this, she rose from her seat and stood in her new boots
for the first time. With their platforms and heels they added somewhere
between seven and eight inches of height to her already 6-foot-plus
stature.

Both men were totally dwarfed and looking into her bellybutton area.
Her elegant black turtleneck was tucked into her dark blue jeans, and a
thick brown leather belt with a big shiny buckle was at the level of
the men's necks.

"WELL?" she asked Tommy the clerk again, stepping toward him. He was
frozen in fear not only by Sarah's immense height but by her dark
beauty. Tommy HAD a girlfriend--a woman he had been with for years--and
these days she was the only female who moved him in any remotely
romantic way. But even so, it was obvious that Sarah was the coolest
girl Tommy had ever had more than passing contact with; it was hard not
to fall under her spell and do everything he could for her, in the
hopes that maybe when she turned 18 she would remember him fondly. Even
on a primal level, Tommy felt a strong yearning to please Sarah, for no
other reason than the fact that she exuded a strong female presence,
before which it was his place to grovel and supplicate himself.

"I-I-I would love to babysit you," he finally managed to say.

Sarah snickered. Giving a half smile and looking down on the two shaky
little men before her, she produced a hair band from her pocket and
tied her tresses back in a ponytail.

"Aw, that's so cute," she said. "You're BOTH so cute."

She reached out to both men, putting one hand behind each of their
heads, and pulled them close to her. They both hugged her
instinctively, and Timmy in particular had to make a quick readjustment
once his hand naturally fell on Sarah's tight jean-covered butt. This
could get awkward in a hurry if he wasn't careful. Timmy did not have
improper feelings for Sarah--he was NOT sexually attracted to her--but
she was a VERY pretty girl.

"Okay then," she said eventually, softly letting the men know that it
was time for them to stop hugging her. Here were two adult men whose
combined ages were 60 years, and yet a just-turned-13-year-old girl was
the dominant party here, and it wasn't even close. "I'm happy with my
'purchase', so I think it's time to go. But first..."

She took a few steps and did a few poses, stretching her legs and
lifting one knee and then the other up to her chest in quite a
provocative manner. Then she lifted her right leg up and swung the boot
sideways so that it pressed solidly against Timmy's chest, knocking the
wind out of him a bit. Her knee, with the leather flap partially over
it, rested under Timmy's chin, and her leg was so long that some of the
heel was mashed against Timmy's crotch.

"...Whatta ya think, spud, should I wear these around today?"

Timmy gulped, which wasn't easy with Sarah's big knee under his chin.

"U-u-uhm..."

"Don't you think I look hot in them?" Sarah asked in a matter of fact
way.

"I-I-I think you should wear them if you want to, sure," Timmy said.

"Yay," Sarah said softly, pulling her leg away from him. "Thank you for
giving me your permission, Timmy."

She bent way down and gave him a kiss on the top of his head.

Then the three of them began heading over to the counter, Sarah guiding
the men by placing her hands on their shoulders. Timmy carried the
booties that Sarah had been wearing earlier. Even they felt big enough
in his arms. Their heels seemed long enough to him, but they weren't
even half as tall as the heels of the boots Sarah was wearing now.

"I wonder, though..." Sarah said as they reached the counter, and then
she paused, squinting her eyes and rubbing her chin with a long, black-
nailed thumb and forefinger.

"Um... w-what, w-what are you w-wondering?" the nervous little clerk
had to ask eventually, as if Sarah were waiting for him to respond.

"It's just..." she began slowly. "You see... Tommy, is it?"

She had craned her neck a bit and spied the man's nametag.

"Uh, y-yeah," he said. "M-my name's Tom-Tommy."

"Oh how cute," Sarah mused. "Timmy and Tommy, my two little guys who
help me out with my big high-heeled boots." Both men couldn't help but
blush. "I wonder if I should get ANOTHER pair, a couple sizes BIGGER.
You see, Tommy..." She bent way down to look the man square in the
face. "I am still a growing girl, and I have a good ways to go before
I'll be done."

"O-o-okay," Tommy said.

"Why don't you be a good little boy, go back in the back, and bring me
out another pair two sizes bigger. Do you think you can do that for me,
Tommy? My name is Sarah, by the way."

"O-o-okay, Sarah," he said, and then darted off as fast as his legs
would carry him, anxious to please the 13-year-old superbabe.

When he was gone Sarah smiled at Timmy.

"You're not jealous, are you, Timmy?" she asked.

"Uh, no..." he said.

"You don't mind me teasing and babying another man, do you, Timmy?"

"N-no, not at all, Sarah."

"Good," she replied brightly. "Because I think it's quite fun. And
besides, in my position, given my stature, qualities, and smarts, it's
kinda hard for me to interact with any man without sort of 'defacto'
reducing him to an infant anyway. But, don't worry..." She snaked her
arm behind him and pulled Timmy's little body close to her towering
toned form, her sizable thigh bouncing into his meager chest. "...You
still are my special little guy who will always get teased by me more,
and more often, than anyone."

"I know, Sarah," Timmy said softly, as he wrapped his arms around her
athletic thigh and pressed his face into the soft fabric of her shirt,
right above her leather belt.

The clerk returned, holding a pair of boots that for all the world
looked over half as tall as he was.

"Those should be fine!" Sarah chirped. "And I'm sure it will take me SO
LONG to grow into them!" This last part sounded quite sarcastic. "Do
you have a big box you could put them in, Tommy?"

"Um, yes, Sarah," the man said, struggling with the boots and then
setting them down. "Right behind the counter here. Give me a few
moments."

Suddenly Timmy wondered how they were going to pay for all this. The
boots Sarah was wearing were free in exchange--the store didn't even
need to see the receipt for the previous boots that Timmy had brought
Sarah as a present, but these new boots...

"Um, Sarah?" Timmy squeaked. He began to explain his concern, but Sarah
waved him off and told him to "Shh!"

"Oh Tommy," Sarah said, just as the little man had finally managed to
get the big boots in a big box and the big box in a big bag.

"Err, yes, S-Sarah?" he asked.

"I was thinking, since you're my new babysitter and all... if it
possibly wouldn't be too late for you to get me a Sweet Thirteen
present. I mean, I have really only been thirteen now for... oh...
twelve hours or so. So I think gifts are still allowed. That is, IF you
wanna be my special little babysitter."

Tommy was speechless. He didn't know actually what this "special babysitter"
business would actually entail--he thought it was just a joke earlier.
But now he sensed that it might entail him having to give this girl a
free pair of $500 boots.

"I, uh..."

"You DO have a sort of employee discount here at the store, Tommy,
don't you?"

"Uh, well, uh uh, not really, no..." he began. "We a-a-actually have
that, b-but it's only for, uh, for f-female employees. N-not for
males."

"Oh, yet another one of those sad things that is 'Not for males',"
Sarah mused. "I suppose you will just have to buy the boots outright,
then, won't you?"

Tommy froze and Timmy felt his pain.

"B-but th-these are $500, a-and that's more than I make i-in a whole
week! And--"

"Tommy," Sarah said calmly. "You want to get the chance to be my special little
babysitter sometime soon, don't you?"

The man stuttered and sputtered nervously, not making any coherent
words.

"Then get me the boots. Otherwise I think you should call your
supervisor over here, so we can all discuss how you have led me on and
then disappointed me."

"Oh! N-n-no!" Tommy squeaked. "I-I-I'll--"

Sarah leaned over, put a long index finger to Tommy's lips to stop him from stuttering. Then she gently wrapped her hand around his throat, leaned way down to look him in the face, and told him, "You are to buy me those boots, Tommy, if you know what's good for you."

"I-I-I-I'll buy you the boots, Sarah!" the little sputtered. "O-o-okay?
A-a-and then sometime I-I-I can b-babysit for y-you?"

"Of course you can, little man," Sarah purred, wishdrawing her hand from his throat and then stroking his cheek. "I really do need a
mature and responsible adult, like yourself, to watch over me. And do
you want to know why?"

"W-w-why?" Tommy asked.

"Well, for two reasons. First, because little TIMMY here"--Sarah kneed
him playfully and strongly in the chest; her knee would have gotten him
right in the privates were she not wearing those boots--"has regressed
to the point where it's now more likely and more necessary for ME to
spank HIM, than for HIM to spank ME. And secondly, because I can be a
BAD GIRL, Tommy, so I need a man to watch over me. Maybe not to stop me
from being bad--because, how could he?--but at least to witness just
how bad I might get. Understand?"

Sarah's voice was happy but devilish.

"O-o-oh," Tommy said, uneasily.

"But YOU, Tommy, I think YOU could probably still have it in you to
spank me if I got out of hand, right? Or at least to try. That wouldn't
deter me from being bad in the future, and getting spanked might
actually be a sort of reward that I would expect from being bad, you
understand."

She leaned against him, towering over him. He was only at most two
inches taller than Timmy and was shaking like a leaf.

"And you're so much OLDER, so you spanking me would be proper. Yes, it
won't be a while yet--two or three whole months--before I'd be in the
position to spank you. I suppose a girl isn't superior to a 33-year-old
man until she's, oh, let's say 13 and a third years old, at the latest.
So, you have at least a few months during which you could conceivably
pretend to be in charge of me, right?"

Tommy winced. Sarah laughed warmly. It was obvious that neither Tommy
nor Timmy--individually or combined--could ever be conceivably in
charge of Sarah NOW. Probably she had first become superior to the both
of them combined soon after her TWELFTH birthday.

After the purchases were made, Sarah's old booties were placed in the
box as well, and Timmy carried the huge bag with the even-larger boots
in them, while Sarah still seemed very taken with the new 7-inchers
that she was wearing.

"Th-th-thank you for shopping w-with us, a-a-and have a nice day!"
Tommy told them.

"Oh Tommy," Sarah drawled, then turned around and walked behind the
counter. Her strides were so impossibly long now that it only seemed to
take her about two steps; it would have taken Timmy or Tommy closer to
ten.

She bent herself almost in half in order to look Tommy in the eye again.

"Thank YOU--SOOOOOOO much!"

She put one of her hands behind his head, and with the other one she
snaked her fingers around the knot of his tie and pulled him close to
her. She closed her eyes and gave him a long kiss--it was close-
mouthed, but it was on his lips.

She then stood back up and put her long hands on his little shaking
shoulders.

"I'll come back some day soon and tell you when I need you to babysit
me, 'kay?"

As Tommy sputtered out an "Okay", Sarah flipped her sunglasses back
down over her eyes and then strode back, snatching Timmy's hand, and
power-walking out of the store, clearly feeling even higher confidence
than usual since she was wearing her new boots.

"Come on, Timmy!" she said with clear annoyance, for no reason. "Move
your tiny little midget twig-legs. We've gotta meet my mom for lunch
now!"

-----

Due to the increased height augmentation provided by her new boots,
Sarah was now so tall that Timmy had to position his own hand near the
level of his head just to be able to hold hands with her as they walked
through the mall. She certainly wasn't going to walk with a stoop just
for his benefit.

They were going to eat at a fairly upscale restaurant that was inside
the mall. Timmy had never eaten there before, but had known about it
before, and for some reason he felt that someone had recently mentioned
it to him, but he forget who or in what context.

As they approached the entrance, the clicking of Sarah's big pointy
high heels stopped as she stepped onto the red carpet. Timmy had gotten
used to the rhythmic clip-clop sound and instantly missed hearing it. Somehow he missed the sound of her authoritative stride.

"Now you be a good boy at the restaurant," Sarah instructed him, "and
on our way out of the mall, an icecream cone and a knee-sitting session
are still in the offing for you. I might even cuddle you a bit too."

Timmy smiled.

As they entered the restaurant a loud, familiar voice filled their
ears. It was Martha, and she was not happy.

A small maitre-d' in his early 50s was trying to explain something to
her, but Martha--who now had a freshly styled dirty blonde haircut--was
having none of it. Still absurdly dressed in her almost microscopic
bikini, she looked absolutely gigantic to Timmy. It was true that Sarah
now was a couple inches taller, thanks to her new boots with their
even-higher heels, but her comparatively svelte dancer's body--however
strong it was--was nothing to Martha's. Martha's hips flared outward as
she stood in an aggressive stance, fuming and looming over the small
man before her. Timmy instantly had flashbacks of what it was like when
Brooks took him to a restaurant a few weeks ago. He hoped this trip
wouldn't turn into as angry an affair as that one did, however
momentarily, when Brooks couldn't get a seat right away either.

"What do you mean?!" Martha yelled, not noticing that Timmy and Sarah
had entered behind her. "I demand to see your boss--No, no, I demand to
see the owner of this dump!"

"Please, madame," the maitre-d' said exasperatedly, as sweat streamed
down his forehead. "The owner--he isn't here right now, and--"

"'HE'?!" Martha bellowed. "Oh, 'HE', of course!" She dejectedly slapped
her palm against her big hip. "Of course this sexist establishment
would be run by a goddamn MALE! If there were any justice in this
world, some progressive-minded women would have bought you out already-
-And don't think, after this dreadful experience, I won't do just that!
I have friends, you know, and by the end of the month you and your
idiotic boss could find yourselves scrubbing the toilets here and
waiting on US, bringing me and the other ladies nice drinks and letting
us use your bent backs as little tables and foot-rests!"

The man shivered.

"Uh, Mom? We're here," Sarah said, stepping up and bringing Timmy along
with her. She made sure to hold Timmy tight in front of her, so that he
wouldn't get scared.

"Oh, Sarah and Timmy, how wonderful," said Martha, turning to greet
them. "I've been trying to get us a table, but that's proving a bit
difficult thanks to this little PIGGY here!"

With that she turned back to the maitre-d', put one hand on his
shoulder and held her other hand as a closed fist thrust only an inch
or so in front of the little man's face. Martha's hands had always been
relatively small, Timmy thought, and even after she started her growth
spurt it always seemed like her hands remained comparatively dainty.
There was no doubt that these hands were still hers, but they seemed
larger now, plumper and meatier, radiating with strength and power.
They had pink nails now, manicured with white French tips, and her
closed fist looked almost as big as the man's head.

"He says that I'm not allowed to eat here," Martha said, "due to the
way I DRESS. I guess this establishment is scared of seeing RAW FEMALE
POWER or something! But I'm sorry, little man--you and your boss don't
have the right to hide from THE WAY THINGS ARE now, and I'm going to
damn well eat here if I want to!"

"Uh-uh-uh actually," the man offered, "this restaurant is private
property and we reserve the right to refuse service for any reason that
doesn't have to do with race or--"

"SHUT. UP."

Martha ground her teeth and kneaded the man's shoulder, contemplating
what she was going to do next.

Just as the man started to squeak "Ow, y-y-you're hurting me", Sarah
stepped in.

"Uh, Mom?" the tall teen asked. "Why don't you go stand over there and
let me talk to him."

Martha acquiesced, but not without a sighing huff. She turned back
towards the door and stomped off in her big cartoonish boots. Timmy was
captivated by how her insane curves jiggled and bounced as she walked.
He couldn't imagine how much pressure her string bikini was under. As
her colossal breasts furiously plunged down and then hurdled up with her
every step, it was amazing that the swimsuit hadn't already snapped off
of her bulging body.

Sarah put on her sweetest face and turned to the little man before her.
He stood just over five feet tall--just under two feet shorter than she
was--and was over three times her age.

"Hi there," she said sweetly. "My name's SARAH. Can you say 'SA-RAH'?"

"Uh-uh-uh, Sarah--" the man began, very nervous and confused. "H-hello,
Sarah. Your mother has--"

"I know," she said, nodding with understanding. "I know how she can
be."

"W-we have a dresscode here, and your mother is dressed
inappropriately, to say the least. Also, there are other patrons, and
the way she has been acting, so loud and disruptive and--"

"Yes, yes," Sarah said, putting a finger to the man's lips to signal
for him to be quiet now. "But you see, SIR"--she said 'sir' in a very
sarcastic way--"my mother, as you can tell, likes to eat. She likes to
eat MEAT. More than that, she NEEDS to eat meat in order to feed her
rapidly expanding body. She has not eaten any meat in a few hours now.
That is why you need to show her to a table and get one of your little
waiters to give us a menu as soon as you possibly can, for your own
sake."

"I realize this--I-I," the maitre-d' sputtered. "B-but she is simply
inappropriate, a-and--"

"Let me tell you what will happen if you don't seat us within the next
minute," Sarah continued, getting down on her knees to be more on the
man's level. "If you think my mom has been frustrated and disruptive so
far, you've no idea what will happen next. If I tell her you won't show
us a table, there is nothing--and no one--to stop her from simply
charging through this anteroom, into the main dining room, and simply
barreling through and rampaging toward the table of whichever patrons
have the biggest and most visible chunks of meat on their plates. Do
you understand that? It has already been torture for her, and she has
shown remarkable restraint, to endure the smells of your wonderful
cooked meat so far, without you letting her have any. I am telling you
now, I am warning you, that she will not be able to last or hold
herself back much longer. She is a charging bull, or a rhino, and there
is nothing to stop her from getting what she wants. This can either
happen peacefully or violently--it is your choice."

"I-I-I'm afraid that I c-can't--" the man began.

"There is also another consideration," Sarah said, standing up to her
full height and putting her hands on the man's shoulders. "Let me make
this perfectly clear to you, little one. I am thirteen years old. I
have already broken my first man--my father--about six months ago. I
have broken other men since then; it is nothing to me; I live for it; I
live to prove myself mentally, physically, and socially superior to
smaller, older, weaker men--just--like--you. And I DARE you to give me
a reason. So let me simply put it to you this way: Show us to our table
NOW or I will quite happily fucking break your little biddy goddamn
feeble male body beyond all recognition, you worthless fragile
pipsqueak."

The man's mouth dropped open and he shivered. Timmy saw that the
contrast between their bodies was immense. Sarah looked so much bigger,
stronger and dominant. And somehow, he was very proud of her.

"Uh, r-r-right this way, then!" the maitre-d' chirped, loud enough for
the words to be directed toward Martha as well.

The latter spun around and caught Timmy's shoulder as they all walked
into the main dining room.

"You see, Timmy," she said to him in a hushed voice. "I raised my
daughter right."

Timmy furtively nodded and said, "Uh-huh".

"She did a good job, didn't she?" Martha continued, beaming with pride.
"I tell you, Timmy, sometimes *I* personally just don't have the
patience to deal with such stupid men. Well, they're ALL stupid, but...
at least some of them--like YOU, I suppose--are smart enough NOT to try
and challenge us women. Right, Timmy?"

"Uh, r-right, Martha."

She pinched his buttcheeks sharply through his pink cotton tights and
intoned a satisfied "Mm-hmph!" sound.

They sat at a circular table in the center of the floor. There were
four chairs, and Sarah and Timmy took chairs next to each other, while
Martha sat next to Timmy and across from her daughter.

"Did you two have a nice time?" she asked them. "I like your new boots,
Sarah. It looks like even the appearance--to say nothing of the KICK--
of footwear such as that will really get the attention, respect and
servitude of any men who come in their way. And those heels will
put you ahead of me, at least for a while."

Sarah smiled proudly. "Your hair looks awesome, Mom."

"Thanks," Martha said, thrusting her head from side to side so that the
still-wet blond tresses, now cut a bit above shoulder-length, danced
back and forth. "And I had a nice facial and an herbal mud bath. It's
really too bad you couldn't've come to the spa with me, Timmy. I could
have sat you on my big body in the muddy bathtub while I soaked in it
naked. Would you have liked that? Of course, probably before too long
you'd be depositing OTHER sorts of natural liquids onto me while I
bathed." Timmy blushed. "Oo, and I got these."

Martha remembered her newly manicured white and pink nails and showed
them off to the table. Both Sarah and Timmy approved.

The waiter came, and Timmy did a double take.

"Jerome!" he said. It was his old friend, the one who last time was
sweet on Brooks and his hot Aunt Rose.

"Hey! Timmy!" Jerome said, before turning to Martha and Sarah. "How you
folks, doing?"

"We are very well now that the infuriating man out there finally seated
us," Martha said quite spitefully, though a sly smile was creeping onto
her lips. "You two know each other, eh?"

Timmy and Jerome looked at each other more nervously than seemed
warranted, then nodded.

"Oh how cute," Martha remarked.

"Aw, Timmy has a wittle friend!" Sarah chirped, joining in the fun.

For the second time that day Timmy noted how easy it was now for a 13-
year-old girl to make fun of, tease, and subjugate multiple men each
more than twice her age.

"Do I know you, Jerome?" Martha asked him.

"Ehrm, I don't think so..." the young man said. "W-what's your name,
then?"

"I'm MARTHA THOLLEN--Timmy should have stepped up and introduced us,
but I'll do the honors--and THIS is my little daughter Sarah."

"Oh, uh, h-hey. My name's Jerome, a-as I guess you already heard Tim
say."

First Martha and then Sarah stretched their long arms out to shake
Jerome's hand. Needless to say, his little brown paw disappeared deep
within their long smooth alabaster fingers.

For the first time Timmy noticed how much shorter Jerome looked. This
was hard to assess, of course, because Timmy himself was sitting. Back
in the old days, six months ago, Timmy was only a couple of inches
shorter than Jerome, and Jerome could just about pass for "normal" in
stature. Sure, he was shorter than average, but he was about 5'5" or
5'6"--just within range for an adult male not to stick out as being
freakishly tiny. Now, however, Jerome only seemed an inch or two taller
than Martha and Sarah, and the ladies were sitting down in fairly low
seats. It wasn't just Jerome's height that seemed diminished, either;
even in his dressy waiters clothes, Timmy could tell that he had lost
quite a bit of weight. He used to be fairly athletic; now he looked slight and slim.

("Damn," Timmy thought, "I wonder what his mom--or maybe his little
sister--have been doing to him at home? Maybe putting him on the same
diet Aunt Rose put me on...")

"You know..." Martha said, drawing out this introduction far longer
than Timmy thought she needed to, "I think... I think I do remember
you. About three years ago, didn't I bump into Timmy and you at the
mall? Not this mall, but the other one. It was Christmas time, I think,
and--"

"Oh! Oh shit!" Jerome said, unable to help himself. "You're the lady
that Timmy used to babysit for? I mean--" he checked himself,
embarrassed, "he didn't babysit YOU, he babysat..." He turned to the
very leggy brunette beside Timmy, the tall girl with the perfect,
smiling face. "Oh, damn--YOU?"

"That's right," Sarah said with a smile, and Timmy was really tired of
hearing this by now; it never got any less embarrassing. To make
matters worse, Sarah leaned over and pinched Timmy's cheeks and smushed
his lips together with her black-nailed finger tips as she recounted
the rest of the story once again: "Little Timmy used to babysit ME, but
now *I* take care of him and bring him on my little shopping trips and
look out for him just like a big-sister style protectress should! Isn't
that right, Timmy?"

Timmy nodded, ashamed of himself and sore as hell that Jerome was
seeing just how much he had been subjugated.

Jerome chuckled, but underneath it was a growing nervousness that the
surface-level joviality could not quite mask.

"Damn..." was all he could say.

As the menus were handed out, Timmy's mind suddenly shot back to that
day, three winters ago, when he and Jerome had met Martha Thollen in
the mall. He remembered that little Sarah--she really was little then,
not quite 10 years old--was with her mother. Jerome readily sensed that
Martha could be quite obnoxious, overtalkative and overfriendly, and
that Sarah was a precocious child who was quite a handful. Timmy
remembered Jerome razzing him about this afterwards, and every time for
the next year or so, whenever he told Jerome that he couldn't hang out
on such-and-such a night because he had to babysit Sarah, Jerome always
cracked up. Of course, they were young guys in their early 20s then, so
naturally they brought up Martha in inappropriate, rude ways.
Specifically, Jerome would routinely suggest that the only reason Timmy
was still going through with this mundane babysitting gig was because
Martha must be giving him sexual favors. He would suggest this
jokingly, Timmy would deny it emphatically, and then Jerome would often
say something like: "Damn, I don't know how you can go through with it!
I mean, that lady is what they call a 'YENTA'. And it ain't even that,
she's just so short and pudgy--it'd be like havin' sex with a child or
a midget or one a' them Umpaloompa things!" This was one of many
instances, Timmy had noticed, in which Jerome would pointedly draw
attention to someone shorter than himself, probably in order to make
himself feel taller. At the time, Jerome was about 5'5", while Timmy
and Martha were both around 5'2" or 5'3". Jerome would rarely tease
Timmy about his height--he had too much respect for him and valued him
as a friend--but he sure went to town suggesting that Martha was "too
short". Whenever this happened, Timmy wanted to say, "Dammit, I'm the
same height as her! And you're only a couple inches taller! And in
heels, Martha would probably be taller than you!" But he never said any
of this, and would always change the subject as discussions of height--
even back then--made him uncomfortable.

All of this came flooding back into Timmy's mind now, and he thought
how ironic it was that now it was Jerome who appeared kid-sized, if not
toddler-sized, in comparison to Martha.

"What are you going to have, Timmy?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, um..."

He had no idea. He had been reminiscing on the past too much. His
stomach was still gurgling though, and he was really, really hungry now
that Sarah mentioned it.

"It's such a shame..." Martha mused, "that this restaurant is so
retrogressive. Look at this"--she pointed a pink nail to something on
the menu--"they still call it just a 'children's' section. The
progressive restaurants are switching that to 'Children and Men', and
for them--for the men, at least--there is more of a variety of
vegetarian and protein-free dishes."

Martha and Sarah both snickered at this and Timmy didn't know if Martha
was simply joking or if this was a real thing. The idea certainly
frightened him--he didn't want society to go in that direction!--but
once again he was too nervous of what the answer might to be to probe
Martha on it and ask if she were serious.

In the end, Sarah ordered two whole prime rib steaks, done rare, with
two orders of homefries. She said this was just "to start with" and
that she might order another course later.

As Timmy began to order--he thought steak sounded yummy as well--Martha
interrupted him.

"Our little man here has a problem digesting red meat. I'm sure he's
forgotten this, so that's why I'm stepping in to make his decision for
him. I think it would be okay for him to have a little sea food. He
could probably process that just well enough, and as his current
guardian, I am going to accept responsibility for that. I think it
would be fine, and most appropriate, for little Timmy to have the
shrimp scampi, with some coleslaw. And a child-size apple juice for him
to drink."

"Uh... o-kay," Jerome said, writing this down.

Timmy reddened but said nothing, shrinking in his seat.

"And as for the lady of the table," Martha continued, simply closing
her menu and looking up--actually more "over" than "up"--into Jerome's
eyes, "I simply want an uncut rack of pig's ribs, cooked well-done, and
slathered with enough barbeque sauce to drown a man in."

A befuddled expression came across Jerome's face.

"Just the one rack to start with, you understand," she added. "I'll
probably end up eating at least four of them. Tell the little slave-
chefs back there that they can start cooking the second rack as soon as
you bring out the first, and so on."

Jerome began to protest, saying that he wasn't sure they served such a
thing, but Martha pounded her big fist on the table, almost cracking
the oaken wood, and informed him that "DO NOT put me in a bad mood again
for I have JUST started feeling a bit happier, Jerome. Or I warn you that
you WILL regret it. Now, they MUST have some uncut swine
meat back there. I just want to eat big chunks of it, with the bones
relatively unbroken, so I can break them myself if need be. Get your
little legs back there and find me something like that, or there will
be hell to pay." And then in her very sweetest voice she added, "Okay,
Jerome?" while batting her eyes, putting her elbow lazily on the table,
and resting her chin on her clutched fist.

Jerome scampered off.

Timmy was stunned--granted, he now lived in an almost permanent state
of astonishment, whenever he was around women--but he was still
somewhat taken aback.

"Um, Martha?" he asked, feeling that this meal would go less awkwardly
if he actually contributed to the conversation rather than simply let
the women--Martha in particular--rampage all over him and throw the
conversation to whatever topics embarrassed him most.

"Yes, Timmy-dear?"

"Uh, I-I thought you were Jewish, and, uh, yet you ordered pork, and
uh..."

"Oh you silly backwards boy," she said, an air of love and sympathy in
her sweet, throaty voice. "Sarah and I--we're not that sort of Jew. We
are more 'modern', you see, and though I certainly respect my genetics-
-because they gave me a good start in life--I'll eat whatever I damn
well want. Got it?"

"Uh, y-y-yeah." ("Jeez, sorry I asked!" he thought.)

Then Jerome brought their drinks over. The ladies had just ordered
cherry soda, while Martha had ordered Timmy the little apple juice.

"Is there, uh, anything else?" Jerome asked, seemingly eager to run away
from them again, and Timmy didn't blame him.

"Why yes there IS," Martha said, sounding a bit indignant that a waiter
might actually want to check on his other customers instead of be
constantly faced with her. "I would like it very much if you could sort
of hang out with US while we eat. Go and get some of the other little
servants to attend to the other tables you were dealing with."

"Uh..."

"I'll make it worth your while," Martha declared, brushing one of her
hands over a ballooning breast.

"I'll, uh, I'll see what I can do," Jerome said. "Gimme two minutes and
I'll be back."

Just after he walked off Timmy started to slide out of his seat. He
wanted to hurry up and catch Jerome's attention; it felt like they
needed to talk alone before whatever was going to happen at this meal
actually happened. Martha, however, caught Timmy's thin wrist and clutched
it very tightly in her big hand.

"And where do you think you’re going, Timmykins?"

"Um. I have to go to the bathroom," Timmy said.

"Sarah can take you."

"No no no no--PLEASE," Timmy said, remembering that he should really
try to be polite to women, unless he wanted matters to get worse in a
hurry, "please, Martha, I'll be okay."

Martha looked over at her daughter. "Do you think he'll be okay to go
off on his own, if it's just to the bathroom?"

Sarah smiled. "Mm, I think he can probably manage. Just barely. There
aren't many other people here, and no predatory women that I can see."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised at that," Martha rolled her eyes. "What kind
of self-respecting woman would want to eat in a sexist place like this?
My every instinct is to start a one-woman revolution here and take over
the place; I'd rather do that than eat here, even, but at the moment...
I can't be bothered. Anyway, Timmy, tell Sarah THANK-YOU for letting
you GO POTTY alone."

"Uh, THANK YOU, Sarah, f-f-for letting me uh g-go potty by myself."

Sarah grinned. "You're welcome, Timmykins."

"HURRY BACK," Martha said. "Straight to the bathroom and back--nowhere
else."

Timmy nodded. Martha let go of his wrist--it really felt like she
crushed the life out of it, but strangely it didn't hurt THAT much--and
he scampered off.

"Jerome!" he said, glad to catch him just as he turned the corner away
from the main dining area.

"Dude," Jerome said in a hushed voice. "This is crazy."

"Yeah, tell me about it. I tried to tell you before about how all my
life has been turned upside-down, and--"

"Oh my god, dude," Jerome interrupted. "That's that other one you
mentioned in your email, then--"

"Yeah."

"Marthe Tholen."

"Martha Thollen, yeah."

"Yeah, I never would have guessed it was the same person. It's like..." Jerome searched for the right words but came up empty.
"It's like I-don't-know-what. I mean... man... in general things are
pretty weird, but--this stuff with that lady and her daughter, man...
I mean, what the fuck."

"So you remember meeting her before--?"

"YEAH, I remember that NOW, and it's NUTS to think about!"

"Okay, Jerome," Timmy said calmly, trying to slow things down. He
suddenly noticed that Jerome was only about an inch or so taller than
he was, thus he was extremely vulnerable as well, and Jerome had dress shoes on while he had totally flat ballet slippers. "Jerome, I don't
know what Martha has planned or whatever, but you need to be careful
because she could really--."

"I'm gonna fuckin' lose my job over this," Jerome moaned.

"What? Are you not allowed to sit with us?"

"No--I am, the manager just wants everything to go smooth and let that
Martha woman get whatever she wants just to get her out of here without
any problems. It's like he's terrified that she could destroy the
place. But it's so nuts, man, that I don't know how I can ever get
through this."

For once Timmy laughed at Jerome for a change. "YOU don't know how to
get through it? I think this is the first time I've ever heard about
YOU being nervous about dealing with a female."

"Yeah, well, man, life has changed and THAT woman has definitely
changed. You remember how I used to say that fuckin' her would be like
havin' sex with a midget or a child or whatever?"

"OH THAT'S INTERESTING!" came a loud voice from above. "THAT'S NICE AND
INTERESTING TO HEAR MYSELF TALKED ABOUT THAT WAY!"

Both men nearly leapt into each other's arms, they were so scared.
Martha strode up to them, towering about two feet taller than both. Her
massive, nearly naked body filled so much of the reedy little men's
vision that they guessed she must weigh three or four times as much as
the two of them combined.

"Uh, damn, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Jerome gasped. "I just--"

"THERE'S NO NEED TO BE 'SORRY', JEROME. I JUST THINK IT'S QUITE
AMUSING! *TIMMY*, ON THE OTHER HAND, SHOULD BE BOWING DOWN AND
APOLOGIZING PROFUSELY! HE DIDN'T DO WHAT I INSTRUCTED HIM TO DO AND
WHAT HE PROMISED TO DO!"

Timmy knew that it'd do no good to say that he was on his way to the
bathroom when he happened to run into Jerome. He knew this excuse
wouldn't fly; Martha was too canny and would be able to see through it;
excuses would only make matters worse. Besides, he really had lied,
deceived, and disobeyed her. He deserved to feel horrible about this,
and he did.

He threw himself on the floor and began kissing Martha's big baby-blue
boots.

"I'm sorry, Martha! I'm sorry! It'll never happen again!"

"You're goddamn right it'll never happen again! From now on, when
you're with us you don't ever get the right to be out of our sight
EVER, not for one second, you naughty little liar you!"

Timmy continued groveling, and was indeed on the verge of tears, his
profuse apologies turning into babbling.

"Ahem," Martha said, turning to Jerome. "Are our meals almost ready,
Jerome?"

"Uh, yeah," he said dimly. "I th-think so."

"Well," she said authoritatively. "You have five minutes. Bring them
out to us and then you are to stay with us while we eat. You can do
your best to amuse me, like a good little boy should, especially after
the gross insult I just overheard you say."

Jerome nodded and then ran off.

"Get up, little worm," Martha said to Timmy.

Feeling ashamed for so many compounding reasons, he stood up and
noticed that his head was not much above Martha's bellybutton.

Then she reached down and simply scooped him up in her arms.

"Hold onto my neck, Timmy. I don't feel like carrying you. So either
hold on for dear life or else you can fall to the floor and I can
trample over you."

He did as he was told. She took away her hands and left him swinging on
his own. Martha's neck had never seemed bigger or thicker or further
away to him. It was all he could manage to interlock his little fingers
and hang on, his head bouncing in and out of Martha's gargantuan
cleavage as she walked back to the table.

Less then five minutes later, just as Sarah and Martha were finishing
their cherry sodas, Jerome wheeled out a cart on which were placed four
plates. Timmy was served his shrimp scampi, with a pitifully small
portion of coleslaw on the side. Sarah was served two dinner plates
with two portions of very rare prime rib, with heaps of homefries on
the side. And last but not least--what overwhelmed everything else--
came Martha's meal: a huge metal plate on which was set a big curved
rack of ribs slathered in barbeque sauce. Timmy had never seen pigs
ribs that large; they looked like they must have come from a
prehistoric wild boar.

"I trust that the chefs back there have already started cooking the
next course?" Martha asked.

"Uh, yeah they have," Jerome hastened to say. "No worries."

"That's very good, for their sake. Now go over there and bring me that bench," she pointed at a four-foot long backless leather bench that was near the entrance of the room--evidently a place for people to sit if they needed to wait for a table. "This little chair is too small for my big lady tuckus."

Jerome did as he was told, and they swapped out the (relatively) tiny
little chair Martha had been sitting in, replacing it with the leather
bench.

"All right now! Before we dig in, I think it's time to offer our little
guest the best seat in the house!" Martha slapped her right thigh
emphatically, indicating that she wanted Jerome to sit on her lap as
she ate. She then added, "Well, actually, THIS is the best seat in the
house"--she stood up, turned around, and thrust out her gigantic ass
right in Jerome's face; it had to be over four feet in diameter, and
the tiny little bikini thong was just visible in her ass-crack--"but
Jerome will have to wait till later to sample that."

Timmy and his friend looked at each other nervously, and then Jerome
quietly climbed up on Martha's lap.

"You know, Jerome, I hope little Timmy isn't too jealous of you--he
needn't be--because he used to be my favorite little lapsitter..."

Martha began to relate the entire story of Timmy's visit to her a few
weeks ago. No details were left out--not the Santa suit, not the brutal
fucking--and Martha didn't seem ashamed or reluctant to talk about any
of this in front of her daughter. Sarah just ate quietly, occasionally
chuckling along with her mother, and sometimes jabbing her finger into
Timmy's shoulder whenever Martha recounted a part of the story in which
Timmy seemed particularly cute and pathetic.

It didn't take long before Martha's hands, face, and forearms were all
covered with barbeque sauce. She ate with her hands, of course,
sometimes picking up the entire rack of ribs, sometimes breaking the
bones about noisily. She relished ripping the meat off the bones with
her teeth, and she usually ate with her mouth open. She talked while
she was eating as well, dominating the conversation as usual, and Timmy
noticed that she ate particularly ravenously whenever she recounted a
part in the story that concerned how much fun she thought it was to
bang and fuck and crush his tiny little weak body with her humungous
heavenly form.

Jerome observed all of this with speechless dread. Martha bopped him up
and down on her knee sometimes and would ask him rhetorical questions--
"What do you think of THAT, Jerome?" or "How would YOU like that to
happen to YOU, Jerome?"--after mentioning things that she had done to
Timmy's body.

While Timmy had only managed to eat two or three shrimp so far, Sarah
had eaten an entire plate of steak, and Martha had eaten and licked the
huge plate of ribs clean. At this point, Jerome was bounced off of
Martha's knee--Timmy knew what that felt like--and was told to go get
her second serving.

The second serving was just as big as the first, if not bigger. Jerome
could barely carry the plate in his arms; the rack of meat seemed
almost as big as he was. Martha eagerly scooped it up and said she was
glad to see hot steam coming off of the ribs and sauce. Again Jerome
climbed up on her lap--and he looked understandably weary by now--and
again Martha related another story.

This time she told the table all about her interactions with Timmy
yesterday--everything from how funny it was when he tripped in the
driveway, falling into Martha's cleavage and then getting his precious
cowboy heels stripped off him by an angry Brooks Fraser, to Timmy
lapsitting on Martha while they ate birthday cake, to Martha watching
Timmy's face when she was measured at just over 5'10" ("Yes, it was
just yesterday but 5'10" seems so long ago now!"), to waiting for Timmy
to enter her room at night, to waking up sometime after midnight and
dominating, bullying, and fucking him silly until--and AFTER--he passed
out from exhaustion.

At various times Timmy blushed, Jerome cowered or had a confused look
on his face, and Sarah laughed. The teen evidently wasn't put off by
hearing about how her best friend had been so willingly used and abused
by her own mother. Probably it didn't make her like Timmy any more--
probably less--but the matter at hand was framed in terms of her
mother's raw feminist power and sexual dominance, and these were things
that any girl could get behind.

By the time she was done, Martha in her rampancy had gotten even more
barbeque sauce all over her face, hands and forearms. It was almost as
if she were drenched in sweet dark blood. She lifted the big empty
platter to her lips and actually drank the barbeque sauce that was left
over. Then she ordered Jerome to bring her third course. He took the
empty plate, along with Sarah's empty plates--for she had finished her
second steak by now--and hurried off.

Timmy had managed to find room for another few fork-fulls of coleslaw,
and had eaten another shrimp and a half by now. He felt full but also
thought it was important to keep trying to eat, and clean his plate, so
that Sarah and Martha wouldn't have yet another reason to make fun of
him and call him "too little".

Martha's third course was even bigger than the second, and she showed
no signs of slowing down. She also had Jerome bring her some
margaritas, but she wanted them served in pitchers--not in mere
glasses. The sour alcohol only seemed to whet Martha's appetite even
more, and the rest of the table sat in stunned awe as she broke the
bones and gobbled up the huge chunks of barbequed meat.

As she sent Jerome off for her fourth course ("And there better be more
back there where that came from!"), Timmy tried to do some calculations
in his head. How much had Martha actually eaten? Each round of ribs was
huge, possibly around ten pounds of meat on the bones, and Martha was
on her fourth one. Meanwhile Timmy still had over half his food left,
and his shrimp were getting nearly as cold as the coleslaw. He doubted
that there was even one pound of food in his whole meal, total.

As Jerome returned, Sarah told him she herself would actually have
another prime rib steak after all.

"I'm a growing girl," Sarah noted.

"And I'm a growing WOMAN," added Martha happily, talking and laughing
with her mouth full.

Exhausted in stunned disbelief at how much the Thollens were eating,
Jerome spun around to head back to the kitchen, but not before Martha
pointedly told him to hurry his little feet back because she had more
stories to tell.

These stories, Timmy learned--once Jerome was eventually plopped back
up on Martha's lap, and she needed to pluck him with her greasy hand to
help him up--had to do with her ex-husband, Sarah's father. Martha
recounted how, even years ago when she was much smaller, she was every
bit her husband's superior, mentally and physically.

"He had the size advantage, slightly, back then, but he never had the
confidence or the fire that I always had. Disagreements were often
settled by wrestling matches, and I always came out on top, literally."

Martha told these tales with happy relish, and Timmy was concerned to
see Sarah taking it all in stride and laughing right along, laughing
derisively at her own father. Martha told them how shocked her ex-hubby
was when she beat him in armwrestling, and how she conditioned him to
accept her sharp criticisms even in public. "He was too scared to do
anything about it, so I'd let him have it, and tell him exactly what I
thought of him and his stupid ideas sometimes. Isn't that right,
Sarah?" Sarah said that it was, and then Martha launched into an
account of how proud she'd been to see Sarah "break" her father about
six months ago.

"It was NO contest," Martha declared, smiling widely. "I was so
overjoyed to see Sarah's strong limbs hold back my rotten little ex-
husband's. There's nothing better than watching a formerly dominant man
be shown his place by someone he always rudely expected to be 'below'
him. Though even I didn't expect just HOW much stronger Sarah was than
her father, even back then. And, you know, given my own rapid progress,
someday soon I think I'd like to have another go at him myself, just to
see how tough I can make it on him! I think it'd be great fun, to
mangle him like he's never been mangled before and really show him all
the woman he's been missing!"

Through it all, Timmy was ashamed to note that his boner never went
away but only hardened. Social custom dictated that he had to watch
Martha almost the whole time--after all, she was doing all the talking-
-and that meant staring at her magnificent body. If the swimsuit was
too tight on her before she started eating, it was perceptibly even
tighter now. The front strap around her back and side seemed to dig
into her bulging flesh by about two inches, and her breasts were
exploding out around the bikini; the little blue and pink flaps simply
could not hold them back.

At one point, as her fourth course was ending, Timmy noticed that
Jerome seemed to have a massive boner as well, visible through his
dress pants. This was more than understandable, for he had been
bouncing up and down on Martha's knee as she laughed and jiggled her
way through lunch, with his little head right next to and occasionally
touching her massive right boob. ("God," Timmy thought, "that one
breast is about five times the size of his head.") And when Jerome
scampered off to go and get Martha a fifth helping of ribs, Timmy could
tell that he was walking funny, and not JUST because Martha had swatted
his ass with her big greasy palm as he went away.

"I don't know about you," Martha said to Sarah and Timmy, "but I'm
starting to get in the mood for some ice cream after this."

"I've already promised Timmy some ice cream LATER," Sarah noted, "IF
he's good."

"Oh I see!" said Martha, throwing back another pitcher of margarita.
"Well, you and I can still have some here. Timmy will just have to
wait."

When Jerome brought out Martha's fifth full ribcage of barbequed pork,
he was immediately sent back to the kitchen to order a sixth and to ask
how much they had left in total. The answer was that they had five
more.

"I'll take all of them," Martha replied without hesitation.

"A-a-all of them? N-n-now?"

"Yes, Jerome, and please bring me more margarita. I am working myself
up to a frenzy here and am going to need more--more of everything,
really."

Timmy had never seen anyone eat the way Martha was eating now, and he
had THOUGHT that she was about to slow down. She was literally eating
ribcage after ribcage of some sort of wild boar, each one less cooked
than the previous one, because she was eating faster and so they had
less time to cook, and she was eating them as fast as Jerome could
bring them out to her. She didn't care how rare the meat was--and by
the seventh and eighth course, it was getting quite rare indeed--as
long as it was drenched in barbeque sauce.

By now, Sarah had finished her third prime rib steak, and handed the
empty plate daintily to little Jerome. Timmy noted that her hand
touched his in the exchange, and Sarah's alabaster fingers looked so
long and strong and perfect compared to Jerome's tiny little stick
fingers.

As Martha finished her TENTH rack of ribs, she burped loudly. Almost
her entire face was covered with dark red barbeque sauce, as were her
hands and most of her arms. She almost looked like a super-MILF version
of Hannibal Lecter.

Timmy estimated that she had just consumed approximately 100 pounds of
meat. It was inconceivable. No doubt it had something to do with the
health pills she was on, but Timmy hadn't seen her take any today.
Whatever the drugs were doing for her was certainly helping, but more
than anything else it had to be said that this was Martha's natural
personality bursting through; she was becoming the peak human that she
could possibly become.

"Are you going to eat those?" she asked Timmy, pointing a sauce-
drenched index finger towards his plate. This whole time he had only
managed to eat three and half of the nine shrimp he had been given.

He shook his head.

Martha leaned and reached over to take his plate, causing her big right
boob to squash Jerome's head from behind as she mashed him into the
table. Then she scarfed down the rest of the shrimp and brushed the
remains of the wet coleslaw into her gaping mouth as well, getting a
bit of the white cream on her lips and chin in the process. She looked
like an absolute pig--maybe the sexist pig ever, but a pig nonetheless-
-and in less than five seconds she had eaten more than Timmy had been
able to eat all day, and that on top of the 100+ pounds she had already
eaten in the last hour.

While Jerome looked like he was ready to explode, both from fear and
sexual excitement, Martha capped things off by lifting the last giant
saucer on which the ribs had been served. She tilted it so as to pour
all of the generous barbeque sauce off. Only about half of it made it
into her open mouth; the rest of it spattered and plopped and drizzled
down all over her gigantic neck and chest and boobs. In the end she
gave another very loud burp--a burp that sounded more like a roar--and
raised her fists in triumph. She was the champion of consuming protein.
She looked like a total mess, but because of her lack of clothing she
also looked like she was the biggest hottest female mudwrestler ever,
covered in a sexy and disgusting form of warpaint.

"Now, Jerome," she purred, "Go and get my daughter and me some icecream
sundaes, or else we'll have to eat YOU for dessert. Well, at least *I*
would. I'm not sure a 13-year-old can be quite a 'man-eater' yet."

Jerome jumped off Martha's lap--it seemed higher off the ground to him
now--and ran to the kitchen as fast as he could. It occurred to Timmy
that, were he in Jerome's position, he would have seriously thought
about fleeing the scene completely, whenever Martha let him go to the
kitchen like this.

"Don't worry," Sarah said suddenly, turning to face him, "I'll get you
a little icecream cone of your very own on the way out."

Timmy really didn't like this game of pretending that he cared so much
about Sarah getting him an ice cream cone. Still, when she told him
this she put her long hands on his shoulders reassuringly. And Timmy
did appreciate that; it did put his mind at ease just to have his big protectress putting her hands on him in a soft and reassuring way.

Jerome returned with two very large sundaes--hot fudge and whip cream
and cherries all over both.

"Oh, VERY nice!" Martha said, rubbing her sticky, sauce-covered hands
together. "But first thing's first, Jerome, as we proceed toward the
end of our lunch. I've saved a special place for you and kept it warm."

Martha leered over at Jerome, looking incredibly predatory, and then
lifted up one of her immensely shapely, creamy white thighs.

"I want you tucked under there now, little boy," she told him.

Jerome approached furtively. From the corner of his eye, Timmy saw
Sarah stifle a giggle as she ate her sundae, and then pull the spoon
out of her mouth with a smacking sound.

Evidently he was taking too long to assume the position--or maybe he
would have eventually thought better of it and ran for his life--but
Martha impatiently lurched forward, grabbed him with one of her meaty
hands, and shoved him under her thigh.

"GET! UNDER there!" she cried, and then she lowered her big thunder
thigh down, trapping the little man underneath. Martha had placed him
down on his belly; only his head and shoulders were visible.

Jerome uttered a pitiful little moan of a sort that Timmy could never
imagine coming out of his friend's mouth before.

"THAT's for insulting me earlier," Martha told him. "Well, MUCH
earlier. YEARS ago. When you thought it was okay for you to pick on a
poor little woman. NO. You were wrong. But it IS okay for me to pick on
poor little men!" She laughed and Sarah, still eating her ice cream,
did the same.

"Do yew wan' sum?" Martha asked Jerome, looking down and holding the
spoon toward him.

Jerome looked up and just moaned.

"Then watch this!" Martha said, and then started rubbing the spoon
against the boob that was right over Jerome's head. A mixture of
vanilla icecream, whipcream and hot fudge was mashed into Martha's
breast, all over her already-tortured bikini top, right over the place
where her nipple was pooking out. Eventually, a few drops of the mess,
now mixed with the preexisting barbeque sauce, dripped down onto
Jerome's head.

"AW!" Martha cooed. "First you better eat this anyway."

With that she held a hand out toward Sarah. Her daughter look a vial of
pills out of her purse and handed one to her mother. Martha then bent
down some, really pushing her thigh down hard on Jerome's back in the
process, and then stuffed the pill into his mouth and--really shoving
her long thick finger in--pushing it down his throat as well.

"That'll kill some of the pain, Jerome. And you'll need it."

Jerome gulped and Timmy did too. Timmy looked over at Sarah, who looked
super cool and calm as she finished up her sundae, rimming her spoon
around the inside of the glass to get any remaining ice cream and fudge.

"NOW TIMMY!" Martha bellowed.

"W-w-what?" Timmy asked.

"NOW YOU GO UNDER MY OTHER THIGH!"

His face turned white.

"B-b-but w-w-w-why?"

"BECAUSE YOU DISOBEYED ME EARLIER, not going to the bathroom as you
said. Well, if that's the way you want it, now I'll just have to do
everything I can to make you pee your pants!"

Timmy knew that arguing or protesting would just lead to increased
punishment in the end. There was no way he could win. He really did see
how he had been wrong from the start and he shouldn't've lied or
disobeyed Martha earlier.

He got down off the chair--it was quite a drop--and approached Martha
for the first time after she had gained so much weight through eating her big lunch. She really did
look considerably bigger now. He shivered. Even sitting down, her boobs
were above his head, and her thighs totally gigantic to him. He
remembered how just that morning he made love to one of those legs as
if it was the size of a person compared to him. Now not even one of
Martha's legs was in his little league. Compared to her now, he was dwarfed to the point of absurd humiliation in every possible way.

She raised her left thigh and he climbed under. The leather seat below
was wet with her sweat and musky warmth, but that was nothing compared to how he felt when her thigh slowly came down on top of him,
pressing against his back. He felt totally trapped but also totally
immersed in her feminism. It was strange and painful and humiliating--
but there were worse jobs in the world than being Martha Thollen's
cushion. There were worse positions in the world than being under the biggest and best asscheek he had ever seen.

He could hear her laugh and jiggle above him. He knew that he would be
bowing to her every whim for the rest of his life. Her growth and girth had now turned him on so much now that all conscious resistance was shattered.

"Oh yes, my poor little boys," she said to them, "my how things have
changed. You used to be able to giggle about me behind my back, but I
know that after this meeting you won't be speaking of Martha Thollen in
any tone that she doesn't deserve. And the tone she deserves is, well,
however you would talk about the hottest, biggest bitch on the planet,
that any man couldn't help but wanna fuck till my big body busted off
his cock!"

She laughed again, and Sarah did too.

Timmy couldn't help wondering what the restaurant manager thought of
all this. At what point would they try to stop her? She was really
pressing things, calling their bluff.

Finally, after bouncing up and down on their backs more than a few
times--Timmy heard several cracks and thought sure that she was really
going to injure them--Martha let up and scooped each of them into her
sticky sauce-covered arms.

"I need two little pussy babies to lick off all this mess from my
massively fucking hot body," she told them matter of factly.

Just as both Timmy and Jerome were about to volunteer wildly--for they
couldn't help reacting that way--Martha corrected herself.

"Actually, no, I need two NAKED little pussy babies to lick off all
this mess from my massive fucking SUPERhot bod."

With that she flopped both Jerome and Timmy across her lap and began
ripping their clothes off. With Timmy she was more careful--after all,
these clothes were Sarah's, and the Wonder Woman shirt in particular
had meaning--but with Jerome she completely ruined his dapper waiter's
attire, literally tearing it from his meager frame with her long strong
fingers and girly nails. Now that he was naked, Timmy could see that
Jerome was far thinner than he ever imagined him looking. Once upon a
time, Jerome was quite strong looking and sporty. Now he looked thin
and malnourished.

"Now LICK, little boys. LICK."

They didn't need to be told twice. Both men were fully erect and
couldn't help twitching their groins a bit as they slurped away. They
ran their tongues all over Martha's massive arms--so bulging and solid,
with only slight definition, yet somehow part of the perfect female
form that she possessed. Martha grinned down at her eager little
worshippers as they lapped at her big hands. She could stick individual
fingers all the way down their throats, and they didn't mind--so happy
were they to be pleasing her. Next they licked her sauce-covered neck
and face, tickling her to the point of hysterics in the process. It was
as if two little puppies were kissing their master. Lastly, they lapped
at her breasts, the most sizable task of all. And not until they
cleaned the rest of them did Martha pull her tiny bikini flaps to the
side so that Jerome and Timmy could suck on her erect nipples.

"Tiny little babies..." she remarked.

As they did this, as these 20-something men literally sat in her lap,
one on each knee, and sucked the boobs of her massive 40-something-
year-old Super MILF body, Martha snaked her boa constrictor-like arms
around them, and grasped their pulsating members in her strong hands.

They were both ready to come almost immediately after they felt her
woman's touch.

Jerome moaned loudly, surely attracting the attention of the entire
restaurant--though everyone already within eyeshot had already been watching the doings for many minutes now--but as he did so Martha picked him up by holding his little
body in the crook of her right arm, folding his body in on itself, and then
she slyly twisted his penis just so that it was pointed right in his
face. Unable to stop himself, with the rest of Martha's fingers dancing
and rubbing his scrotum, then just roughly squeezing his ballsack,
Jerome ejaculated blast after blast of semen into his own face.

Martha roared with laughter, lifted his little body again and then
mashed his face into her big naked boob.

"Absolutely adorable and pathetic," she told him.

Her right hand was covering
the back of his head; she had accomplished this entire maneuver with
only one arm.

Next she turned to Timmy, who was still on the moment of ejaculation
himself. Seeing what she had done to Jerome had not dissuaded him. It
was scary, but at this point in his training, witnessing such
domineering acts of women turned him on. He moaned as he looked up into
her wide, toothy grin. He loved her face with her bright eyes and
wanted to come into her thick full lips.

"Now now, Timmy," Martha cautioned. "You haven't been a good enough boy
to deserve a second wanking today."

He moaned and bucked his little thighs expectantly.

"No... No..." Martha said.

He reached out to her body, grabbed her left boob and began humping at
it uncontrollably. Over his shoulder he heard Sarah laugh.

Martha batted him away but put no real strength into it. It was clear
that she was teasing Timmy. Still in her massive lap, he would crawl
back over to her breast and then she would shoo him away again, lifting
his entire body with a casual brush of her arm, sometimes tickling him
a bit in the process.

Finally Timmy could take it no longer and he simply laid down, wrapped
his arms and legs around her bare thigh and started dryhumping that,
wailing in sexual frustration. Her thigh was so big and soft and
shapely and creamy. He pressed his face into it as he humped it and
slobbered kisses onto it.

Just before the point of orgasm he felt Martha's big hand rip him off
of her thigh--her one hand was stronger than his entire body and big
enough to reach around more than half of his waistline--and flip him
over onto his back. He was already in the process of coming, but her
hand shot down to his genitals, grabbed his cock like a joystick, and
then she mashed her thumb down onto the tip of his member as hard as
she possibly could.

Timmy screamed in agony, but his penis was blocked and no semen
escaped.

"I control you and decide when you can feel good," she told him.

Martha kept up the pressure, pinching his penis incredibly hard from
the tip down to the base, sliding her fingers slowly backwards so as to
return the semen back from where it came.

Timmy moaned a bit, but his fire was quelled. Dazed, he looked over to
see a group of about a dozen people watching them. Most of them were
men, but a few females were there too. Of course, the women bore
expressions of awe while the men were outraged and horrified--but
still, it was clear that the men were too afraid to actually DO
anything.

Martha calmly handed Timmy's little exhausted naked body over the table
to Sarah. The teen queen received his tiny form and hugged him tight.
She planted a kiss on the top of his hair and told him "Everything is
going to be alright. You did well". She had his clothes for him, stood
him up on her lap and started to dress him.

"How did you like it?" Martha asked the crowd, most of whom looked away
and shuffled off rather than meet her commanding gaze. Two of the women
clapped and bit and said "You were great!"

The maitre-d' was there, and his mouth was hanging open.

"I'm still a bit STICKY," Martha said to the man, indicating her right
breast, which had some of Jerome's come smeared all over it. "You have
a fountain out front. Mind if I swim in it? I'd like to go skinny-
dipping with your little employee here."

The maitre-d' was frozen.

"I'll take that as a Yes," Martha told him. "Come along, Jerome, you're
coming with me. Literally. I like to help little boys feel nice, but
sometimes I like to shove their little knobs up my ass and squeeze
their little bodies to death between my thighs to have a good time FOR
ME too."

She yanked Jerome's quivering naked form off of her lap and guided him
onto his feet. Timmy looked over to see his friend nearly collapse; he
was still so exhausted and overwhelmed. Sarah set Timmy down in his
chair and rushed over to hold Jerome up. Sarah looked so tall and
strong next to Jerome, who was slightly crouched in his weakness. She
was nearly seven feet tall in her new boots. Her knees came up to
Jerome's torso. Jerome had always tried to pass himself off--with some
success--as a Lothario, but here he was needing to be steadied on his
feet by an athletic 13-year-old girl who looked like she could probably
take on and win a fight against twenty Jeromes, a much younger girl who
was waaaay out of his league in every way.

Then Timmy shook in trepidation as Martha herself stood up. It was the
first time she had arisen since eating more weight than Timmy and
Jerome had in their enrire bodies, combined.

She stood up and up and up, giving off a combination of a yawn and a
roar as she did so, her naked breasts jutting proudly out from her
body. And then she raised her curvy arms over her head and stretched
her entire body. Timmy heard several cracks, as if a giant were
cracking their knuckles, and then Martha squatted down, reached behind
herself to bend one knee and then the other under her, to crack those
joints as well.

When she stood back up, he noticed that she was taller than Sarah.

"These BOOTS are KILLING me, Sarah!" she complained, pointing down to
her cartoonish blue boots, whose heels seemed modest compared to
Sarah's. The boots, which had fit Martha so perfectly earlier today,
were now cutting into her skin and appeared about five sizes too small.
"I'll have to go and get new ones! That's what I'll do after my bath!
So, you and Timmy can go play for an hour or so, then meet me in the
information center so we can leave!"

Sarah nodded, then looked back at Timmy expectantly.

Timmy was not at all willing to stand up around the new and improved
Martha right now. She had literally grown before his eyes. Last night
Martha had said that she expected to top off at seven feet once all her
growing was done. She was OVER that height now, in her heels at last.
At this rate, she would hit that marker barefoot very soon indeed, and
Timmy was not ready to witness it. All of these changes were coming too
quickly; the women were exceeding every expectation; it was all
too much for his little male mind to process.

"TIMMY!" she yelled at him suddenly, and then made the very demand he
was fearing. "FRONT AND CENTER, little man! I want to bid you farewell
properly, little lover, before we part company."

His body carefully climbed down from the chair without him even feeling
that he was in control of it. It was as if he was physically compelled
to do what Martha said, as if her command of him was now so great that
it penetrated to an unconscious level that he could not ever hope to
resist. Not that he would WANT to resist her, at this point; by now he
knew that disobeying her would be a very foolish and dangerous idea.

On quivering, shaky legs he approached her. From high above her
familiar self-satisfied smile beamed down on him, soaking up glee from
his nervousness, gaining power from his fear.

"STAND UP STRAIGHT, TIMMY!" she bellowed.

He was looking directly into her crotch, right into the painfully small
and tight pink and blue swirl bikini bottoms.

He felt Martha put a dainty--but humongous--hand on the top of his head
and then brought it toward herself. The top of his head was only about
belt-level on her now. She laughed.

"Now pull down your pants, Timmy, and let me see it one more time. I
just want to check something."

Again he did as he was told. Sure enough, he still had a painfully
throbbing, expectant hardon. His little tube of meat strained for all
it was worth, jutting forward towards Martha.

"Aw, how CUTE you are, Timmy," she said.

He whined like a puppy.

"AW!" Martha said again. "So I take it you LIKE the New Martha? Yes, I
was sure you would. But then again... what male wouldn't like me now?"
She stretched her body again, brought herself up on the toes of her big
boots, and then rubbed her hands over her impossibly voluptuous curves.
"After all, I AM becoming every little boy's big wet-dream-come-true!"

She made a noise then that was something like the way a lioness might
purr. Timmy whined again, as Martha lowered one of her big hands. If
only she would touch him now, if only even the tip of a manicured nail
might touch the head of his penis, he was sure to explode on contact.

But Martha refused to give him this satisfaction. "Pull your pants up
and go with Sarah, baby boy."

Then she turned to her other worshipper.

"Come on now, you little shit," she said, grabbing Jerome by the head--
putting her palm right over it like it was a baseball--and dragging him
along behind her on the way to the fountain. "I like this restaurant. I
didn't at first, but I do now, now that I've totally fucking conquered
it. It's a lot more liberal than I thought it would be, thanks to me. Let's see if anyone DARES try to charge me for our meal--HAA!
This seems a place where girls can do anything we wanna do, once we dare to do it. Well, EVERYWHERE
is a place where girls can do anything we wanna do. Lucky for you,
Jerome, all I wanna do now is just fuck the living shit outta dinky
little men."

As Timmy was escorted by Sarah out of the restaurant, he heard a
gigantic splash as Martha's body evidently plunged into the pool of the
fountain. He knew he'd eventually need to commiserate with his friend
about all of this, if Jerome survived the experience.

-----

They walked onwards through the mall then, doing nothing in particular.
Timmy clutched Sarah's hand tighter than ever. He was happy to be with
her now. He wasn't exactly sure WHY, but it was probably because he was
simply glad that he wasn't in Jerome's position right now. He'd much
rather walk through the mall with a cool girl like Sarah than be raped
in a public fountain by a rampaging Martha who seemed to want to take
out all her lingering, pent up frustrations about her past marriage on
whatever male body was nearest to her. He didn't want anything to do
with that.

Actually, he wasn't sure if that was completely true. His omnipresent
boner still needed relief, and Martha was just about as sexy as he
could imagine any female ever becoming--but "making love" or rather
"being taken" in a public setting seemed way too scary to him,
especially given Martha's insatiability, immense size, brutality and
strength. He really did fear for Jerome's wellbeing, despite the
painkiller pill that Martha had given him.

It was much safer to simply indulge in more innocent, juvenile affairs
with Sarah, walking through the mall like a couple of good friends. And
Timmy was proud to be escorted--and thus protected--by a young female
so perfect and hip. He had only ever had a handful of girlfriends in
his life, few of them lasted for any notable length of time. So,
really, walking through the mall with a female acquaintance of any sort
was a real thrill for him. Almost like he was making up for lost time;
this was something he SHOULD have been doing with an innocent little
playfriend when he was a boy about Sarah's age.

"Now stay in my sight at all times, Timmy," Sarah told him, apropos of
nothing.

"Oh I will," Timmy quickly assured her, looking up at her dutifully and
hoping to stave off any woman-to-boy lecturing that she might feel it
her duty to administer at this time.

Just as Sarah opened her plush lips to launch into a longer litany of
Rules for Ruled-Over Men, however, something stopped her dead in her
tracks. Timmy was inadvertently tugged back to Sarah, as he had kept
walking after she paused, and their tightly gripped hands acted like a
bungy cord, hurdling him back against one of Sarah's shapely jean-
covered thighs.

"H-hey, uh, Sarah? What's wrong?"

Timmy tried to follow her gaze but couldn't tell what or whom she was
looking at in the crowd.

Slowly a big Jack-o-Lantern grin formed across Sarah's face and she
began to chuckle.

"Oh... ha ha ha ha, Timmy. You are in for a treat," she said, and then
started off again in earnest, her tall heels clacking loudly against
the floor. It was all Timmy could do to scamper beside her and try to
keep up.

"Hello, JASON!" Sarah said, halting again. She had given no indication
to Timmy that they were about to stop and greet someone, so again his
little body whiplashed and slammed again into Sarah's big thigh. This
time, though, Timmy thought he detected a little pull-back from Sarah
herself, and he wondered if the first time this happened if Sarah
hadn't subtly manipulated his tiny form then as well. She seemed to
laugh a bit under her breath as his fragile form collided with her
large thigh.

But Timmy couldn't even see whom Sarah was addressing. The crowd was
thick and Timmy didn't have the greatest perspective. Almost half of
his vision was taken up by being positioned so close to Sarah, and he
was so short anyway.

"Hey!" Sarah said louder. "YOU!"

Timmy saw Sarah part the crowd a bit and then jab a long pointy finger
down on someone's shoulder. The person was facing away from them and
had appeared to be minding his own business, but Sarah's action
suddenly snapped him to attention and he whirled around anxiously.

He was a boy with curly blond hair and glasses. Though not zit-covered,
he appeared to have some skin problems--maybe eczema that he could just
barely keep under control. Timmy couldn't tell his age, but he looked
like a young teenager, probably someone in Sarah's grade. His clothes
appeared somewhat oversized on him, and they had loud fluorescent
colors that looked quite out of style. Most notably, of course, was the
fact that he was a couple inches shorter even than Timmy, who instantly
began to smile softly at this. Sarah's little friend LOVED it when he
wasn't the shortest guy in the picture.

"Didn't you HEAR me calling you?" Sarah asked the boy sternly.

"Um...no," Jason said, putting his head down shyly.

Sarah immediately placed one of her fingers under Jason's chin and made
him look back up at her. His nose was level with her belt buckle.

"Are you sure you weren't ignoring me?" she asked him, the air of
threat in her voice.

"N-no!" Jason squeaked.

"Okay then. Well, why don't we get out of the stream of traffic and go
over there and talk?" Sarah gestured with her thumb to a fairly empty
alcove next to a vacant storefront.

"Um," Jason said, "my dad..."

Not waiting for him to answer, Sarah bent and reached down a bit and--
without asking--snatched one of Jason's little hands, and began
compelling both men to walk away with her toward the place she wanted
to go.

"It was a RHETORICAL question, dumbass," she told him. "And when I WANT
you to do something, you DO it."

She walked in between the two much smaller males, and even though she
wasn't squeezing hard, Timmy doubted that either of them could break
free from her and run away if they wanted to.

"Here we are then," Sarah said as they reached a bench. She let go of
their hands, almost daring them--Jason especially--to TRY to get away
from her, and then with a sultry sigh plopped herself down in the
middle of the bench. She patted her hands on either side of her. "Come
along now, boys. Sit down next to me. Unless you'd rather sit on my
lap?" She gave them both a wink and smiled.

Timmy climbed up to sit on her left and Jason climbed--much more
hesitatingly--to sit on her right.

"Very good," she told them, stretched her arms out, patted them each on
the shoulder and then left her arms dangling lazily that way, half on
the back of the bench and half draped across their shoulders.

"Okay, well," she continued, "as if you haven't guessed: Timmy, this is
Jason, a boy I go to school with. And, Jason, this is Timmy, a little
boy I babysit."

("What?!" Timmy's mind shrieked.) Sarah chuckled and looked down at
him. He didn't like this game. To be fair, since he was taller and
obviously looked older than Jason, the schoolboy probably intuited that
Sarah was joking. ("Then again," Timmy thought, "Sarah is my guardian
at this time. That's almost like being a babysitter to me, but... but
she isn't!") He tried to maintain his composure.

"So, Jason, I hear you're out with your daddy, huh?" She looked down at
the bashful little boy and then added "THAT sounds fun" in a sarcastic
tone.

The boy had a dour, if somewhat fearful, expression on his face.

"What do you WANT, Sarah?" he asked, in a tone that seemed calculated
to not be QUITE rude enough to warrant a reprimand.

"Wouldn't you rather hang out with a cool girl like me instead?" Sarah
asked him, arching her eyebrows and chocking her head to the side
playfully and playing with her ponytail a bit.

"Sarah... just..." Jason searched for the right words. "Just leave me
alone, okay? I gotta find my dad soon and--"

"Oo, oo," Sarah cooed, "'I gotta find Daddy, I gotta find Daddy, wah
wah wah.'" Then she giggled. "Why are you so nervous about hanging out
with me, Jason? What are you afraid that I might DO to you? HUH?"

Timmy leaned out in his seat with interest, so he could see Jason's
annoyed expression. Sitting on the bench, both males were about eye-
level with Sarah's chest, so Timmy had to lean out farther than was
comfortable. He considered that this really would be an easier, more
sociable experience if Sarah really did sit them both on her lap.

"Do you like my new boots, Jason?" Sarah asked, then crossed her left
leg across her knee so that the heel of the boot came down in Jason's
lap. He was a thin boy and the heel especially looked frighteningly
long and dangerous compared to his nervous body.

"Uh, v-very nice, Sarah, now--"

"But--" Sarah interrupted him, "do you think the heels are long enough
to meet school regulation? I mean, for my grade they'd have to be at
least three and a half inches long, and--"

"That's NOT regulation!" Jason yelled suddenly. He tried with both
hands to shove Sarah's boot off his lap but he wasn't strong enough to
do so, and Timmy could see Sarah's body flex a bit as she repositioned
and dug the side of her boot down harder against Jason's crotch,
trapping him there.

"Oh, it WILL be regulation very soon, Jason. WON'T IT!" It wasn't a
question. She wasn't asking.

"NO, Sarah," Jason shot back. His voice was weaker but he had some
fight in it. "You aren't going to bully us. I'm on the student council,
and I'm NOT recommending--"

"The vote is on Tuesday," Sarah stated, and Timmy got the impression
that this wasn't the first time this information was laid out or the
first time this argument had happened. "And YOU and all your little
weakling nerdo BUDDIES better vote for it, IF you know what's good for
you."

"NO," Jason said again. "We're NOT and it's NOT FAIR."

Timmy was scared by all of this, but he was even more intrigued.
Sarah's long soft hand was resting on her left knee; Timmy tapped it
with his own little paw to get her attention.

"Sarah?" he asked. "Um, what are you guys talking about?"

"WELL, TIMMY," she said, turning toward him dramatically while keeping
Jason under her boot, "let me explain. You see, there is a 'Fairness
for Females' vote being held at our school this week, and there is a
shockingly high amount of little boys--and even some hopelessly
backward little girls--who are afraid of it."

"No, it's crazy and nutty and WRONG," Jason said.

"Let's let Timmy decide," Sarah said calmly, with a sly smile on her
face. "You want 'Fairness for Females', don't you, Timmy?"

"Uh," he stalled momentarily, before hurriedly finding his place again:
"I mean--Absolutely. Of course. But, uh, what exactly is it?"

"Well," Sarah said happily, "it's so nice and manly of you to take my
word for it and give me your vote without knowing any of the details or
reading the fine print as it were. But just to humor you, I'll tell you
what you just agreed to. First of all, 'Fairness for Females' means
that the school budget for cafeteria food is sort of restructured.
Basically, girls get the food they deserve, and more of it. And
meanwhile--as luck would have it--it means that boys can basically just
eat whatever they want anyway."

Here Jason broke in: "It means boys only get tiny portions of
vegetables, or else junk food."

Sarah laughed. "You're forgetting, Jason, that boys are loathe to eat
vegetables as it is. So appropriating 'a few vegetables' for them is
entirely reasonable. Meanwhile, as I said and as you alluded to with
the mention of 'junk food', boys can have all the chips, candy, and
soda they want."

"But who wants to--"

"You're forgetting," Sarah interrupted Jason again, "that this was
decided based on studies of how boys were eating ALREADY. Most of them
already are content to just eat a bunch of junk food. So, we let them
have it."

"Yeah, but NO MEAT?!" Jason protested.

"Some cuts will have to be made," Sarah said, "if you guys want your
infinite junkfood. And you and I know that many boys ARE perfectly
willing to trade protein for sugar and filler carbohydrates. That's
just the way it goes. Besides, as Timmy can attest, meat is hard on the
male digestive system anyway, so it is good that we wise women are
protecting you from it. It's tew hahd tew digest fo' yo' po' lil bewwies, isn't it, Timmy?"

Timmy looked down. He realized that Sarah was demanding an affirmation
from him. "Uh, yes," he said, "I, well, I w-was having problems eating,
uh, sausage and bacon earlier, and--"

"And we just got done eating lunch with my mother. You saw how much I
and my mom--my mom especially--ate compared to you, right? So what
sense would it make for boys and girls to have equal food budgets? As
it is, the standard school meal in our cafeteria is far too small for a
normal girl, and far too big for a normal boy."

"Far too big?!" Jason yelled. "The hamburgers are already dinky, and
the milk comes in little tiny containers, and--"

"You forget," Sarah broke in, "that we are LETTING you have infinite
soda and junk food, if you really need more to fill up on. As it was,
even a great big boy like Timmy here couldn't even eat all of his
coleslaw for lunch. Could you, Timmy?"

"Uh, n-n-n-no. I couldn't eat it all."

"See, Jason?" Sarah said, putting her hand on his far shoulder and
pressing him close to her side. "It makes no sense to have unisex
school lunches, much less to have similarly sized portions! Look at the
size of ME, and then look at the size of YOU. Do you really think the
two of us would or should or possibly COULD eat the same amount?"

Jason said nothing but his sulking was palpable.

"Let's continue, then," Sarah said brightly, and she might've added
"now that I've handily won round one", but she didn't say that,
probably to spare Jason's feelings. "'Fairness for Females' also means
that right from Kindergarten on up males and females will begin to be
prepared for the proportional stature that they will take on in adult
life."

"It's means all the boys have to go barefoot and all the girls get
'free' designer high-heeled pumps out of the pockets of male
taxpayers!" Jason said venomously.

"Not true!" Sarah said happily, a smile on her face indicating that she
was quite prepared to parry this attack and reverse it. "First of all,
the boys do not 'have' to go barefoot. It is an option. If they'd like,
they can also go about in socks or in stockings. They are even allowed
to wear little flat ballet slippers like you've got on, Timmy. And
don't you like wearing them?" At this Timmy blushed. "What's more, these male options can be provided as handmedowns from the girls, which will SAVE money. So, you see, the
only rule for males is that they have to take off their regular shoes
when they enter the schoolhouse. A reasonable rule, since MOST people
take their shoes off when they go inside someone's house anyway. In
fact, under this plan males have a lot MORE options than females do.
Girls HAVE to wear high-heels, the minimum heights of which are
staggered by grade-grouping. I'm in the 5-7 grade group, so I will have
to wear heels that are at least 3 and a half inches high. I believe my
new boots ARE even a bit TALLER than that--thank you, Timmy!--so that
means I CAN wear them to school. Jason is in the 11-12 grade group, so
the girls in his classes will all be wearing heels that are at least
five inches high."

At this Timmy made a noise of shock. "Wait, what?! How old is he?"

"Jason here is a senior," Sarah purred. "I believe you're... 18?"

"Y-y-yeah," Jason said. "I'm 18."

"Jeez," Timmy murmured.

It never ceased to surprise Timmy how small the boys these days were
getting--or rather, how small they were staying. At Sarah's party,
Dewey and especially Hans seemed positively elfin compared to how boys
their age were in Timmy's day, which wasn't so long ago. And how here
was this 18-year-old, a young man who should be nearing the prime of
his manhood, who was even smaller than Timmy, whom Timmy had mistaken
for a classmate of the just-turned-13 Sarah. Timmy thought he had it
bad himself, but Dewey and especially Hans (who was 17) had it worse
yet, and Jason had it worse than any of them. Timmy thought for a
moment and couldn't really remember the last time he had seen a teenage
boy who actually looked, well, normal--to say nothing of one who looked
above normal or athletic. He used to see groups of big strapping
healthy looking male teens all the time--everyone did. But now it was
much more prevalent to see sporty GIRLS walking around in packs, and
almost all of them looked taller than average--or taller than what used
to be "average."

"Do, um, do girls NEED heels, though?" Timmy asked furtively, then
regretted asking the question. He really hoped that Sarah didn't take
it the wrong way.

Thankfully she smiled. "No, of course we don't NEED heels. But you know
as well as I do that 'Girls are getting taller these days', so it's
obviously best to prepare boys and girls for their differing height-
roles. Otherwise it's sort of a shock to the system when it happens
later on, don't you think?"

"Uh... I guess so, y-yeah," Timmy said.

"Besides, in real life women like my mom, or your Aunt Rose, wear
toweringly high heels. So not only are girls getting taller, but
they're wearing taller and taller heels in addition to this. Really, I
think we won't be doing ENOUGH in school to prepare girls for the world
they're entering. It is going to be even more female-dominated than
anyone can possibly imagine now. If I had it my way, I'd have really,
REALLY high heels given to girls almost from day one, to make damn sure
that they towered over every male teacher or 'authority' figure in the
building."

"It's not FAIR," Jason hissed.

"What was that Jason?" Sarah asked rhetorically. "Oh, by the way,
Timmy, another of little Jason's fibs that he told a few minutes ago
was that 'male taxpayers' have to pay for the schoolgirls' heels.
That's an exaggeration. The money for the school budget comes from
taxpayers in general. So, yes, some of the money will come from males,
some of whom are hopelessly reactionary and thus don't want to fund
'Fairness for Females'. But that's just how it goes. There are plenty
of female taxpayers who don't want any of their money going for public
utilities that males might use--because males are sure to use them to
less success than women would--but, for now at least, there's nothing
to be done about that, either. Furthermore, aside from everything else,
it isn't even true that the heels HAVE to come from taxpayers' funds!
Every single girl is free to simply bring her OWN pair of heels in.
Which is what *I* will be doing."

With this she patted her boot, which was still laying firmly across
Jason's little lap. Then she stared down smugly into Jason's little
face, looming over him.

"So, um," Timmy started again, wanting to break what he perceived as
oppressive anti-male awkwardness, "w-w-will it get enough votes t-to be
passed?"

"I expect so," Sarah said, drawing her arms in and crossing them
proudly across her chest. "We girls have a tendency to always win.
Don't we, Jason? We ALWAYS WIN IN THE END."

"No!" Jason squeaked, meekly and pathetically.

"Welllll," Sarah drawled. "I'll tell you what will happen if we don't
win. If we don't get enough votes, I guarantee you that all of the
girls will stop doing all of the boys' homework for them. We will stop
being such nice girls and start being mean girls. If you think we've
been mean to you before, you haven't seen anything yet."

"A-a-all of the girls d-do a-all of the boys' homework?" Timmy asked,
very confused.

"Well, not 'a-a-all'," Sarah laughed. "But a LOT of them do. Just out
of the goodness of our hearts, and because it's so cute and easy to do
this favor for our little buddies. You remember Hannah? She's helped
Jason here a lot on his English homework this year."

Timmy remembered that Hannah was only Sarah's age, and in 7th grade.
She didn't even seem particularly bright, certainly not the way the
somewhat introspective Ting and perfect Sarah seemed. Yet Hannah was
evidently instrumental in helping a 12th grade boy pass his English
class?

"In fact," Sarah continued, "a lot of the more progressive female
teachers--that is to say, almost all of the teachers, period--draw up a
sort of informal list of pairings at the beginning of the year.
Different girls from different grades help different boys with their
homework. It's just a little thing that we do on the side. Unofficial
tutoring, like. Because we're so nice and pity them. Some of the guys don't like it, but..." she turned to
Jason and smiled down again, "if it weren't for this almost all the
guys would be failing everything, and if you abolished the system now
it'd really only hurt the guys. So you'd be spiting yourself, wouldn't
you?"

"...Yes," Jason admitted reluctantly.

"Say that you need us," Sarah instructed him. "Say 'Boys need girls'
help on homework'."

"Boys need girls' help on homework," he repeated, downcast.

"Say 'Older boys need younger girls' help on homework'."

He did so. Sarah giggled.

"Say 'I, shy, bashful, angry Jason who is 18 and stands 4-foot-six,
need the help of fun-loving Hannah, who is 13 and 5'9", for my
homework, or else I will not graduate'."

Jason said nothing, evidently unable to remember actually how Sarah's
long sentence ran verbatim. "Just... shut up," he finally said, putting
his head down in frustration.

Sarah threw her head back and laughed, then hunched over Jason, put her
arms around him, and kissed him on the top of his curly head.

"Ew, I hope I didn't get germs or dandruff on me," she said, half-
mockingly, brushing the shoulder of her black turtleneck with her hand.

"Jeez," Timmy said again after a few moments had passed. He leaned back
on the bench and thought about all of the changes that had happened in
the American school system, all in the blink of an eye, it seemed. He
wondered if there was ever a way boys could somehow organize themselves
well enough, all get on the same page for once, and somehow fight back
against what seemed to be a systematic conspiracy against them, an
onslaught of raw female power rising at their expense and crushing them
under. At the same time, however, it seemed as if the rise of women was
fueled by a very real evolutionary advantage that they had, which had
been unlocked somehow. He honestly didn't see how the tide could ever
turn back the other way--the women were just going to keep getting
stronger and more dominant, until they controlled everything and had
their fun by constantly bashing men whenever the whim struck their
fancy. He couldn't see how it would ever be possible for men to fight
back now, not when so many of them were so lowly, and, moreover, when
it just generally felt RIGHT to be under female control. He knew this
better than almost anyone, but still his pitiful male ego, due to
centuries of inherited historical prejudice, felt the pinprick of
shame.

"Isn't there anything that boys are better at nowadays?" he asked.

He meant it as a rhetorical question, but Sarah happily answered:

"Yes, they are better at whining, crying, and being short shrimpy
little losers."

Thankfully, before the words could sting much, Sarah bent over to Timmy
and paid some attention to him, nuzzling him and saying:

"But some of them, like you, are nice little guys that we girls love to
cuddle a LOT."

She squeezed him gently, lovingly.

Strange to say, this was some real consolation for Timmy and his
battered ego.

"Hey, what's goin' on here?" came a voice.

It was obviously Jason's father.

He was a pear-shaped man with a full but short beard and thick black
glasses. Timmy estimated that he stood a hair over five feet. He
approached the group with his hands in his pants pockets and a half
smile on his face, not sure of what to make of anything and probably
trying to play himself off as somewhat jovial and "okay" in front of
Sarah.

"Hello, little sir," Sarah said, looking over at him and smiling. "I
was just having a nice conversation with your son. My name is Sarah.
Sarah THOLLEN."

From the way she repeated it, it was evident that Sarah's last name
carried weight.

"You--" Jason's dad started, "you're the one--one a' the ones pushin'
for that... that..."

"The 'Fairness for Females' act. Yes." Sarah smiled. "And you are on
the Parent-Teacher Association. Are you not?"

"Uh, y-yeah you bet I am," the man said. There was growing nervousness
in his voice, but he again sought to ward that off with joviality.
"Hey, kinda awkward meetin' like this, huh?"

"Oh I don't think it's awkward at all," Sarah said calmly. "I think we
can probably reach an understanding here if--"

"Dad, let's just GO!" Jason said, then suddenly tried to leap off of
the bench.

He was stopped quite handily by a combination of Sarah's boot, the side
which was still pressed on his lap, and Sarah's long right arm, which
quickly slipped around his neck and held him in place.

"Uh..." Jason's father said, not knowing what to do.

"Yes," Sarah continued. "I think we can probably reach quite a nice
little agreement here, in quite short order." She looked to the side
and announced, "Now, Timmy, if you don't mind, please slide over a
little bit so Jason's daddy can sit down beside me, or--I know! Hey!
Let's be real friendly here: How about both of you little friends sit
on my lap, huh?"

Sarah withdrew her left boot from Jason's lap but kept the boy
restrained with her right arm. Then she patted her thigh expectantly
and looked at Jason's father. The man took one step forward but then
seemed frozen in the spot. Sarah patted her thigh again, continued to
stare at him but tilted her head slightly and raised an eyebrow, as if
to warn him, and then she squeezed his son's neck just a little
tighter.

"Um," Jason's father said stupidly, but then did as Sarah bade him and
climbed onto her big left thigh.

Next Sarah skillfully maneuvered Jason onto her right thigh, wrapped
her long arms around both men, gave them a brief hug and then softly
bounced them up and down on her lap.

"Isn't this nice?" she asked. "Every guy loves a lapsitting session. I
know they do."

Both males were speechless.

"Now down to business," Sarah said. "What I would like from both of you
little guys is simply for you to vote for the 'F for Fs' act and tell
your little friends to do the same. Nothing more. Now, that isn't
asking so much, is it?"

Jason's father began to protest a bit, but before he could get two
syllables out, Sarah shook him gently and told him:

"SHHHHH!"

Timmy suppressed a chuckle. As scary as some of her ideas were, he
thought Sarah was often quite funny. He imagined that she probably gave
her male teachers a lot of grief, but it was probably good for them to
have a girl like Sarah in their classes.

"Now," Sarah continued, "let me tell you two a little story. Once upon
a time there was a little school, and this little school was filled
with a lot of little boys. But it was also filled with a lot of big
girls. The big girls wanted what was coming to them and what they DESERVED. They were bigger
than the boys and they outperformed the boys at everything. The little
boys just seemed to waste most of the opportunities that were given to
them, while the girls--who excelled at everything and fulfilled every
task beyond expectations--were hurting for MORE funding, funding they needed so that they
could actually work up to their natural level instead of banging their
heads against a low--low, for them--glass ceiling all the time. Thus,
the big girls wanted the funds to be reappropriated in a way that was
more fair and sane and profitable for everyone. But the little boys
didn't like this. They were mean and stubborn and they blamed the girls
for their own failures and their natural, stunted dispositions and bodies. So
the little boys cried and whined and LIED"--here she shook Jason a bit,
squeezed him into her side with her right arm, and rigidly pumped him up and
down on her knee--"LIED so much that the 'Fairness for Females' act
just barely FAILED to pass. For almost all of the girls there, this was
the first time they had failed at ANYTHING in life. And do you know how
they reacted to this? Do you know how the big girls reacted to failing
at something due to reasons of lying and cowardice and meanness and
cheating and ignorance on the part of someone else, namely of the
little boys? Do you know what they did?"

Here Sarah paused and looked back and forth from Jason to his father,
giving both men a look of mock shock. Both males had bent their heads
back to look her in the eye; they were compelled to do this while she
was talking to them, even though they were seated outwards, with their
legs draped over her thighs, dangling high off the floor, riding each
of Sarah's thighs like it was a horse.

"Uh..." both men started.

"W-what did they do?" Jason's father finally managed to ask.

Sarah snickered, then she clutched both men tighter in her arms. She
slid her arms somewhat under each man and then she proceeded to slowly
stand up, bringing the men with her. She purposely didn't get a good
enough grip under them, so the men were instinctively forced to reach
up and put their thin little arms around Sarah's swanlike neck, lest
they wanted to tumble to the hard floor below. Once Sarah had finally
stood up to her full imposing height--almost seven feet in those big
heeled boots--she then elected to reach under them a bit and secure
them in her arms.

"Well," she said finally, "what do you THINK the big girls would do to
the little boys if the little boys enraged them? What do you think the
big girls COULD do to them? Imagine the worst you dare even think
about, and I guarantee you that they--that WE--would do worse. And I
guarantee you that there would be no way for any of you little boys to
stop us."

Both males quivered in her arms.

"So," Sarah said, after a moment had passed and her point had sunk in a
bit. "The way I see it, it's really in your best interest to vote for
the act, isn't it? I mean, if I were you I'd be doing everything I
could to make sure that act passed, for your own safety. Because, make
no mistake about it, we women don't WANT to resort to violence, but we
ABSOLUTELY WILL get very, VERY rough with you if you somehow manage to
subvert the natural democratic process here, which obviously would
demand that 'fairness' be enacted. No other result would even be
legitimate, you see. And *I* personally will see that the two of *you* are punished, should the matter not go through swiftly and correctly."

Timmy, still seated on the bench, couldn't believe how dominant Sarah
was. He was beginning to be as proud of her as Martha was. It was truly
a marvel to see a girl so young--only 13--take charge of two men, one
of them at least three times her age, and not only physically thrill
them, not only mentally outwit them, but blend both forms of domination
together into a seamless dramatic production that really did teach
these men an important lesson. The only other female he knew of who
could have pulled off something like this so effortlessly and
professionally was his Aunt Rose. Brooks would have simply trounced the men physically. Martha would have overwhelmed them with sexuality. But young Sarah used her bodily presence and her mind in such a skillful, measured way that it was truly inspiring.

Compounded with all this was the still-throbbing boner that Timmy had.
He was still sitting, and Sarah was standing before him, with her tight jean-covered ass right
above his head--but all he could do was think of Martha and her ass,
and he was sure that's where his boner was coming from.

Both men, father and son, still clung to Sarah's neck. Timmy could see
their little heads bobbing up and down a bit, evidently coming around
and nodding in agreement with what Sarah had been saying.

"So," Sarah concluded. "I believe we can agree to be friends now? And
you will do what I say, vote the way I told you to, and encourage
others to do so as well, for the reasons that I explained to you?"

Both father and son murmured their assent.

"That's VERY wise of you two," Sarah said. Then she nuzzled first the son and then the
father. She made little cooing noises, gave a few licks to Jason's ear,
laughed at him when he shook his head back and forth at this, and then
she planted a kiss on his forehand. She then turned her head over to
Jason's father, looked him seriously in the eye, gave him an
impassioned "Thank you. I REALLY mean that", and then gave him a very
long kiss, open-mouthed, right on the lips.

Both Jason and his father were left befuddled by all of this, but
before they could really come to terms with any of it, Sarah was
loosening her grasp on them in a calculated manner. Their arms weren't
strong enough to support them on their own, so the men slowly drifted
down Sarah's long body until their little feet finally touched the
floor again, for the first time in nearly five minutes.

Sarah didn't let them go completely, however. She kept a controlling
hand positioned on each of their backs. As noted before, Jason was so
short that he was staring into where Sarah's bellybutton would be. His
father was a little taller, but the top of his head scarcely reached
the bottom of Sarah's pert breasts.

"So," Sarah said again. "Now that we're all friends, I think it's
probably proper for you two to buy me some belated Sweet Thirteen
birthday gifts, don't you think? I mean, I just hit the magic one-three
only about 14 hours ago, y'know! That is... IF you wanna be my friends
and enjoy the perks, and the PROTECTIONS from other girls who might
become enraged on voting day, that come along with that."

Still in confusion, both men looked up at Sarah. Timmy had seen her
pull this trick before, and it still impressed him.

"I know, I know," Sarah said to them in a singsong manner. "You're
probably still not totally sure if you wanna be friends with me. But,
okay, I'll give you some reasons. First of all"--while still looming
over them, she bent herself a bit to get more on their level, and the
air of her voice made it seem as though she were telling them a secret-
-"I'm really, REALLY cool. Second, I'm really, REALLY pretty. Third,
um, I'm KINDA, well, TALL!" She laughed sarcastically at her own joke.
Fourth, I'm really, REALLY strong and a good fighter--just ask Timmy, I
even dominated HIM in wrestling yesterday! And, lastly, fifth--" here
she bent down even lower, clutched the men even tighter in her arms, so
close that they were practically falling down into each other now and
her arms had to help hold them up, and her voice was scarcely above a
whisper: "You two are very, very, VERY... weak."

Timmy began to try to get a good glimpse of the crotches of the two
men; he was sure that if this went on much longer, then both of them
would start to piss their pants.

"So," Sarah said once again. "If you really wanna be my good friends,
then each of you needs to gimme a little kiss on my cheek, and then
we'll go shopping so you can buy me some birthday gifts. K?"

First father and then son gave squatting Sarah a delicate kiss on her
cheek. She said "Aw!" after each one, and ruffled each of their heads
afterwards.

When this was done, she turned back to Timmy and reached an
outstretched hand towards him.

"Okay, Timmykins. I don't care if I've made a lot of other boyfriends
lately, YOU still get to hold one of my hands. Because you're my
Timmykins."

Happily and proudly, Timmy hopped off the bench and eagerly grabbed one
of Sarah's big soft hands.

"Who wants my other one?" Sarah asked.

It only took half a beat for Jason's dad to grab it. Timmy could see
that Jason couldn't repress a soft groan at his father's servile
nature.

"I heard that, Jason," Sarah said. "Now I'll give you one warning. Be a
good, polite little boy now or else I'll spank you right here in front
of everyone. Now, are you going to be a good little boy?"

"...Yes," Jason answered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Say 'I will be a good little boy for Sarah who is over five years
younger than me but much taller, much stronger and more mature than I
am.'"

"I will be a good little boy for Sarah who is over five years younger
than me but much taller, much stronger and more mature than I am."

"That's a good little Jason bitchboy," Sarah said, satisfied, and the
four of them walked off.

Before too long they stopped at a kiosk.

"Oo," Sarah said, looking at some of the items. "Here's some stuff for
you guys to get me. Pick out the shade of lipstick you think I'll look
hottest in."

The three little males crowded around together and looked at the
assortment of lipstick colors. Eventually they settled on a shade of
pinkish purple that had sparkles in it. Jason's father bought it for
Sarah, and Sarah immediately tried it on. The color looked very
attractive on her thick, heartshaped plush lips.

"Do you think I look really hot in this?" Sarah asked Jason's father.

"Oo, yes," the man said, not without some discomfort.

"Would your wife wear something like this?"

"Ahh, I'm not sure. I-I-I don't think so," the man replied nervously,
putting his hands in his pockets and bouncing a bit on one foot.

"Do you repress your wife, sir?" Sarah asked in a suddenly
confrontational tone.

"Ah... No?" Jason's father said, unsure of himself.

"How tall is your wife, sir?"

"Uh... she's... about an inch'r'two shorter'n me."

"Hm," Sarah considered. "And she doesn't wear hot lipstick like this?"

"Ah... No. No."

"Well, sir," Sarah said, bending down and getting right in the man's
face. "I want you to know that in the future, all of the girls are
going to be more like me and less like your wife. What do you think of
that?"

The man was too nervous and confused to say anything.

"Thank you for the lipstick, Mr. Jason's Daddy," Sarah concluded, and
then gave him a big long kiss on his forehead, intoning an exaggerated
"MMMWWAAAAHH!" sound as she did so, leaving him with a big pink-purple
sparkly lip-shaped mark on his head. "I LOVE it and bet I look REALLY
HOT IN IT, HUH!"

At a neighboring kiosk Sarah found some other items that tickled her
fancy even more.

"Oh, PERFECT!" she said. "I want three pink ones!"

The pink items in question turned out to be three leashes. Timmy had
seen parents put leashes like these on their toddlers, but Sarah
insisted that her three little "pet men" wear them now as well.

"I only have two hands but there are three of you, so we pretty much
NEED these to ensure that you don't get into trouble, or wander off and
get lost, or get snatched up by a roving gang of girlscouts, huh?" She
laughed and looked in Jason's direction.

Unquestioning, Jason's dad paid for the leashes; and Sarah took it upon
herself to fasten them around each of the men's necks, as if they
couldn't do it themselves. Each leash was only about three and a half
feet long, so Sarah--clutching all three in one hand--was able to keep
all three men close by her, right in front of her as she walked.
Sometimes her knees bashed against each of their backsides as they
walked, but rather than apologize whenever this happened, Sarah would
utter a remark along the lines of "Get going, Timmy!" or "Faster,
little Jason, unless you want me to kick you or trample right over you!"

Her heels clacked thunderously and authoritatively behind him as they
walked--well, Sarah was walking, somewhat briskly, but the men almost
had to run to stay ahead of her; so long were her legs compared to
theirs.

Occaisonally she would take up what little slack there was, wrapping the leashes around her hand, so that the men were drawn in close toward her. Then she would simply raise her strong hand in a mighty clenched fist, and the men would rise up in the air with it, their collars choking them around their thin necks. Sarah would laugh a thrilling laugh as she did this, then she would set them down, let the slack out, and let the gasping men walk ahead of her once again, scampering ahead of her thundering high heeled boots as her indomitable body strode forward, always forward.

Timmy's mind was caught up marveling at how impressive Sarah
really was. Here she led three men in front of her: an 18-year-old, who
should have been one of her peer-leaders at school; that boy's father,
who had to be in his late 40s, and Timmy himself, who was nearly 27.
That was around 75 combined years of maleness that this thirteen-year-
old girl was commanding with total ease. And there was no doubt that
she could have handled the task just as well yesterday, when she was
only twelve. Moreover, in short order she had gotten the three of them
to agree with a social policy that was against each of their own best
interests. She did this with total ease, setting the argument for them,
showing them the apparent errors in their ways and flaws in their
logic, and coaxing them along so that they mentally "got" where she
wanted them to go. And here she was, making the metaphor a reality,
leading them along with actual leashes, after having fastened
emasculating pink collars around their thin necks.

Finally they arrived at an upscale boutique clothing store that Sarah
wanted to enter.

"You two adorable new friends can buy me some stuff here, but then I'm
afraid Timmy and I will have to depart in time to meet my mom. I WOULD
introduce you guys to my mom, but given the mood she's in, if she saw
you in these adorable collars I'm afraid she'd probably fuck you to
death on the spot! What do you think of that!"

Timmy's boner throbbed hard again. Jason looked perceptibly annoyed
about having to spend this much time with Sarah. Jason's dad looked
around him nervously, but still had a goofy smile on his face.

There were two girls at the counter. Both wore matching uniforms: white
t-shirts with high tapered sleeves underneath clingy black dresses,
dark pantyhose, and black pumps that were "only" about three inches
high. One of the girls was sitting and the other was standing. The
seated girl had a nametag that said "Emily"; she was a fairly petite
looking blonde with dark eye makeup and red lips. The girl who was
standing was immense: almost as big around as Martha, but with none of
Martha's womanly soft definition or confidence; she was tall too,
almost as tall as Sarah; she had long plain brown hair and a nametag
that said "Amy", and she slumped a bit, as if she were a bit embarrassed and self-conscious about her size and shape.

"Hello, ladies," Sarah said brightly, leading her small pack of small
men ahead of her and then pulling back on their leashes so as to make
them stop.

"Hello," both saleswomen replied in unison. Timmy estimated that they
were both around his age--in their late 20s--though the blonde looked
like she was the older of the two.

"My magnificent body is going to be trying on an assortment of clothes
today," Sarah continued, "but the problem is that I've been tasked with
keeping track of these three little fellows here." She raised up her
hand with the leashes in it. The mens' bodies were raised along with it, but only to the point of them straining on their tippytoes to stay in contact with the floor.

"I see," said the big girl whose name must've been Amy.

"So," Sarah concluded, "I'm afraid that I am going to have to let them
loose on their own, but I just wanted to make sure that was okay, and
also ask both of you to sort of keep your eye on them so they do not
run off or attempt anything else naughty."

The seated blonde ("Emily") stood up, and Timmy was presently surprised
to discover that she was indeed petite, probably only about 5'1"
without heels.

"That shouldn't be a problem at all," Emily said. "As you can see, we
haven't much business right now, so we would be pleased to help you
out, bring you clothes, and mind your 'pets'." She gave a little laugh
then and winked at Timmy.

"Very good," Sarah said. "But... pay special attention to this one
here"--she tapped the head of Jason's father with one of her black-
nailed index fingers. "He is the one who is going to be paying for
everything I want, so... we wouldn't want him to wander off before it's
time for him to finally make himself useful by giving me his credit
card and signing the receipt."

"Ha!" big Amy snorted. "Oh, don't worry. He won't be going anywhere."

Jason's father laughed nervously and shuffled his feet a bit as the
hefty plain-Jane giantess walked over toward him. She must have weighed
over 400 pounds; and she did have curves of a sort--she wasn't obese--
but looking at her was more scary than pleasant.

"And also keep a special eye on THIS one," Sarah continued, jabbing her
other index finger into Jason's shoulder, which was about level with
the bottom of Sarah's crotch. "He can be ESPECIALLY naughty, I've
noticed."

"Will do," Emily said happily, looking knowingly at Jason. "I keep my
boyfriend in line all the time, and your little guy there is about the same size."

It was hard for Timmy to imagine a girl like Emily--who was so petite,
thin, and soft looking--to dominate a man. Perhaps she was just joking
a bit and making polite conversation. For decades if not centuries,
women often jokes about "keeping their men in line", but until recently
such statements would not be taken to mean real physical domination,
threats or abuse. Probably Emily, who seemed like the sort of
relatively "traditional" girl that Timmy used to see often in his
college days, just meant this "keeping my boyfriend in line" comment in
the old colloquial way. Timmy suddenly found himself really drawn to
this girl. Without her heels on, she would be about the same height as
he USED to be, before he started shedding precious inches four weeks
ago. It was a shame he hadn't met this girl before now, and before she
found a boyfriend, because he definitely would have wanted to ask her
out. Even now he found himself wondering whether or not, boyfriend or
no, she would possibly entertain the idea of socializing with him
outside of a professional context. These thoughts had all come to Timmy
quite suddenly, but this Emily really did look like the exact "type"
he had always wanted, and it had been a very long time since he had
been around a "normal" female.

"TIMMY HERE," Sarah said loudly, snapping him out of his daze (perhaps
she had noticed him staring at Emily and was not pleased), "will mostly
be accompanying me and helping me pick out clothes. But, anyway, he is
generally a good boy and can be trusted. He is totally whipped and trained, you see. At this point, he couldn't disobey even if he tried, and that is why he gets the nice special treatment and friendly benefits that I give him."

"Good to know," Amy said. And Emily gave a quick convivial laugh at
this as well.

With that Sarah stooped and quickly unfastened the collars from the
men's necks.

"You are free," she told them in mock dramatic fashion, "for a time at
least."

He moved with Sarah as she browsed through the racks of clothes toward
the swimsuit section.

"Summer is still a long ways off, I know," she said, "but seeing my mom
show off today got me to thinking that I might wanna do the same thing
sometime. But you know what the trouble is, Timmy?"

"Uh..." Timmy had no idea. "What?"

Sarah sighed and put her hand on her hip, disappointed in him. "Do you
actually think I'd fit into any of my swimsuits from last year? I
mean... what I have aren't all one-pieces, and yeah the bikinis allow
for growth. But, the trouble is... see, I've grown sort of OUT in
addition to growing UP, if you know what I mean."

To illustrate, Sarah put one hand on her chest, which Timmy estimated
to be a C-cup, and moved her other hand to the back of her shapely hip.

"Oh, uh," Timmy stumbled, "y-yeah I see what you mean."

"So, Timmy, if you'll just help me pick some swimsuits out..."

Sarah continued talking but Timmy wasn't really listening. He had
looked back to see what Emily was doing. She was occupied with Jason.
Leaning back against the counter, she had her delicate arms crossed
across her dainty chest and was looking down at him in amusement. Jason
was not having such a good time, however. He was gesticulating with his
hands and telling Emily about something--probably complaining about how
Sarah had coerced him and his father into following her around and
buying birthday gifts for her, or recounting the unfair "Fairness for
Females" vote at school. Either way, Timmy was jealous. There was no
way this little punk, who was still in high school, should deserve to
squander the opportunity of such an attractive creature's time--not
when Timmy was around. After all, the top of Jason's head didn't even
reach the bottom of Emily's neck. Timmy was a couple inches taller than
that--was much closer to Emily's age as well--and thus could provide
her with something closer to the semblance of a traditional coupling
opportunity.

"Are you listening to me, Timmy?" Sarah said pointedly.

"Oh, YES, Sarah. Yes."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Okay then, let's go into the fitting room
and I'll try some of these on."

"Oops, lemme get the key for you," Amy called, when she saw that Sarah
had tried the door to the changing room and found it locked.

The big girl yanked Jason's father with her, one of her meaty hands
wrapped around his forearm. As she unlocked the door and turned the
little golden latch to open it, she paused and looked down at him.
"Behave, little man," she said, for no discernable reason.

"Oh," Sarah said, considering something. "Would the two of you like to
follow us in the changing room as well? The more opinions the better."

"Of course," Amy said. "Come along now," she added, thrusting Jason's
father ahead of her.

The room was fairly small and being so close to someone like Amy
reminded Timmy of how he felt around Martha. Within his little pink
cotton pants, his penis sprang to attention again, straining hard
against the little hand-me-down panties he had gotten from Sarah.

Amy wasn't an ugly girl by any means. Indeed, up close Timmy could see
the traits of a sort of earthy, homey, "farmer's daughter" beauty in
her. The problem was, however, that she either really needed to lose
about 250 lbs. or else do something to get her big blocklike body to
look at bit toned.

"I'm sooo jealous of your body," Amy said, as if on cue, looking at
Sarah's unbelievably perfect form.

"Oh, ha, don't mention it," the younger girl said, looking as if she
were about to blush. Sarah was undressing; she had peeled off her long
black turtleneck and was undoing her boots.

"I'm serious," Amy said, totally in awe of a barely pubescent girl who
was probably less than half her age. "I'd kill for curves like yours
and that kind of superhot body. You have a KILLER form."

"Well," Sarah said, obviously embarrassed, blushing. "Thanks. But...
you DO have some curves yourself, you know. Doesn't she, guys?"

Standing there barefoot in just her blue jeans and a black bra, Sarah
looked pointedly down at Timmy and Jason's father.

"Oh, uh, yeah, yeah she does," they said, tripping over each other's
words.

"Aw shucks," Amy said, bashfully putting one of her hands on a thigh
which was bigger around than both men combined. "I know I'm not much."

"What formula or supplements are you on?" Sarah asked, taking off her
jeans and folding them. She was now only dressed in her black lingerie.

"Errr... Not any."

"Really?!" Sarah said, her eyes wide. "So you're..."

"Yep," Amy said, flexing one of her thick arms and pointing to her
doughy bicep, "100% natural woman."

Timmy shivered a bit. So here was a girl who had almost reached Sarah's
height and Martha's girth, and she didn't need any drugs to do so.
True, she didn't look half--or even a tenth or hundredth--as attractive
as either of the Thollen women (few did!). But still it was very
impressive.

"You know that's not quite true, don't you?" Sarah asked her, a serious
expression on her face.

"Err, what do you mean?" Amy asked.

"Well, formula and supplements only unlock your natural feminist
potential," Sarah explained. "So, while it's totally awesome that
you're so much woman without them, formula and supplements will be able
to sort of filter out all of the bad things that have entered your body
and mind through the anti-woman artificial environment that the
patriarchy gave us. We still have a long ways to go to remodel
civilization so that it's back to where MOTHER Nature intended it to
be." Sarah smiled; it was clear that she was reciting almost verbatim
something that she had gone over in school multiple times. "Meanwhile,
formula and supplements can sort of fast-track you to where you should
be--where all women will be one day and where we would've been all
along if it wasn't for those naughty little insecure men."

Despite the accusatory content, she said this all in a sweet voice, and
playfully ruffled Timmy's hair at the end.

"Oh, wow," Amy said, clearly stunned by the informative lecture that
the 13-year-old had just given her. "I guess I kinda heard that before,
but it never really sunk in, and I was always so big anyway that I--"

"It isn't really a question of size," Sarah explained. "For all I know,
you could take the same drugs most other women take but not grow
another inch. You'd actually lose weight while others gained it. And
then there's the whole mental side of it. You'll really be thinking a
lot clearer if you start taking supplements as soon as possible."

"Hm," Amy said, rubbing her chin with one of her giant fingers. Her
nails were filed down but she had bright purple lipstick on. "Well,
I'll get on that as soon as I can--after work, maybe."

"See that you do," Sarah said. "After all, the matriarchy of the future
is waiting for you to join us and help us win and kick the men's little
butts outta sight!"

"Sounds fun!" Amy said.

Both women laughed and high-fived each other.

Timmy and Jason's father looked at each other confusedly. It was very
telling that the two men in the room just had to suffer through all of
this without daring to say a word between themselves, meanwhile the
pace and subject matter of everything was dictated by Sarah, a 13-year-
old girl who just happened to be a New Female.

"Okay now," Sarah said, addressing Amy. "I want you to make sure those
two mensies turn away and face the wall--the wall WITHOUT the mirror on
it--while I change out of my underwear."

"O-kay!" Amy said, moving her giant hen-like body between the two men
and shoving them toward--and nearly into--the far wall. "Face this way
until you hear a woman's voice telling you not to, got it?"

From over his shoulder Timmy heard Sarah chuckle, and heard the sounds
of lingerie coming off and bikini straps going on and being snapped
against taut skin.

Then, when he was least expecting it, he felt a huge force behind his
head. It bounced against him and shoved him face-first into the wall.
From the corner of his eye he could see the same thing happening to
Jason's father. After it happened the second time, he knew that it was
Amy, squatting a bit and thrusting her chest out so that her big boobs
bashed against the men's heads.

"I'm bigger than you," Amy whispered to them.

"Okay, I'm rea-dy!" Sarah called.

Amy grabbed the men's shoulders and roughly shoved them back around and
in front of her.

Sarah was dressed in a small leopard-skin bikini. It was yellow and
black and the straps holding it were black and very thin. Sarah cocked
her hips to one side, put her hands on her hips, and pouted her pink-
purple-sparkle lips.

"What do you think?"

Amy was the first to speak. "Wow, you look REALLY sexy."

"Do YOU think I look sexy, Jason's Daddy?"

The man sputtered. It wasn't proper for a man to say that a 13-year-old
girl was "sexy".

"You look very nice," he finally said.

"...But not sexy?" Sarah asked, arching an eyebrow.

Jason's father stuttered for about ten seconds then, unable to say
anything. Both ladies laughed.

"Okay, okay," Sarah said. "Sorry for asking! You'd be surprised, Amy,
how often I get that reaction around guys!"

"No I wouldn't!" Amy laughed.

"What do you think, Timmy?" Sarah asked, turning to her little friend
and gesturing down the length of her body. "Is this bikini a keeper?"

"Um," Timmy considered. "Yeah. I think you look really cool in it,
Sarah."

As if on cue, Sarah grabbed her sunglasses from her pile of clothes and
put them on. "And now? With the shades?"

"E-e-even cooler," Timmy replied.

Sarah gave him a big smile and a double thumbs-up sign.

"Thanks, spud!" she told him. "Now, turn your little bodies back
around."

Once again Amy roughly spun the men around and shoved them into the
wall, even harder this time. She didn't let up at all now, she just
gave a low chuckle and sort of leaned against them, pinning them to the
wall with her hefty body. Timmy wondered where a girl, who had
graduated from school a long time ago and who didn't even have the sort
of domineering urges that came from feminist supplements, would have
even got the idea to treat men this way.

Just as he began to find it hard to breathe, Sarah's voice came:

"Okay, little guys. Next swimsuit."

Both men gasped for air as Amy spun them around again. They could
barely stand at first, so she had to hold them up, one hand under an
armpit.

Now Sarah stood in a more elegant bikini. Its fabric was white, with
dark brown outlines on each of the "triangles". The pieces of the
bikini were held together by thin gold chains. Sarah had her sunglasses
flipped up on her head and her big brown eyes stared down at the men.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Wow, you look REALLY classy," said Amy.

"Erm," Jason's father quibbled. "How much, er, how expensive is it?"

"Does it REALLY matter?" Sarah asked, furrowing her brow, clearly
annoyed.

"Well, it's-it's my money, you know and..." the man began, then changed
his tact as he saw Sarah crossing her arms and standing on her tiptoes.
"It's-it's just that... Well, it's WHITE, honey, and..."

"So WHAT?" Sarah asked pointedly.

"Well," Jason's father began again, "uh, white fabric, y'know, when it
gets white--I mean when it gets WET, it..."

"Spit it out, dummy," Sarah said.

Amy put a big hand on the back of the man's neck.

"It's just that I'm worried it would become see-through, you know?" he
finally said.

Sarah gave a puzzled look. "I'm THIRTEEN," she said. "Who would be
looking at ME that way?"

Unable to tell exactly what game, if any, Sarah was playing, Timmy
watched the man's face closely.

"Well, I mean, th-that's what I'm sayin', and if... if you don't want
to sort of, sort of INVITE, uh, stares that y-you w-wouldn't want... I
mean..."

"Mr. Jason's Daddy," Sarah said, rolling her eyes. "You see how tall I
am? You see how strong I am? Do you honestly think that someone on the
beach could actually threaten me? What? Some dinky little man like you?
Or a twerp like your son? And do you honesty, honestly know--if I
caught someone staring at me like that..."--here she crouched down to
his level and got right in his face--"WHAT DO YOU THINK I WOULD DO TO
THAT PERSON?" she bellowed in a way reminiscent of her mother.

Jason's father just trembled. Sarah stood back up to her full height,
put her hands on her hips and studied him, waiting for a response and
an apology.

"I-I-I'm sorry," he said finally. "I-I changed my mind. I-it's a-an
awesome looking swimsuit--there are no problems with it--you-you look
awesome in it, Sarah--"

"MS. THOLLEN from now on," Sarah informed him with a commanding yell, almost scaring him out
of his skin in the process.

"Ms. Thollen, Ms. Thollen," Jason's father agreed, nodding, shaking all
over and bowing twice to her. "I-it looks great and I'm h-happy to buy
it for you."

After a few more moments passed, Sarah finally gave a slow, long nod of
her own, showing off her swanlike neck in the process. "Acceptable," she declared. "And it's only $400."--Timmy noticed Jason's father's eyes bulge,
but the man held himself in check and said nothing.--"Still," she
continued, "I think it needs a few more things to really set it off
right. Timmy? Could you go get me the largest pair of high-heeled cork
sandals that they have in stock? I saw a display of them right next to
the entrance. And also--bring me a necklace of some kind, would you?
Don't worry, Mr. Jason's Daddy, if this all gets too expensive for you,
you can always arrange to have some of the money come out of Jason's
allowance. After all, HE needs to get me some presents too, you know."

Timmy made to leave but just as he got to the door Sarah called: "And
send Jason on back here. I want to tease HIM to death, too!--I mean, 'I
need his important little opinion on my hot sexy bikinis as well'!"
Both Sarah and Amy broke into laughter.

Exiting the fitting room, Timmy exhaled deeply. He was glad to get away
and be on his own, if only for a while.

The thought suddenly came to him that if he wanted to he could make a
break for it. He could run to another store in the mall, ask urgently
to use a phone, and call up Brooks to come get him. After all, before
even being dropped off for Sarah's party yesterday--it seemed so long
ago!--wonderful Brooks had said that if he ever needed her to rescue
him, all he need do is call and she would come to save the day, his
very own sexy muscle-packed Superwoman. Still, Timmy considered, all
that would do is put him in a different sort of hectic situation, since
life at under his Aunt Rose's roof wasn't much better than being at the
mall with the Thollens. And if he checked out now, unannounced, Martha
and Sarah would be especially upset, and disappointed in him. One
inevitable phonecall from Martha to Rose, he knew, is all it would
take. His Aunt Rose would probably spank him on the spot, right after
she got off the phone, and then have Brooks drive him over to the
Thollens so he could apologize and so both of them could take turns
spanking him as well.

No, there was really no way out short of trying to convince Brooks to
elope with him. He didn't have much to offer, aside from his meager
little body which she loved to whale on, bully, and fuck so much. But
she could do all of those things to him anytime as it was.

There was absolutely no way he could run away from everything on foot
and try to make a life for himself independent of all these women. He
was too tied in with them mentally now; they had a hold on him. But if
only there were someone else--someone separate from all of this--that
he could talk to.

It was at that moment, moving through the store, that he saw Emily
again.

She and Jason were sitting at the counter, both of them sitting in
stools--Jason's being the higher of the two, to make them level.

They seemed to be armwrestling. Timmy could see Emily's pretty red-
lipsticked face smiling as she strained a bit. Jason's back was to him
but he could tell that the 18-year-old was straining and trying a lot
harder than Em was. He was shaking and grunting while Emily--whose arm
looked so comparatively skeletal compared to the arms of any other
female he had seen in a long time now--appeared to be laughing more
than she was TRYING. Still, she was trying, and it heartened Timmy to
see at least one contest between a woman and a man that wasn't a
complete, easy knockout for the fairer sex.

"Ha ha ha," came Emily's trilling, lilting laugh. "C'mon now, Jason, is
that really all you've got?"

Jason just grunted in reply.

"Alright then," Emily said in a singsong tone. "I guess it's gonna be
match number three to me."

Then she methodically--but not exactly easily--forced the back of
Jason's hand down to the desk.

"Yeah!" Emily said then, holding her thin arms up in an obligatory
double-bicep pose. "Girl power!"

Just then she noticed Timmy walking toward them. "Oh, hey," she said,
pointing at his stupid Wonder Woman shirt. "It really is 'Girl Power'!"
She gave a wide toothy grin, and looking at her mouth Timmy felt his
penis instantly spring to attention again.

"Uh, Sarah wants to see you back there, Jason," he said. "Now."

The mean-spirited teen sulked off.

"Be nice!" Emily called to him as he left. "Or, I told you, I'll give
ya a spankin' if I need to." She smiled at Timmy. "Or your girlfriend
probably would anyway, right?" she asked him, winking. "And she looks
like she could hit a lot harder than me."

"Uh..." Timmy started, scrambling into the stool that Jason had been
in, and lowering it a bit for himself, as if to emphasize to Emily that
he wasn't as short as her last male visitor. "She isn't my girlfriend."

"Oh no?" Em asked teasingly. "What is she then?"

"Um, we're just friends."

"Ooooh," Emily said with a glint in her eyes. "Just friends. I see." She
smiled at him. "So what can I do for you today, Mr. Man?"

Timmy loved that she omitted the word "Little" from her description of
him.

"Oh, I just came to see you," Timmy said, glad to be flirting again.

"Just came to see me?" Em asked, giving him a playful but suspicious
look. He loved her dark eyes with the dark eyeshadow around them. They
went so well with her platinum blonde hair. Then Emily dropped her
hands flat on the desk, calling attention to the several silver rings
that she was wearing, and to the dark red nail polish of her elegant
fingers. Timmy thought everything about her was just so cool and sexy.
"What did you come to see me about?"

"Uh," Timmy mused. "I need some sandals."

"Some sandals. I see."

"Not for me, but for, uh--"

"Girlfriend," Emily whispered.

"No!" Timmy protested, smiling at her. "For my friend."

"Okay, then," Emily said, standing up. "I assume she means the heeled
cork sandals we have on display?"

"Yes she does," Timmy said, standing up and following her.

"Know how I knew that?" Emily asked, stopping and turning to look down
at Timmy. In her three-inch heels, she was ONLY about eight inches
taller than him.

"Uh, because you saw the boots she was wearing when she came in, and
assumed that she liked heels?"

"No," Emily said, smiling knowingly and raising her hands to her
temples. "Because I'm psychic."

"Oh, really?" Timmy said, playing along.

"Yep," she replied. "I can get inside men's minds and know what they're
lookin' for."

"Really. That's quite an awesome skill to have."

"Yes it is," Emily replied. Then she boldly clasped Timmy's hand in
hers and led him on. "And I would read MORE of what's in your mind right now, but I have a feeling I already know."

Her grip was delicate, and for once Timmy enjoyed touching a girl's
hand without the girl nearly breaking the bones in his hand in the
process.

"Okay, ummmm..." Emily said, once they had gotten to the display of
sandals. "What size is she?"

"She just said to bring her the largest size you had," Timmy replied.
"I think she, uh, probably plans on her feet growing a but more before
summer gets here anyway."

"Yeah I'm not surprised," Emily said in a dismissive way. "At least
with the way these type of sandals are made, you don't really need an
exact size..."

Regrettably, Emily broke hands with him and began looking over the
sandals. Timmy missed her touch already. He watched her thin fingers
with all of their rings and their dark red nails--nails that were just
a little longer than the tips of her fingers--and his boner throbbed
again.

All of the sandals had platform-style heels that added at least five
inches to the wearer's height. They were open-toed and mostly white,
aside from the cork bit and the heel, which were tan-colored.

"I think these are probably the largest ones we have," Emily said,
holding up a monstrously large pair of sandals. "Also the largest size
that they make."

"Hm," Timmy said, taking the sandals in his arms. "Okay. I guess I'll
bring them to her."

"You won't get lost, will you?" Emily asked with a smile.

"Uh, n-no," Timmy said.

"Because I can come with you if you want?"

They smiled at each other and Timmy sort of twisted one of his little
slippered feet bashfully.

"Oh!" he suddenly remembered. "Actually, Sarah wanted me to bring her
something else. A necklace of some sort, to go with the outfit."

"Hm," Emily said. "I see. She's trying on bathing suits, right? What
color is the one she's got on now?"

"Uh. White."

"WHITE, huh?" Emily said, giving Timmy a quizzical look.

"She picked it out," Timmy said, feigning exhaustion. "I tried to tell
her no, but she has to have it."

"Yeah, well," Emily began, then thought better of it. "I'm supposed to
be nice to customers, so... I won't say anything."

"Her mother is an old friend of my family's," Timmy explained. "And I
stress--a friend of my FAMILY'S, not a friend of my own choosing." As he was saying the words, he couldn't believe he was throwing Martha under the bus; but as attractive as Martha was, Martha wasn't here now; Emily was here, and Timmy needed a way to distance himself from other women in order to allow himself to become closer to Emily's orbit.

"Oh. Right," Emily said. "Gotcha. Say no more."

Timmy didn't like putting down the Thollens this way, but if he had to
tell a semi-lie to save face with Emily, he would do so.

As they walked over to the jewelry display, Timmy decided to make
another bold move.

"So, you were saying earlier that you had a boyfriend?"

Emily snickered and looked down, pausing a bit with an embarrassed
smile on her face while she opened the jewelry case. ("She is so
classically feminine and delicate!" Timmy thought. "Look at how thin
her arms are--not really 'THIN'-thin, but just like NORMAL girls arms
used to be! She is so sexy and pretty! With her nails and makeup--and
nothing about the way she looks SCARES me! She isn't even THAT much
taller than me! Only a little over half a foot!")

"Yes, I have a boyfriend," she managed to say after a couple moments
had passed.

"Are you... HAPPILY boyfriended?" Timmy asked, a wry smile on his face.

"I'm not allowed to flirt with customers," Emily said, taking an
exaggerated deep breath.

"Well," Timmy said, "for one thing, I'm not a customer. I'm only
bringing something to my friend Sarah, and she's having that older guy-
-Jason's father--buy all this stuff for her." Emily wrinkled her nose
at that idea, but Timmy went on: "Secondly, if you're not allowed to
flirt with me, then what have you been doing for the last five
minutes?"

Emily suppressed a laugh and rolled her eyes.

"Listen..." she said, "...Timmy?"

"Yes. Timmy."

"Timmy, right now isn't a good time. I like you and you're adorable,
but... for a whoooole bunch of reasons, I just don't even want to go
into what my boyfriend situation is like, much less get sort of semi-
involved with anyone else, at all, at this time, sorry."

She brought her hands together and gave him a sad half-smile.

"Understood," Timmy said, and tried to hide his disappointment. ("At
least," he thought, "she DOES seem to like me. And knowing that a girl
like her could at least LIKE a guy like me--that means a lot right now.
I needed to know that was possible again.")

"I think this would probably look good with the rest of your friend's
ensemble," Emily said, holding up a dangly necklace with several small
sea-shells on it.

"Oh wow," Timmy said. "That is really pretty. It would look good on
Sarah, I think. It would look even better on YOU."

Emily rolled her eyes again and said "STOP" in a playful manner. "Just
stop. Teasing boy."

Then Emily led Timmy back to the changing rooms.

"Here, let me help you with those," she told him, taking the gigantic
heeled sandals out of his arms and carrying them herself. In her arms,
they looked slightly less gigantic.

Her modest 3-inchers clip-clopped ahead of him and Timmy got to check
out Emily's body. She had a nice little ass that moved very sexily in
her black dress, and he also noticed a few jangly bracelets that she
was wearing on her left wrist. ("She is so sexy," Timmy thought. "I
love her style."

"Err, a little help?" Emily asked. With the sandals and necklace in her
hands, she couldn't quite open the outer door that led to the hall of
changing rooms.

Timmy tried it with his little fingers, but he just couldn't get the
little golden latch to turn. Panicked, he hated to appear weak in front
of his new crush! He tried it with both hands, though the latch itself
was so small that even two of Timmy's little hands were too much to try
to get a grip on it, but still he could only barely turn it a bit
before it would slip and snap back in place.

"I think it's locked!" Timmy said out of desperation.

"Hm, no, it definitely isn't locked," Emily said suspiciously, "because
otherwise you guys wouldn't've been able to get in the first place."
She put down the sandals on a chair next to the door, and turned to
Timmy. "Step aside, small fry," she said good-humoredly, brushing each
of her bare arms as if she were rolling up pretend sleeves.

Timmy did as he was told, hating that this disparaging comparison had
to happen.

Emily put one of her thin-fingered hands up to the little golden latch
and easily turned it to the side.

"Hm," she said. "Isn't that interesting, how east it was for me."

Then she let go of the latch, as if experimenting, and listened as it
snapped back shut.

"Oh I think I was turning it the other way, the wrong way," Timmy said
hurriedly by way of explanation.

"No," Emily said coolly. "It works both ways. See?" She turned the
latch the other way and opened it that way as well, then again released
the latch for it to snap back into the closed position. "Now you try,"
she told him, just the barest hint of a smile on her face.

Anxious to get this over, but still hoping against hope to somehow
succeed at the task, Timmy quickly scampered up to the door again
attempted to turn the little latch, first with one hand, then the
other, then both. No go, no matter which way he tried to turn it. He wasn't strong enough and the latch was too big and awkward in his tiny little hands. At
best he could only turn the spring-loaded latch about a third of the
way necessary to release the door, then it would snap back shut again.

"Here," Emily said, coming up behind him, "I'll show you . . . No, keep
your hand there."

Emily placed her hand over Timmy's. Her hands weren't big by any means,
but compared to his they certainly looked a lot more adult. Her hand
totally covered his from view, he could feel the metal of Emily's cool
rings against his skin, and he watched as the backs of her fingertips,
with their shiny dark red nail polish, found his own little fingertips
and directed them onto the latch, holding them in place.

"Ready?" the young woman asked him.

"Uh, r-ready," Timmy stuttered.

Slowly Emily turned the latch, pushing against Timmy's fingers to do
so. At first Timmy was afraid that the mere pressure of her doing this
would hurt his hand, but even though the strain on his little paw was
great, he found that it didn't exactly hurt, and he liked feeing
pressure when it was being exerted on him by a girl like Emily.

"See?" she asked him, as she demonstrated how the latch could be opened
one way and then the other.

"Y-yeah," he said.

Emily giggled. "Okay, now you try again."

She took her hand away from his, instantly making Timmy feel a bit
naked, betrayed and abandoned. He was tired of this, of being so embarrassed and shown up by women, and he hated that a session like this was happening even with Emily. He gave a half-hearted try but knew that
it was no use. His hand was even aching a bit now due to the pressure
Emily had put it under. He attempted the feat once again with his other
hand, but it was no use.

Emily giggled again. "Still no luck, huh?"

Timmy turned to the girl and shook his head quickly, in shame. She was
not THAT much bigger than him but in comparison to him she seemed
infinitely more capable of performing basic tasks. How would he ever
get on in life without someone like her being there to open doors for
him?

She chuckled. "AW!" she said. "You're so cute!" She bent her knees a
bit, cupped his chin in one of her hands, and gave him a quick kiss on
the cheek. "Don't worry, guy. We all have our off-days and we all have
random things that we just can't do, y'know? Think you can handle
these, though, for another dozen feet or so?"

She handed him the sandals and he took them. Then Emily stepped in
front of him and made a big show of opening the door, pretending to
strain with all her might; then once she had finally budged it open
just far enough, she gestured him to go through, saying that she
"couldn't hold it much longer."

Timmy slipped through and then felt Emily fingers dancing on his
shoulders as the walked in front of her down the hall. At least he had gotten a kiss out of the deal, even though he was painfully close to having yet another female think of him as a helpless little nothing. Still, Emily was MUCH nicer to him than other females were, and she didn't seem to consider him totally useless.

When they met the others in the dressing room, Amy and Jason's dad had
to leave and stand outside, for there wasn't enough space for all of
them. Jason, of course, was pouting and sulking. His father was still
trying to hold his sanity together, though Amy's bullying ways weren't
making that easy for him. Sarah had presumably changed in and out of
several other outfits--including shorts, shirts, and dress pants,
judging by the rack of clothes next to her--but now she was back in the
white swimsuit, waiting for Timmy to hand her the accessories.

"Oh these are great," she said, taking the sandals and the necklace
from him.

"Your friend has excellent taste," Emily chirped, giving Timmy all the
credit.

"Yes he does," Sarah said, giving him a mock punch to his shoulder,
"that's why he's friends with ME."

Sarah reached back and fastened the necklace around her neck, showing off her
toned arms in the process, and then she stepped into the high-heeled
sandals.

"These are awesome," she said, evidently pleased to be back towering
over Timmy by roughly two feet again. "Don't YOU think I look awesome?"
Sarah asked, addressing Emily.

"Yeah," she said. "You certainly look like what all the boys want these
days."

She wasn't wrong, Timmy knew. And Timmy did think that Sarah Thollen
was probably growing into the perfect woman, though Rose Nordgren and
now perhaps even Martha Thollen would give her stiff competition.
Still, the comment seemed self-deprecating, as Emily shortchanged herself in the process.
Timmy wanted to tell Emily, "No, I want YOU too; YOU are really special
and I'm probably going to be wanking off to YOU tonight when Brooks
puts me to bed!" but that would have been unseemly. Within the comment
there was a slight air of criticism directed towards Sarah as well;
evidently Emily was more inclined to say that BOYS liked Sarah than to
admit--as her colleague Amy had done readily--that she herself
considered Sarah to be good-looking. Timmy hoped that Sarah wouldn't
take offense at this, because there wasn't a doubt in his mind that
Sarah could wipe the floor with Emily twenty times over, but still...
it made him respect Emily some for having the courage and the
intelligence to say such a thoughtful, multifaceted comment.

"Yes, I AM what all the boys want," Sarah said with much self-
satisfaction. "Now, could the rest of you leave us right now? We'll be
back out in a jiffy to pay for all this--Well, *I* won't be paying for
it, but someone will."

Once everyone else had left, Sarah turned to Timmy and wrapped her long
naked arms around his slight shoulders.

"Oh Baby Timmy," she moaned. "How are you doing today, Baby Timmy?"

"I'm okay," he said, feeling Sarah's pert breasts press down onto the
top of his head as she leaned onto him. His face was mashed right into
her taut abdomen.

"Pretty busy day, though, huh?" she asked him, pulling back and looking
down into his face, moving her hands up and playing with his cheeks.

"Uh... yeah."

"I understand that you have been pretty frustrated most of the day,
Timmy, with no--shall we say--release?!"

What was she getting at. He tried to back away from her but she
followed him and now had him up against the wall. He had walked into
this trap.

"I know how you feel," she said. "I know you can't help it. I know you
wanted my mom to 'do you', but she wouldn't, and she had her reasons
for leaving you in that state. To make you want her more."

"Y-yes," Timmy admitted.

"And I know that you've had a throbbing boner the whole time we've been
hanging out today."

"Y-y-yes," Timmy admitted.

"I don't like to see you like this, Timmy," she told him, grinding his
little body hard against the wall, mashing him good against her strong
toned form. "I don't want a little boner boy following me around, even if the boner is obviously due to your memory of my mother, certainly not to my own presence in your vicinity. So, I think I'd like it if you could sort of get it out of
your system, if only to relieve you for a little while."

"O-k-k-kay," Timmy said, nervous as hell.

"So," she said, backing up and looking down at him, then gently shoving his shoulders down and smirking as he collapsed to
the floor. "Sort of like I told you last night: There is a pile of my
clothes over there, so... all you really need to do is go dry hump it.
I'm going to be wearing a new dress the rest of the day, so you can
just wank in the jeans and shirt I had on earlier. They're going to
have to be washed anyway once I get home."

Standing there in her super-expensive white bikini, with its elegant
fabric held together by gold chains, standing there with the seashell
necklace on and standing in the 6-inch cork sandals that made her
approximately 6'8", she said all this to him with a blank, matter-of-
fact look on her face, one hand on her hip and the other outstretched
before him, palm-up in offering. She said it as if it were the most
normal thing in the world.

"Okay, Sarah," he said, resigned to his task and absolutely knowing
that he NEEDED release now. He took her hand and she helped him up.

While Sarah undressed herself and began to put on her new dress, Timmy
undressed himself facing the other way. And then he half-crawled half-
scampered over to her clothes, hunched over them as if he were a little
monkey, and then proceeded to straighten them out a bit on the floor.

Her jeans were big enough for his entire body to lie on. He put them on
just to see how much bigger they were on him, and the answer was MUCH
bigger. Then he took her soft black turtleneck and made it into a
pillow for him. The sleeves were long enough that he could string them
down beneath him, wrap them around his penis and put them under him
like a little cushion.

Then, like a little bug in the rug--his hands beneath himself, feeling
his penis and feeling the fabric of Sarah's clothes--he began to wank
and to dryhump. He thought of Martha's overgrown--still growing--form,
imagined her turning into a superhuman monster of QUEEN Kong-like
proportions and destroying an entire city in her sexual rage. He
imagined how it would feel if his whole body were somehow tucked in
Martha's cleavage--right now she was nearly that big and he was nearly
that small for it to soon become a real possibility. Then he thought
about his new friend Emily and how cool and sexy her style was, how he
wanted to be gentle with her and for her to be gentle back. For them to
maybe go out on a date, maybe to a concert or something, and then go
back to her place and fall into each other's arms. Maybe she would have
a little leather jacket on while they fucked, and he would brush his
hand through her platinum hair as he made out with her. This was doing
it, he thought, his eyes were closed as his little haunches bucked
faster and faster, about to hit orgasm.

"Timmy!" Sarah broke in, "What do you think?"

Instinctively Timmy opened his eyes and turned to look at her. She was
wearing a very tight black dress with a spraypaint-like starburst of
white splattered on the front. The dress fit her very well and
displayed full cleavage with a slit going down nearly to Sarah's navel.
It was basically sleeveless, although her shoulders were covered;
Sarah's shapely toned arms hung down and one of her hands rested on her
hip. The dress ended a couple inches above her knee; it was very
tasteful but still showed an awful lot of leg, mainly because Sarah's
legs were so long. Her long limbs, both arms and legs, looked so strong
and supple. She also had on bright red glossy pumps with very daring 6-
inch heels. She twisted from side to side and clacked the heels on the
floor a few times. Then she nodded her head a bit, just enough to cause
her sunglasses, which had been perched on the top of her head, to fall
right into place. She shook her head a bit then to cause a few strands
of lovely hair to fall on the side of her face. The rest of her hair
was caught up in her long ponytail. Timmy took all of this in within a
few seconds. Then:

"Nooo..." he whined. It was too late for him to go back now. He began
orgasming and pumping cum all over Sarah's jeans and shirt. He wanted
to close his eyes and look away, but Sarah's piercing gaze wouldn't let
him, and with a knowing smile she kept saying "Timmy? Timmy? Are
you all right? You don't like the dress?" all the way through until the
last drop of ejaculate was out of him. He had done his best to think of
Emily and Martha while the sperm was blasting out of him--and he even
tried to remember his Aunt Rose and what it felt like when Brooks let
him put his little knob inside her--but it was really no use: he had
looked at Sarah's body the whole time he was cumming, and even though
he still didn't "think of her that way", this fact was shame enough for
him. He moaned and sobbed a bit. What had she done to him?

"Get up, Timmy," Sarah told him after a few moments. She bent and
patted his shoulder. "Put my clothes with your little Timmy-stains on
them in that plastic bag, and bring the rest of the clothes out when
you come--err, when you leave, I mean. I can't carry all this stuff myself. Actually, I could carry all of it, but I won't and I shouldn't have to, not with so many man-servants around."

She ended up carrying nothing, not out of the store anyway. All of
the men carried her things for her after they were paid for.

Jason's father nearly hit the ceiling when he saw the bill, but he too
knew that there was no going back at this point, and Sarah was going to
get her way. "This is more money than I've ever spent on your mother in
my whole fuckin' life," he grumbled to a dismayed Jason while signing
the check.

"Yeah, but I'm worth it," Sarah remarked, not letting him get away with any complaining. "I'm sure I'm better than your wife, in absolutely every way, at absolutely everything."

She was beaming with happiness and excitement. She was wearing her
new dress and pumps and she had a whole new wardrobe of clothes to look
forward to.

Both Emily and Amy waved to them as they left, and Timmy was
particularly happy that Emily made a special effort to say "Byyyye,
Timmy!" and then give a trilling laugh.

"I gave her your number, you know," Sarah told him, not five steps
outside the door.

"What?" he said.

"Emily," Sarah replied. "I could tell that she liked you. So I gave her
your phone number--well, the phone number at your aunt's house, but--"

"You did?!" he cried.

"Yeah, she was happy to have it. She said she'll probably call you."

Timmy was ecstatic. "THANK you, Sarah!" he said.

"Don't mention it, spud."

Jason grumbled. "'Oh theeeeenk yew, Sawah!'" he mocked.

Sarah stamped her heel down, stopped and whirled around to look down at
her little schoolmate. "WHAT did you say, small one?" she asked.

"I'm sicka this!" Jason said, and threw the bags he was carrying for
Sarah down on the floor. "I'm not doin' this anymore. We're done here
now, RIGHT?! So my dad and I should GO."

"Your little daddy and you will go when and where I tell you to go,"
Sarah informed him. "And not a moment before. Is that clear?"

The 18-year-old looked up at her with rage in his eyes. A few moments
passed and then he bent down to dutifully pick up the bags he had
dropped.

"Fuckin' bitch," he muttered.

"WHAT?" Sarah asked rhetorically. "Okay, THAT does it!"

In one motion she scooped Jason up in one arm--wrapping one long hand
around his entire neck--and then stormed back with him toward the
boutique, her cold hard heels thundering. Jason's father and Timmy
hurriedly picked up the dropped bags and followed behind.

"I'M sorry to trouble you ladies again," Sarah said to Emily and Amy,
who had resumed their places around the counter, "but we just had a
little problem with this naughty one outside, and he needs to be
disciplined a.s.a.p."

"No problem," Amy said, while Emily looked on bemused and a bit
skeptical. "You can use that chair over there, if it's okay."

"It looks fine," Sarah said, power-walking over to a cushy leather
chair, Jason in tow.

Timmy and Jason's father furtively tiptoed around the outskirts of the
scene, and Amy and Emily sauntered over to stand by them as well. Emily
stood behind Timmy and even put her hands around his shoulders and
leaned down so that her head was next to his. All were getting ready to
watch the scene that was about to unfold.

"O-kay, little boy," Sarah told him. "Time for the loudmouth senior
jerkoff to get spanked by a 'little' girl five grades under him at
school! This has been comin' for a long time, buddy boy, you've been
asking for it and now you're finally gonna get it!"

With that she turned Jason over, face-down in her lap and yanked his
awkward oversized pants off. Jason's butt was nothing nice to look at.
In places it was a bit hairy; it had a few zits on it; and it looked a
sickly, pallid color.

Sarah suppressed a laugh. "Looks like I'm going to need to wash my
hands after this job," she said.

She then held him down with her left hand and began whaling on his
bottom with her right. He started crying but she kept up the pace
nonstop, occasionally saying things to him along the lines of "Oh it's
not that bad, you wussy" or "I know, I know, but we HAVE to do this".

Jason's father just stood by and did nothing. He just looked on,
unblinking at the scene that was playing itself out before him,
probably trying to convince himself that it was no big deal. Really, of
course, he knew that if he opened his mouth to protest he'd be the next
one thrown across Sarah's lap for punishment.

"She spanks hard, doesn't she?" Amy asked him.

"Uh, y-y-yes," Jason's father answered.

"Do YOU spank him that hard?" she asked with a smile.

"Uh, n-no. I-I don't spank him."

"DID you ever spank him?"

"Uh, no, no I didn't. I don't really b-believe in it."

"And yet you're going to let some strange young girl spank the crud out of
your son while you just stand by?" Amy wanted to know. She was rubbing her
brawny arms and studying Jason's father with growing consternation.

"W-well... I-I mean, S-Sarah IS in charge here, and..."

"I see how it is," Amy concluded. "You're just lucky she's not spanking
YOU, aren't you?"

"Uh, y-yeah I am, I guess."

"You're also lucky I'M not spanking you." Amy smiled. "Girls like Sarah
may be on the pill, but I'm stronger than most even though I'm off it,
for now."

Jason's father wobbled a bit on his legs, uncertain of himself, but Amy
quickly caught him in a bearhug from behind. "Don't worry, guy, I
gotcha."

"So Timmy," Emily said, while all this was going on. "Has your 'friend'
Sarah ever done anything like this to you?"

"No!" Timmy answered almost too quickly. The last thing he wanted Emily
to know about him was that he had been spanked on multiple occasions by
multiple women, even by a 10-year-old as recently as yesterday, and
that his friend--for she really was his friend, maybe his best friend--
Sarah had outwrestled him and purposely abused his body a bit simply in
order to "show him his proper place".

"Well, I'm gla-ad about that," Emily said, hugging his shoulders a bit
more and nuzzling her head against his. Her soft blonde hair felt so
good and she smelled so nice as well.

"WHAT is this?!" Sarah asked suddenly, just as the spanking stopped.
"WHAT did I just feel?"

Jason said nothing but was evidently confused and nearly hysterical.

"TURN your little body OVER!" Sarah bellowed.

Shaking mightily, Jason did as he was told. Sarah's dress had pulled up
a few inches as she sat there, and her bare bulging thighs looked so
big in comparison to Jason's scrawny little body.

"WHAT is that?" Sarah asked again, and the four onlookers crowded
around to see.

Jason's face was red with tears and he was sniffling, but at his crotch
for everyone to see was a small but totally erect purple swollen boner.

"GET rid of THAT!" Sarah yelled. Jason just sniffled again. "GET RID OF
IT *NOW*!!!"

"I-I-I-I-I-I c-c-c-c-an't!" he sniffled.

"GET RID OF IT NOW! STOP IT NOW OR I'LL *RIP* IT OFF!!!"

Totally traumatized, Jason threw his head back in mute frustration. He
was completely overwhelmed and was having a panic attack.

Sarah then turned to the rest of them. "I'm dreadfully sorry to ask
this, but is there anyone here who would like to help little Jason get
rid of this very little but very disgusting problem?"

Timmy's eyes instantly shot down to look at Emily's hands. She was
standing next to him now and her hands, with their cool rings and dark
red nail polish looked so sexy to him. Even though he wanted Emily for
himself, Timmy would have loved it if Emily stepped up then and
volunteered to give Jason a handjob in front of everyone, if only to
make his erection go away. Hell, if she did that Timmy would probably
start masturbating himself again as he watched.

"No? No one?" Sarah asked, looking from side to side calmly while Jason
went into convulsions in her lap.

"Ew, I'm not gonna do THAT," Amy whispered to no one in particular.

"Okay, THAT'S IT THEN," Sarah said, slapping her knees and standing up
so quickly that half-naked Jason tumbled to the floor. "Get your pants
back on as quick as you can, Tiny--we're getting out of here."

Doing as she bade him, Jason asked, "Uh, y-y-y-you mean I'm f-free to
go now, then--"

"NO," Sarah said, you still need to have your little stiffy problem
dealt with, so I'm rushing you to the one woman I know who will be able
to service you in short order!" She grabbed Jason by the scruff of his
neck and began power-walking out of the store and back through the
mall, with Timmy and Jason's father scrambling behind her to keep up,
struggling with the mountains of shopping bags in their little hands.

"I'm taking you to MY MOTHER!"

-----

Martha had told them to meet her at the mall's information center. On
their way there, however, they ran into a crowd of people gathering
around a distant spectacle of some sort, and that spectacle turned out
to be Martha herself.

Sarah was still fuming but she had long since scooped Jason up in her
arms. It was simply far easier to carry him that way than to drag him
behind her. Surely Jason hated being carried through the mall for all
to see, held high by a tall girl who was five grades under him, but on
the other hand, after all, his arm probably would have dislocated if
Sarah kept dragging him the way she was--and there was no way his
little legs could have kept up with her.

Timmy and Jason's father nearly gave up trying to follow Sarah. She was
just so much faster. But every minute or so Sarah would turn around and
wait impatiently for the two slowpokes to catch up. She would tap her
red pumps impatiently, roll her eyes and scowl until they came close to
her. "Try not to dawdle behind," she told them, frustrated at being
held back in life once again due to men's deficiencies. "I would carry
all three of you in my arms. But I just don't feel like it. For once,
please try to carry your own weight, pull your fair share, and keep up
with me, boys." Then she would whirl around and storm off again,
naughty Jason clutched tight to the bosom of her short black dress.

Sarah obviously reached the outskirts of the crowd before Timmy and
Jason's father did. Since she was taller than virtually everyone else,
she soon saw what the central attraction was.

"OMIGOD!" she said, as Timmy and Jason's father came huffing up behind.

"What is it?" Timmy asked.

"COME AND SEE!" Sarah said, bending down a bit to snatch Timmy's hand.
She was so excited that she almost crushed his hand in the process,
leading them through the crowd, rudely pushing people--most of them
men--out of her way.

Finally Sarah stopped and Timmy, who had hardly taken two steps on his
own since Sarah had grabbed him, came crashing into her from behind--
the side of his head and his shoulder mashing impolitely against
Sarah's right buttocks and upper thigh. He nearly fell down completely,
but Sarah's strong hand wouldn't let go. She yanked him up and swung
him around in front of her.

"Timmy, you are a disaster!" she told him.

He was disoriented and scared. Mallgoers were all around him and there
was a strange din of excitement mixed with consternation in the air.

"I-I-I--" Timmy started to apologize.

"Just shut up and LOOK," Sarah told him, bending down a bit so that she
was on his level, and pointing.

Before them, in an alcove of the mall, was the storefront of a comic
book shop. Just outside of the door were some tables and chairs on
which a dozen or so nerds were playing role-playing games.--Well, none
of them were playing games now, although a few of them were probably
playing with themselves. Quite near the tables was a "life size" statue
of the Incredible Hulk--green, muscular, half naked, and at least seven
feet tall. Posing next to the statue, belittling it and showing off her
even more impressive physique, was the star attraction that all the
crowd couldn't stop gawking at: Martha Thollen herself.

It seemed that in the couple hours that they had been apart, Martha had
gotten yet another makeover. She still wore--if you can really call it
"wearing"--the incredibly tiny pink and blue bikini. It looked smaller
on her than ever, and when she turned around to show off her mammoth
asscheeks, no hint of the thong strap was visible. She now had
straight, shoulder-length platinum blonde hair, however, big gold hoop
earrings, and shiny pink lipstick generously applied to her smiling
lips. True to her word, she had traded her 6-inch platform boots in for
an even larger size. The boots themselves were larger, to better fit
her expanded body, and the heels were taller as well. She now wore
skin-tight hot pink pleather boots with black trim. They were not quite
"thigh-highs"--and it was a good thing too, because soon above her
knees Martha's shapely thighs expanded so much that there was not a
boot made that could hold them. The platform heels gave her another 9
or so inches. In total, Martha Thollen now stood over 7 and a half feet
tall.

She patted the Hulk's head, which came up to her shoulder. Then she
bent a bit, daintily bent one of her legs behind her, and kissed the
Hulk's cheek. Smiling as she did so, she then turned to the crowd and
writhed her monstrous near-naked body in front of them, bending low and
rubbing her thighs and knees with her hands--mashing her butt back into
the Hulk statue as she did so--then bringing her hands up to cup and
caress her behemoth breasts. She licked her lips and showed the
audience her tongue, and then she turned to the side, put one arm
around the Hulk's neck casually, showed the crowd one of her ass-cheeks
and then slapped it loudly, gyrating all the while.

Few if any of the dozens of people around her could even move, so
captivated were they. All business inside the comic book shop had
stopped. Workers and their manager had filled the space of the door,
looking at Martha with their mouths open.

Timmy found it hard to pull his eyes away from Martha. Probably he
could only do so because he knew Martha personally and because the
spectacle simply scared him so damn much, to see the sexual behemoth, the literally enormous exhibitionist that this formerly petite female acquaintance of his was becoming. He didn't know what had
gotten into her head to do something like this, and he had no idea how
it would end or what she would do next. He wasn't sure how long this
insane, obscene display had been going on, but judging from the size of
the crowd, Martha had been performing here for more than just a couple
minutes. It seemed as though every single person who had walked by HAD
stopped to stare, and remained there, but the mall was only so big and-
-perhaps luckily--there were not so many people out today.

Timmy saw one of the gaming geeks at the nearby table start to spasm.
He was a portly man in his late 30s, goatee and glasses, wearing
oversized shorts and a button-up shirt. He was staring at Martha
intently, and both of his hands were under the table. There was no
doubt in Timmy's mind that the man was jerking himself off. His eyes
squinted a bit and drool began to run down his pudgy chin. As if on
cue, Martha suddenly turned directly toward him, pointed a finger--with
its carefully manicured pink nail--at him, then brought this finger to
her sexy mouth and licked it with her tongue. It was as if she were
acknowledging exactly what the man was doing, approving of it, and also
letting him know that she owned him.

Looking about the crowd, Timmy saw several other men with their hands
in their pants also, and they appeared to be going into trances as
well. There was even a balding 40-something man who seemed to be
telling his mortified wife--a short, uninteresting little thing in a
boring sweater--to "shut up" and "leave me alone" while he studied
Martha's every move, one hand playing with the bulge in his pants--
playing with it from the outside of his pants, no less.

Suddenly Timmy heard Sarah say "Tim-my..." in a sing-song fashion, and
he was directed to see that Martha was waving to them and smiling
happily--her eyes like sideways crescent moons. Evidently Martha was
very glad that the people she knew best and loved most in this world
were witnessing her fantastic public display of gargantuan femininity.

All in all, it should be said that Timmy was very glad he had just
wanked off not too long ago. It was true that he already had another
boner--what man could possibly look at the New Martha for more than two
seconds and NOT get erect?--but he didn't have an irrepressible need to
play with himself as of yet, and he was glad for that. This was yet
another strange situation to be in. Exclamations of disbelief and
groans of pleasure were heard throughout the crowd, and at any given
time two or three camera flashes were going off.

Sarah bent down to him. "Do you want to stay here and watch," she asked
him, "or do you want to go up with me when I bring her Jason?"

"Stay here," Timmy said in a pitiful, scared little voice. Despite everything else, he was so afraid of actually being within physical promixity of Martha right now; he suspected that were she even to turn her attention to him, his knees would give out and he'd collapse in a pile of sexually frustrated spasm.

"You're adorable," Sarah told him, and gave him a few pats on the head.

In Sarah's arms, Jason looked like a cat who knew he was about to be
thrown into a pool or get a bath. He whined and yowled lowly and did
everything he could to break free, but Sarah was having none of it.
Walking up to her mother, she flexed her upper body hard, squeezing him
painfully, and told him in a whispering voice to "Be good and get
what's coming to you, boner boy."

Martha smiled wide as Sarah approached, and the two big females took
turns turning their heads from side to side and saying "Mwah!" as they
fake-kissed each other's cheeks.

Martha had to bend down quite a bit to do this, and this is what Timmy
was struck by most of all at this moment. For the first time in many,
many years, Martha actually looked like the big mama compared to Sarah.
It wasn't just the heels either; Martha only had a 3-inch advantage
there, and 3 inches were nothing when dealing with heights this high.
Martha stood easily over a foot taller than her daughter now. The top
of Sarah's head landed somewhere around Martha's lower neck. Martha could
have put her chin on the top of Sarah's head now, and she'd actually
have to bend her knees a bit and squat in order to do that. Martha's
super-balloon boobs were right under Sarah's eyes, and even though
Sarah was holding little Jason high in her arms, most of Martha's
boobage was over his eye-level as well.

"And who is this delightful little friend?" Martha asked Sarah. "I
expect it's a little person who's been naughty, but maybe it's also a
new little person for me to play with, a new little worshiper for me, perhaps!" She smiled down into Jason's
fearful, tearful eyes, and gave him a wide Mad-Hatterish grin. Jason
was petrified; the giantess before him was more than he could
comprehend, more than he thought could actually exist in the real
world. He could hardly cope. The deadly combination of Martha's
sexiness, sheer physicality, and ultra-commanding presence stretched
and strained the limits of little Jason's perception of reality.

"This is Little Bitch Jason," Sarah told her mother. "He's a much older
boy who's deathly afraid of all of us 'little' girls, for all the
reasons you might expect. I brought him to you as a gift or sacrificial offering, mother-goddess." Sarah choked with laughter as she said this last part.

"MMM-HM!" Martha said. Clearly matters of the "Fairness for Females"
act, and general small-minded male misogyny, were so well-understood
that it didn't even matter what the exact nature of Jason's crimes
were. Martha knew his type.

"As you might expect," Sarah continued, cuddling Jason hard in her arms
and rocking him back and forth like a baby, "I have had to discipline
him more than once, but do you know what I found at the end of our
recent spanking session?"

"Oh I think I can guess," Martha hissed happily. "But why don't you
tell me. It'll be just between us."

She gestured to the crowd then. It was true that neither Martha nor
Sarah were "performing" now--they didn't need to, the audience was
going to stay and watch Martha for as long as they could, no matter
what--but their words could be heard by the twenty or so people closest
to them--the front row, as it were.

"I found a nasty hard little dick!" Sarah said, with playful disgust in
her voice. "And that's a major no-no where I'm concerned."

"YES, IT IS," Martha said loudly, looking menacingly into Jason's
quivering face.

"I told him that I needed to bring him--and that little THING of his--
to YOU. Because you'd know what to do about it."

"Oh I certainly DO know what to do with hard little dicks! Yes I
certainly doooo!" Martha drawled.

At that, several orgasmic moans went off in the crowd.

"Well that's good, mom," Sarah continued, carefully peeling Jason off
of her chest, "because here's a rather NASTY little DICK named Jason!"

He didn't want to go, but Sarah forced him out of her arms and then
shoved him down far onto the ground below, so he was finally back onto
his own two feet.

"Meet Jason Peterson," Sarah said by way of conclusion, placing a hand
on the small of his thin back to force him forward. "He is 18, stands
all of 4'6"--if that, tops, for now--weighs probably a TENTH as much
you, when he's soaking wet, and has an awful throbbing hardon that for
the last twenty minutes I've gotten real fucking sick of feeling jabbed
into my boob while I carried him!"

Sarah and Martha both laughed. Of course, they WERE performing a
little--for Jason's benefit at least. Sarah pushed him forward again
and then backed away to stand by Timmy.

Jason was an absolutely pathetic dwarf next to Martha. Understandably
nervous, he was stooping a bit; but even if he were standing up
perfectly straight, he wouldn't've even been level with her crotch. In
her boots, Martha's legs were taller than his entire body. And each of
her solid, curvaceous legs looked like it was about four times the size
of his twiglike form.

As he shivered before her, Martha threw her head back--shaking her
pretty flaxen hair in the process--and cackled. "Hahaha! I LOVE
LIFE!" she said.

Then she looked way down at the little man whose head was more than
three feet below hers. A smug expression came across her face, as if
she were thinking "Oh little man, what I could do to you."

Timmy couldn't help but hear a few more moans from the audience, and
one man in particular, just a few feet away from Timmy, seemed to be
starting to have an orgasm/nervous breakdown. "Oh my god... the COMPARISON...OOOOOooohhhhAAAAAhhh!" the man muttered as he began to spasm. Timmy held Sarah's hand tightly.

Martha bent her knees just a bit, flexing her goddess body in the
process, but clearly she wouldn't deign to stoop so ridiculously low to
look Jason in the eyes.

"Do you want to take your stupid clothes off in the next two seconds,"
she asked him calmly and politely, "or do you not care if I destroy
them too when I destroy YOU?"

Scared out of his mind, Jason fumbled like hell to get his oversized t-
shirt off and to step out of his baggy shorts.

When this was accomplished, Martha held one of her hands over his head,
with an index finger pointed down, and twirled it in a little circular
motion.

Getting the hint, Jason turned around to face the crowd. All could see
the throbbing little purple penis--roughly three inches long, though
fully erect--that he had evidently been dealing with for some time.

"Oh, dear dear," Martha mused. "Don't tell me, little Jason, but do you
actually have a CRUSH on my little daughter, who is so much your junior
even though she is so much your superior?"

Jason looked up at Martha nervously, not wanting to answer but knowing
that failure to speak would result in crueler forms of embarrassment
and punishment.

"Y-yes," he squeaked.

"Oh dear, oh dear!" Martha said in mock shock. "And yet I told you NOT
to tell me. Hm. Well. Well, well. And you have this crush even though
you philosophically disagree with her--though calling your reactionary
male viewpoint a 'philosophy' is being too kind. But you claim to hate
Sarah and everything Sarah stands for--for, yes, Sarah has told me all
about you before, little Jason Peterson--and yet... you still have a
hard--a 'big' hard boner for her?"

"Y-y-y--" Jason tried to answer but was too scared to get the word out,
so he changed tact: "I-I-It's A-A-ACTually for y-y-you N-NOW, th-the
boner!" he stammered, his voice wobbling, almost shrieking at times. "It's FOR YOUUUU!!!"

"AW," Martha said, smiling down at him tenderly. "How adorable. I think
that's ever so much nicer and better and more proper. In fact, if you
hadn't a boner for me, THAT would be far more insulting and IMPROPER! Perhaps I think every boner in the whole wide world should be FOR ME RIGHT NOW."

She reached her long, bare, insanely solid and curvy arm down and
patted Jason's goofy curly hair with her big fingers.

"You seem like a real geek, Jason, I'm sorry to say," she told him, a
glint in her eye. "I bet a boy like you probably feels at home near
this comic shop and next to cartoon characters like the Hulk, huh?"

She stepped to the side a bit so that the Hulk--an immense statue in
and of itself that was totally hidden from view when Martha was in
front of it--could be seen by the audience. Still playing with Jason's
hair, Martha took her other hand and patted the Hulk's head, the top of
which was about level with her mouth.

"N-no," Jason said. "No, I n-never came here before."

"Oh, but you'll certainly COME here now," Martha joked. "And you ARE a
geek, though. Right? I mean, it seems to me that you're a little boy
who's been awfully lonely and without much female company of any sort
in life. Right?"

She bent down a bit and began playing with Jason's face and pinching
his cheeks a bit.

"Y-y-yesh," he said, as Martha fingered his lips.

"Not enough females around to set you STRAIGHT," Martha said. "That's
what I thought. Tell me, Jason, are you a virgin?"

"...Yeah," he said, trying to hang his head but the side of Martha's
big soft hand got in the way of his chin.

"Then I think it's time that changed," Martha said slyly. Then she
withdrew her hand, bent her knees a bit more, and held her arms out
wide to him.

He half-stepped and half-skipped into them, almost tripping into her
arms, so nervous and anxious was he. She wrapped her arms around him--
each one of them was almost his size--and squeezed and nuzzled Jason's
naked little body.

Timmy felt very uncomfortable and was starting to get a hardon himself,
in spite of everything. He turned around and couldn't believe that this
was actually taking place. Where were the cops? Where was the mall
security? Finally he saw them. Two men in uniforms and some sort of
badges. A fairly tall black man with a moustache and a white man with a
shaved head. Both of them were simply observing the situation with
their mouths hanging open and their hands creeping toward the front
pockets of their pants.

Martha had scooped Jason high up into her arms and was kissing and
making out with his entire body. She used her immense breasts as a sort
of "shelf" on which to place Jason, and she only needed to nonchalantly
play with and manipulate his body a bit to ensure that he didn't fall
off. Her boobs functioned halfway between two big bouncy cushions or
two waterbeds beneath him. As his body was toyed with and tossed this
way and that, Martha's gigantic mammaries throbbed and bounced up and
down, this way and that. The straps of the bikini were cutting deep
into her ballooning flesh, but she didn't seem to mind. At this point
she was evidently so superhumanly strong and durable that she could
withstand any sort of pinching from clothes that were too tight. She
probably enjoyed the stinging pain since it was a clear result of her
being so damn big.

She yanked Jason's body this way and that, playing with him in whatever
way whim and fancy struck her. She'd grab a little leg like it was a
drumstick and use it to throw him upside-down. Then she'd twist a thin
little arm, just to make him yelp, and then capture his open mouth with
her own and shove her tongue inside for half a minute or so, barely
even letting him breathe, slobbering all over him in her voracious
rapture. All the while she refrained from touching his penis either
with her hands or mouth. She wanted to, and he REALLY wanted her to,
but Martha didn't want to risk an early explosion.

Martha then slowly fed Jason's body into her titanic cleavage. Once he
was started down, she cupped her massive breasts and held him there,
closing her cleavage and keeping him held aloft by the pressure. Then
Martha eased up her grip some, and a few more inches of Jason slid
down... then she hugged her breasts tighter again, stopping his
descent. His arms were sticking up, his hands were held limply straight up in the air
around Martha's chin, and his little head was nose-deep while almost
the rest of his entire body was engulfed within her gigantic boobage.
Only his little feet and ankles were hanging out below.

"Oh GOD!" someone in the crowd yelled in ecstasy.

Timmy turned and happened to see Jason's father standing to the side,
in the direction from where the scream came. Timmy wasn't sure if it
was Jason's father who made the noise, but the man was definitely
playing with himself now. His mouth was half open; his head was cocked
to the side; he had a sleepy expression on his face, and he had one
hand down the front of his windpants, stroking something hard. He was
watching his little 18-year-old son be dominated sexually, in public,
by the biggest sexual beast of a woman anyone had ever seen, a 40-
something-year-old MILF who stood seven and a half feet tall. Jason's
dad was taking this all in and probably wouldn't've traded the
experience for anything else in the world, other than a chance to be in
his son's place now.

Timmy turned back to the action and found that Martha had a quizzical
expression on her face. She seemed to be noticing something. Timmy
observed closer and could see the tips of Jason's little feet jerking a
bit, perhaps indicating that above them somewhere, lost in Martha's
cleavage, the little man's haunches were bucking, as he attempted to
dryhump/boob-fuck big Martha Thollen.

"No no," Martha said to Jason in a sexy voice. "Uh-uh. Now stop that.
If you don't stop it I'll hurt you very badly. I'll let you go soon--
I'll let you have your fun soon, because I know you can't last much
longer anyway--I have experience with LITTLE MEN passing out while
having sex with me--but it has to be on my terms, when you have your
little squirt."

Jason winced and almost started crying. It was clear that stopping was
very difficult--resisting this urge now was the hardest thing he had
ever had to do in his entire life--but he knew he had to do it. His
feet stopped twitching.

"DAT's a gude widdle boyyy!" Martha said, then relaxed her grip on her
breasts and let Jason slide the rest of the way through her cleavage, which was now slick with sweat.

Now absolutely drenched in sweat, barefoot Jason slowly landed on
Martha's boots. His little toes were just an inch or so above her
decidedly larger toes. Standing on top of her boots, which were on top
of her platform heels, Jason was nearly a foot off the ground. Even
with that height boost, his head still didn't quite come up to the
bottom of her boobs, and his throbbing little penis still didn't come
up to her crotch. He clung to her massive thigh. Martha laughed a bit
and then jiggled her leg. Her kneecap slapped against Jason's ballsack.

She looked down at him tenderly.

"Is it about time, sweety?" she asked. "Is it about time for you to
finally release yourself inside a woman?"

Jason nodded and blabbered out some sort of positive utterance. So
turned on and totally overwhelmed was he that he couldn't even form
coherent words at this point.

"Hm," Martha considered, rubbing her chin with one of her big sexy
hands. "First I want to see something. Hop down."

Jason was reluctant to do so. He moaned and grabbed her thigh tighter--
though his sweaty little arms could not wrap themselves all the way
around--and began rutting against her.

"Down! Down, puppy!" Martha said, shaking her thunder-thigh a bit and
throwing Jason off. "Stand UP now, doggy!" she told him.

Jason scrambled to his feet again, his expression one of tortured
frustration. He couldn't get want he wanted--what he needed--to get,
and she was prolonging it to the point where he was about to go mad.

"Just one quick thing, puppy-puss, then I'll let you inside me," Martha
said. She turned around quickly then, showing the crowd her massive ass
again and presenting its splendor right in Jason's direction. She
leaned her head to the side then, and tried to look back.

"I can't see!" she said laughingly. "I am too big now! Oh dear--I'm too
ROUND!"--Here Timmy heard two men in the crowd go off simultaneously.--
"Can someone tell me--haha!--can someone tell me if his little head
even comes up to my ass?"

"IT DOESN'T, MOM!" Sarah yelled happily, obvious pride in her voice.
"His poofy hair might touch it, but it looks like the top of his head
comes up to just BELOW the BOTTOM of your butt cheeks! Oh god, Jason,
you are PATHETIC!"

Sarah started giggling uncontrollably and Martha also threw her head
back and roared with laughter. "OH GOD I'M FUCKING HUGE!" she bellowed. Timmy heard Jason's father moan.

"So, Jason, how does it feel," Martha asked him, still looking back
sideways at him, squatting a bit and shoving her ass out in his
direction, knocking it into his head, "to LOOK UP... TO A BUTT?"

Jason just shivered, and both females chuckled again.

"O-kay, little boy!" Martha finally said, turning her big body back
around to face her new friend. "Come to Momma Martha now! Don't be
shy!"

Jason didn't even have time to approach her of his own volition this
time. Martha simply bent over, put her big hands under his armpits, and
lifted him up--way up high so they could look at each other in the
eyes.

"Hello, cootie," she said. "First a kiss--then your little dickie can
play."

She looked at him with a forced dreamy expression, brought her pink-
pink lips to him and inhaled half of his face. She sucked and slurped
him all over for the next minute, drooling spit all over him, and when
she finally pulled back and let him go--he was coughing and gasping for
air--most of his face looked like one big hickey.

"Well, that'll last for a while," Martha said nonchalantly. "So you can
think of me every time you look in the mirror."

Her hands still under his armpits, she then lowered him down another
foot and a half. His throbbing boner was now level with her vagina, at
least, and--as luck would have it--his head was roughly level with a
good deal of the gigantic expense of space and distance that was Martha
Thollen's breast region.

"Oops," Martha said suddenly, and raised Jason up again. "Get your
little tootsies through those straps so you can sort of 'sit in me'."
She took one hand away from him and held out the straps of her bikini
bottoms. She held out one strap and then the other, guiding one of
Jason's legs and then the other through. She then lowered Jason again
and he slid into Martha's strained bikini bottoms. His legs were in the
openings hers were in, and his butt rested, cradled in the front patch
of her bikini bottoms. Even though the bit of fabric had looked so tiny
on Martha, covering her pussylips and not much else, it proved to be
more than enough for Jason; it covered his entire butt and held him
comfortably.

Martha took her arms away and he now sat facing her. He wrapped his
legs as far as they would go around her huge thighs--which wasn't very
far at all--and began rubbing at her breasts.

Smiling, she took the tiny strap of string that went from one boob to
the other in the front of her bikini, and she stretched it out so that
it went behind Jason's head. Then she parted her boobs as best she
could with her other hand, and let the strap go. Jason's head was
sling-shot into Martha's cleavage. The bikini front held it there fast.
He moaned.

"Are you in down there? You're so tiny that I don't know if I'd feel
anything..."

She carefully probed his little crotch and reached down there with her
pink nails with the white French tips.

"No, you're not in there. You're hard but you're not in there. I think my pussylips might be thicker than your dickie is long. Here--
let me."

She played around with his crotch a bit, squatted a bit herself in
order to spread her vagina some, and then finally stood up straight
again.

"THERE," she said. "NOW you're inside!"

From within Martha's cleavage, Jason moaned.

Martha laughed then, brought one hand up to her face and flicked some
of her shoulder-length blonde locks over one ear. She then blew a kiss
to the crowd and laughed.

"Go wild!" she told Jason, though she also may as well have been
addressing the crowd also, as now many more people--some who had
already had several orgasms, and some who had been waiting for this all
along--began putting their hands in their pants.

Pitiful little Jason tried to buck and hump as best he could, but it was
evident that by now his meager body was almost exhausted after all the
trials it had been put through, first by tall teen-queen Sarah and now
by massive matriarchal Martha.

"Oh if you won't do it better then I'll do it for you!" she said
sharply.

Then she clutched Jason's butt with one big hand and began gyrating.
She shoved him deep inside her, squatting and pumping and flexing
rhythmically and HARD. Jason's moans suddenly got a lot louder--a lot
louder than Timmy thought the little guy could possibly moan.

Martha herself bore an expression of ecstasy as well. "Oh, I can BARELY
ALMOST FEEEEEL you, Jason!" she said mockingly. She absolutely was
feeling something, though, even if 90% of her ecstasy was due to awe at
her own accomplishments here today. Well-deserved pride was a great
aphrodisiac and this allowed a tiny male body to become a relatively good sextoy, it seemed.

Eventually Jason and Martha both let out simultaneous screams of
pleasure. And as if in response, a very loud chorus of moans went up
from the audience as well.

Jason's body went totally limp then and it seemed he had nearly passed
out. No longer a virgin, he had just experienced an orgasm for the
ages, a sensation so colossal that it almost broke his body and mind.
To say nothing of what Martha had done to him, just this sensation
experienced on its own would have been enough to bowl him over and
leave him shaking in the fetal position for hours.

Martha's gigantic arms, which were nearly as big around as Jason was,
clutched his little body to her chest one more time for good measure,
then she began to go about the process of freeing him, first his head
from her cleavage and then his bottom from her bikini bottoms.

He was drenched in sweat and even his hair was soaked. At the end of
it, she lifted his little, shivering naked body up to her face, gave
him a last tiny little kiss on the nose, and then unceremoniously and
shockingly just dropped his body onto the floor. He lay there, a tiny
wet mass of almost lifeless skin and bones, in a little pile. He was
totally without movement, but a couple seconds later he gave a little
gasp, as if to let everyone know that he was alive, if only barely,
though recovery would take a while.

"When you met me you were a little tiny boy," Martha told him, looking
down imperiously from over seven feet above his small crumpled form,
talking loud enough for most of the crowd to hear. "But thanks to me,
now you know what it feels like to be an utterly destroyed 'BIG STRONG MAN'!." She laughed and then
delicately put forth her right foot then, and with the toe of her giant
hot pink boot she delicately lifted and draped Jason's entire body
across her foot and then thrust him off, plopping his little body over
until he was lying on his back, totally spent and destroyed, his little
tummy quivering as he strained a bit to take in air. Martha raised one
foot then and delicately placed the bottom of her platform boot on
Jason's quivering stomach. She looked at the crowd then, smiled and
winked, pouted her shapely pink lips then and licked them with her
tongue.

Several more orgasmic moans went up from the audience, but mostly
people started clapping and whooping. The applause wasn't exactly
thunderous, however, mostly because the majority of the crowd was still
too shocked by what they saw.

Sarah and Timmy walked up to Martha, now that the show was over, and
Jason's father dawdled up behind them. Totally ignoring the little form
of his son, who was still recovering on the floor, Jason's father told
Martha: "Y-you a-are aMAZing!"

"Why THANK you, Mr. Peterson," Martha replied. She then offered him her
hand and the man took it as if it were the greatest gift in the world,
nervously touching it with both of his hands, shaking it a bit, then
kissing it and eventually bowing down before her in an exaggerated act
of worship that didn't seem to be much of an act at all.

"Are you two ready to get out of here?" Martha asked. "I LOVE that
dress on you, Sarah. Black IS your color. And those red pumps are to
die for!"

"Thanks, mom!" Sarah chirped, primping herself a bit and kicking back
one of her heels. "Yeah, we're ready to go, it's just that I promised
I'd get Timmy an ice cream."

"Has he been a good boy?" Martha asked, a glint in her eyes.

"Yes he pretty much has," Sarah replied.

"Pretty much?" Martha asked.

"Pretty much," Sarah concluded with a smile.

"Alright then," Martha said with a sigh. "I'll just gather up all our
bags and lug them to the car myself then. Too bad I didn't have a
little male helper to do that for me this time." She smiled at Timmy.
"But I guess my baby-slave can take a breather just this once."

They said goodbye to Jason and his father, both of whom were still
recovering from the experience, and walked off on their own.

They left Martha just as a group of about a dozen little Asian tourists
had found her. The painfully short people, most of them men, were
scarcely bigger than Jason was, and they all began taking each other's
pictures while standing next to a posing, beaming Martha, who was
happily soaking up the attention. Some of them began climbing Martha's
body as if it were a playground, hanging off of her arms and sitting on
her large shoulders. As the cameras continued to flash, Martha called
to Timmy and Sarah: "Don't be long, you two! I promise I'm just going
to let a few of these cute little men get off on me--and then I'm going
right to the car with our bags!"

-----

Timmy was so happy to be alone with Sarah again, holding her hand and
walking through the mall, hearing the loud clacking of her new 6-inch
heels as she walked--the sound had become both authoritative and
reassuring to Timmy's ears.

"What did you think of the Petersons?" she asked.

Timmy stifled a laugh.

"Err, I feel bad that you have to go to school with one and also feel
bad that the other one is on your school board."

"Yes," Sarah said. "Still, there's fun to be had with them, as you
might have noticed."

"Sarah?" Timmy asked plaintively.

"Yes, Timmykins?"

"You don't think of me the way you think of them, do you? I know I'm an
awfully little, pathetic man and everything, but..."

"Oh come here," Sarah said to him, bending down and taking him up high
into her arms before resuming her walk through the mall. "You are so
adorable. Of course I think more of you than I do of them. I know you
are a perfectly polite, pliable little male. The best sort of boy a
girl could ever want as her friend."

She kissed him on the cheek then, and Timmy blushed.

At the ice cream stand Sarah ordered a frozen yogurt and Timmy got a
child-sized vanilla ice cream in a cone with pink sprinkles on top.
Sarah ordered this for him, as one would expect of a girl holding a boy
in her arms. They then went to sit on one of the nearby benches. As
promised, Sarah sat Timmy on her left knee, turned him to face her, and
occasionally bounced him up and down a bit while they ate.

"We can't be too long, you know, Timmy," Sarah warned. "My mom's
probably already back at the car by now, and if we keep her too long
she's just going to come back into the mall and cause another scene,
just out of boredom."

Timmy couldn't imagine how his mind could take witnessing another
public-sex performance from Martha. Once was enough, and by now his
little testes had recharged enough that he would be totally enthralled
with Martha himself and would probably not be able to refrain from
playing with his penis in front of her, and in front of everyone else.
Just thinking about it now made him start to get a boner. He just
wanted to go home--back to his aunt's mansion--and go to bed where it
was safe.

"Too much excitement for one day," he told Sarah, his lips coated with
vanilla.

"OH MY GOD, SARAH?" came a voice.

They turned and saw a man who looked to be in his late 30s. He was tall
and broad-shouldered. He had tan skin and thick wavy brown hair. He
wore a very expensive-looking tan business suit.

"Hello, Paul," Sarah said calmly.

"How are you doing?!" the man asked, very excited. "I just thought I'd
go to the mall and--"

"Yes, I know we're in the mall, Paul," Sarah said sharply, turning back
to her frozen yogurt, "so you don't have to state that fact. And I am
doing fine, thank you."

"I've tried to get back in contact with you!" Paul said, undaunted.
"But you never answered my messages or--"

"No, I never did, did I?" Sarah replied, licking her spoon.

"Are-are you, uh..." Paul faltered. "Are you seeing...? I mean... Who's
this?" He gestured toward Timmy.

Sarah calmly ate the last spoonful of her yogurt and then dropped the
empty dish in the adjacent trash bin. She cleared her throat. Then she
carefully repositioned Timmy so that he was held safely and securely in
one of her arms, and then stood up.

"This, Paul," she said, "is Timmy."

Timmy looked over at the tall handsome man with some trepidation. He
was not as tall as Sarah--though probably if they were both barefoot he
would've only been an inch or two shorter--but he was certainly very
big and imposing compared to Timmy. Even held in Sarah's arms, Timmy
could sense that. Paul looked like just the sort of "alpha male" that
often made Timmy nervous. It was not that Paul's sort of man seemed
like he was a bully, but he was simply "over-socialized" and seemed to
radiate a sort of masculine success and pride that Timmy had never
known in himself, could never hope to aspire toward, and thus feared.

Paul made an effort then to shake Timmy's hand; he reached a large
clean elegant man-hand out toward Timmy, but soon saw that there was a
problem.

"Um, err..." Paul said skeptically, pointing at Timmy.

The little man looked down to see that his ice cream cone was indeed
running over, dripping onto his hands and onto his Wonder Woman t-
shirt.

"Oh Timmy!" Sarah said, trying not to sound as frustrated as she was.
"I knew we should've got some napkins for you! That's my favorite old
shirt you're wearing!" She hurriedly set him down on the floor and
looked around a bit in a panic.

"I think I might have some wipes in my bag," Paul said, shifting over a
strap that had been running diagonally in front of his suit and
revealing a sort of leather messenger bag whose shape resembled that of
a briefcase as well.

"That's a nice purse, Paul," Sarah said absentmindedly.

"It's, err, not a..." Paul began nervously, opening up the bag and
scouring through it. "I mean, uh, thank you, Sarah. And h-here."

He held out two thin napkins that seemed like they came from a fast-
food takeaway. Sarah snatched them and bent down to give them to little
Timmy, who quickly tried to sop up and stop the dripping ice cream.

"Eat it faster, Snuckums," Sarah whispered, before standing back up.

Paul shuffled his feet awkwardly and was clearly uncomfortable with
Sarah now being so much taller than him. Evidently he hadn't seen her
very recently, and that combined with her new 6-inch heels made quite
an impression.

"Well, uh, I have to say, Sarah... You, uh, you look GREAT."

"Mmhm, thanks, Paul," she said dismissively, then added "A girl does
try" in a somewhat sarcastic way insinuating that with Sarah everything
was effortless anyway.

"Anyway, uh... Timmy?" Paul said, awkwardly trying to fill the silence
even though all sense of social etiquette would have told him that
Sarah did not want to be disturbed and that he should leave. "It's, ah,
nice to meet you."

Timmy looked up at the tall man but couldn't answer him, as his mouth
was full of ice cream. He definitely didn't want to keep Martha
waiting, and his nervousness at this new meeting made him just want to
preoccupy his time with something anyway. What's worse, he didn't want
the ice cream to drip anymore, either!

Timmy was roughly eye-level with where Sarah's bellybutton was. Paul
was only staring into Sarah's collarbone. It was a treat for Timmy to
see a male come even within a foot of Sarah's height, but he didn't
much like the vibe he got from Paul, so he was happy to see the man
towered over to some degree at least.

"He's my BOYFRIEND, Paul," Sarah suddenly said, very sternly. "I have a
boyfriend now--so just GO."

Paul looked from Sarah to Timmy with much confusion. "He...?" he began.
"He's your...?"

"YES," Sarah said, smiling aggressively at him. "HE IS. SO GO."

"But how can someone so little, possibly...? I mean, *I*, a guy like
me, could--"

"PAUL," Sarah said loudly, stepping up close to him--sandwiching Timmy
between them--and looking down at him derisively. "YOU are not so very
TALL compared to me anymore, EITHER! IN CASE YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED."

At that Paul nervously sputtered: "Err, well, y-yes I-I noticed, I... I
think you look GREAT, Sarah, I--"

"Just get out of here, TWERP!" Sarah said, palming his face and shoving
him backwards.

"O-okay, Sarah," Paul said. "S-sorry to have o-offended! I-I'll see
you--"

"Yeahyeahyeah!" Sarah said quickly, shooing him off by making scuttling
motions with her hands. "I'll see you in school and at the committee.
Yes. Fine! Go!"

Paul almost tripped over his feet as he hurried away. Cool tall 13-year-old Sarah had reduced this archetypal professional man to a bumbling fool.

"Who was that?" Timmy asked. He had eaten his ice cream then--had eaten
the WHOLE thing--and was very proud of himself. He was dabbing his
sticky little hands with the napkins. "Is he a senior, too?"

Sarah snorted. "No. He's a teacher, and also the interim principle."

"Really? But he--"

"Yeah," Sarah said, "I don't really want to talk about it. He is such
an annoying putz."

"So, uh, is he against the 'Fairness for Females'--?"

"No, he's very much FOR it," Sarah said with some exhaustion, rolling
her eyes. "He'll say anything women want to hear and is such an
insincere slimeball that I don't know if HE knows what he really thinks
about anything. Eventually, some girl is really going to have to take
him over her knee and spank some sense into him. And I really hope that
that girl doesn't turn out to be me, because I don't want him all over my knees, but it's looking like it might
have to be that way." She thought for a moment. "Maybe I'll bring you in for
show-and-tell on the day that I do it, after the F-for-Fs act is
passed. Would you like that, Timmy?"

The idea of going into a school to see a bunch of dominant young girls
in mandated high heels ruling over every man in sight filled Timmy with
trepidation, especially if he was being brought in for the express
purpose of witnessing Sarah teach at least one remaining male authority
figure a tough lesson. Still, he nodded his head.

They started walking to the mall exit together. Timmy reached for
Sarah's hand.

"Ew, your hands are all sticky," she told him, pulling away.

"I-I'm sorry, Sarah," he quivered.

"Aw, come here, try it again," she said gently. "I guess I can handle a
little stickiness from my 'boyfriend'."

Timmy smiled and they gasped hands again.

"Did you have a nice time at the mall, spud?" Sarah asked him.

"Yes."

"What was your favorite part? Seeing my mom dominate and destroy Jason?
I know that must've made you at least a little hard!"

Timmy blushed. "No, my favorite part was spending time with my best
friend... my 'girlfriend'!"

Sarah smiled but told him with a critical air: "Okay, but let's not
joke about that anymore. We're 'just' friends. Good friends, but 'just'
friends. Do you understand. You are my friend but not my boyfriend.
Boyfriend stuff is on a different level, and on that level... you're
not my boyfriend, you're more like my best bitch. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Timmy admitted with slight reluctance. When it came down to it,
much as he loved her, he really was her bitch too. She had control over
him and that was how things were supposed to be. They were good
friends--best friends--but still Sarah was in charge. She ordered Timmy
around and Timmy took it, accepting that she was above him in the
hierarchy, but also knowing that every decision Sarah made for him was
the best and wisest decision for all. Sarah controlled Timmy sometimes
for his own good. And for the greater good of society. This is how
things should work. Timmy knew that he was very lucky to have found
someone like Sarah to order him and make decisions for him sometimes,
during those hours and days when no other better suited female was
around to control his life in her stead.

-----

When they got to the car, Timmy noticed that Martha had taken off her
heeled boots and had pushed her seat back as far as it would go. She
was simply getting too tall now and could barely fit in the car; she
had to drive it barefoot and with her plump solid knees bent up on
either side of the steering wheel. Her massively curvaceous body
appeared stuffed into the driver's side; it did not look comfortable at
all.

"We're just going to zip back to my place quick, Timmy," Martha told
him as he climbed up on Sarah's lap again, "THEN I'll drive you to your
aunt's."

He wanted to return home sooner than that and didn't see what Martha
needed to stop at her place for, but he said nothing, not wanting to
provoke an argument so late in his seemingly never-ending visit with
the Thollens.

Martha drove even faster on the way home than she did on the way to the
mall. The air was cold and crisp; riding in a convertible made Timmy
almost unbearably cold, but luckily Sarah was there to wrap him under
her coat, hug him and keep him warm. And Martha was driving as fast as
possible, to ensure that the drive didn't take long. It was clear that
the car really was annoying for her to sit in. All Timmy could think,
as they sped down the streets, was how much he hoped that a cop didn't
pull them over. He didn't think he could handle another scene of a big
tall woman surely dominating yet another male today, thwarting every natural and manmade law. He just wanted to
crash on his bed, go to sleep, and dream of innocent, old-fashioned
things.

Before he knew it, however, Martha had pulled into her driveway and
lurched the car to a screeching stop.

"You can help carry the bags in the house, Timmy," she told him. "Come
on now. You didn't carry any of them to the car, so it's time you did
your manly duty for once."

Timmy didn't care how insulting Martha's directive might be, he just
kept his mouth shut and did what he was told. Anything just to get this
all over with and be taken home a.s.a.p. Still, he was very much
annoyed at just how many bags full of clothing Martha had purchased.
The trunk was jam-packed. It took him ten trips back and forth to lug
everything inside--he had no coat and the late afternoon really was
starting to turn cold.

Sarah and Martha had both disappeared into the house as soon as he got
there and were nowhere to be found once Timmy was finally done with his
little assigned chore.

"Hello?" Timmy said meekly, trying not to sound impatient. "I'm, uh,
done, a-and r-ready to go home now? Martha? Sarah?" No answer.

He took his little ballet slippers off--they had snow and slush on them
and were awfully wet and cold on his little feet--and tentatively
walked through the house.

He paused at the chart on the wall showing Sarah's height as she was
growing up. ("Maybe I can use this to see how tall--er, how short I am
now," I thought.) He didn't want either of the Thollens to catch him
doing this, though, lest they dramatically interfere and make a whole
huge embarrassing scene out of it. So Timmy furtively snuck over close
to the wall, put his back to it, and raised his hand to scratch his
head for no reason. But just as he was about to move his hand over to
the wall, to hold it there as he turned around to see where his current
height would fall in relation to the various markers of Sarah's--
suddenly Martha burst into the hallway.

She was barefoot and dressed in her big pink bathroom again.

"Come with me, Timmy," she whispered to him quickly, grabbing onto his
forearm with her large soft hand. "Let's hurry."

She yanked him behind her, his scrambling feet barely touching the
ground again, as she hurried back down the hall and into her bedroom.
At the entrance she stopped, spin, and more or less threw Timmy into
the darkened room. Disoriented, he hurdled forward and tried to stop
himself, but his little legs could not overcome the momentum that
Martha had exerted onto his little body. He clumsily crashed into the
side of Martha's bed and then managed to turn around to look back at
her just as she was shutting the door and locking it.

The shades were drawn and the room was lit only by a single red
lightbulb.

"Hi Timmy," Martha said, as she slowly sauntered up to where he was
lying on the floor.

"Uh... hi?" Timmy said.

"Sarah is going to take you home," she told him, smiling.

"Uh... what?"

Timmy's mind began to race. He knew how mature Sarah was for her age,
and surely there was no task that she couldn't accomplish, but did
Martha actually want 13-year-old Sarah to DRIVE him home? Clearly when
dealing with these daring women, who always seemed to come out on top
and do anything they put their minds to, there was nothing out of
bounds. In another split second, however, Timmy had to consider that
perhaps Martha meant that Sarah was to WALK if not CARRY Timmy all the
way home to his aunt's mansion, which was a few MILES away.

"She's going to ride her bike," Martha explained, grinning down at him.
"The roads are bare enough now and she wants the exercise. She wants to
get really toned this year"--("She already IS pretty toned," Timmy
thought)--"and she seems to think that you should be able to hold onto
her well enough to survive the trip in one piece."

"Oh... okay." ("I GUESS it'll HAVE to be 'okay'!" Timmy thought. "Since
you aren't giving me any damn choice in the matter!")

"Yesh," Martha said softly. "She is changing her clothes now, checking
her email, and getting her bike tuned up, readjusting the seat and so
forth. That means you and I have a FEW minutes to play."

Martha undid her robe then and dropped it to the ground. This revealed
a new item of clothing that Martha had evidently bought that day. It
was a full silken bodysuit. It was pink and had elegant swirling
designs on it. It was stretchy and skin-tight on her, clinging to her
every violent curve and outlining her stupendous jutting breasts
perfectly.

"I know it is nearly the end of winter," Martha said, a soft look in
her eye and a tender tone in her voice, "but I just had to have this.
It's for sleeping in; silk is great for keeping warm. I thought also
that you might like it and might even like to climb inside it with me."

Dutifully, Timmy said nothing but slowly managed to climb to his feet
and stand before the goddess. His boner felt very hard indeed as his
trembling hands tried to take his shirt and pants off. The funny thing,
though, was that at the moment he felt light-headed and couldn't quite
manage to carry out this simple action. Much as he wanted to, he was
now too weak and distraught to even undress himself. He got his shirt
almost halfway off, but then it became stuck on his head and he wasn't
strong enough to force the fabric over. The elastic band around his
waist had also proven too formidable for him to thrust down below his
meager hips.

He had no choice but to give off a single pathetic whine, thereby
admitting defeat and asking big Martha for help.

"There there, Timmy," she said, squatting down to attend to him, "I'm
here. I will help you."

Martha quickly stripped Timmy of all his clothes and lifted him up.

"Here we are, big boy," she said to him, nuzzling him nose-to-nose and
hugging him against her big bosom--which by now was far, far bigger
than he was. "Now let me put the little tadpole down the hole..."

Still holding him under his armpits, she lifted him up higher now, over
her head. With her arms fully upstretched Timmy's little feet were
dangling around Martha's neckline. Noting that this meant Martha's arms
were nearly as long as his entire body now, Timmy throbbed with fearful
joy.

She jostled his body around a bit so that his feet went under the
collar of her silk one-piece. Then she slowly began to lower him down
into her clothing by way of the collar.

"Isn't it better to get you inside this way, rather than going through
all the trouble of unzipping me from the back?" Martha asked. "Isn't
this a lot more fun?"

Timmy made an excited "Mm!" sound, and Martha chuckled.

He felt his thin little bare feet begin to brush against Martha's naked
boobs. They felt so big and bouncy and warm to him.

"Oo, Timmy! Your feet are freezing!" she told him. "That's okay,
though--I'll warm you up soon enough..."

She kept lowering him and lowering him. His little hips were not even
as big around as Martha's neck was, so he continued to slip down inside
her suit easily.

"What a little pantywaist you are..." Martha teased.

Timmy was shivering and throbbing so much with anticipation now. Once
he was immersed up to his chest, Martha let go of his armpits and began
to put pressure on his back, holding him from outside her silk
clothing. He eagerly put his arms down then and, not without some
struggling, fit them down through Martha's collar.

"Can you hold onto me now, little friend?" Martha asked, smiling down
on him.

Timmy nodded his head. He felt so warm and Martha's body was so
unbelievably big and soft. Almost the entirety of his body, from neck
to knees, was engulfed by Martha's gigantic chest. Her clingy silk
garment held him close to her, and the material felt so good against
the back of his little naked body--especially in the places where Martha's
big hands were rubbing him from the outside.

"If I take my hands away, will you fall?" she asked him.

He just moaned. He didn't want her to take her hands away. Whether he
would fall or not, he liked her hands as they were, holding and rubbing
him through the silk. Instinctively, he clutched her tighter, his hands
spread as wide as they would go around her massively expansive breasts,
and he fingered her soft boob flesh.

Martha chuckled delightfully but then slowly withdrew her hands,
placing them on her hips. Timmy held her even tighter and put his head
down against the opening of her collar, right where the top of her
cleavage began.

"Ready, Timmy?" she asked. "Here we go..."

Timmy didn't know what she meant, but he felt her big body begin to
walk forward in a straight line. He knew that there wasn't very far for
her to go, and sure enough, without warning, Timmy felt his back crash
into the far wall. Martha continued to thrust herself forward, though,
mashing him harder and harder, his back against the wall and his front
against her naked boobs and chest. His head was pressed hard against
her, so hard that even the beginning of her breast cushion gave way and
he felt Martha's big collar bone. Most of the rest of his body,
however, was completely sucked into Martha's cleavage so deeply that it
didn't even feel nearly as much pressure. Martha's boobs completely
enveloped him, and they were so big that they buffeted him from the
wall. Still, since the boobs literally wrapped around his body, he did
feel some force coming back at him as Martha continued to push herself
against the wall. As for his arms, they instantly folded under the
pressure, and the force of Martha's boobs against the wall
inadvertently shoved them down and underneath their massive expanse.
Lastly, Timmy felt his little toes just come into contact with Martha's
bellybutton. For a woman of her size, her tummy was surprisingly
taught, especially when it was pressed hard against a wall.

Timmy just gave a little muffled moan. From high above he heard Martha
cackle happily. He was so turned on that wanted more than anything to
buck his hips a bit and try to come, but his body was completely
encased in Martha and he couldn't move a centimeter anywhere on his
body.

He felt Martha jostle herself side to side a bit, really making sure
that Timmy was crushed and smucked good. Then she bucked her own hips a
few times to bang him against the wall harder.

After another laugh, Martha eased up the pressure some. She pulled her
head back some, which thankfully eased up the force with which Timmy's
head was shoved against Martha's collar. His head now rested
comfortably against the upper region of Martha's generous boobage. She
drew her feet back some too, which had the effect of easing the
pressure from Martha's stomach that Timmy had been feeling from his
knees down.

He was now basically just being held by the pressure of Martha's big
big boobs against each other and against the wall. She leaned forward a
bit and then pulled back, again and again, gazing down on him with a
soft look in her sparkling eyes, watching as her mammaries smushed
around him more and more, tighter and tighter.

"Your face is getting so red, Timmy," she told him calmly. "And it is
as if you are disappearing, being eaten by my cleavage."

Next she began to do a sort of swirl motion, getting on her tiptoes and
leaning to the left a bit, then bringing his body a few inches higher
in the air as she slowly leaned to the right, dragging his body against
the wall as she went, then lowering him a bit, squatting her knees
somewhat and pushing off to the left. She repeated this move several
times, once changing directions to do the same technique in a
counterclockwise way.

Totally overwhelmed, Timmy had no choice but to take it. His body was
broken and limp. His boner was painfully erect but he didn't even have
the strength to try and dryhump--no doubt Martha would just stop him
anyway, as soon as he started, by crushing him hard against the wall
again, so hard that he couldn't move.

Finally Martha stepped back from the wall. Timmy's little body was held
up simply by Martha's tight cleavage now, which ran all the way from
about Timmy's mouth to his lower thigh.

"OH YOU ARE SO CUTE!" she told him, not being able to resist putting
her hands around him and rubbing and hugging him through the silk
again.

"Just one more thing and then I'll let you squirt," she said, and
walked over to the full-length mirror. "Look, Timmykins," she told him.
"I want you to take it all in good, so that you really know what you're
up against."

Dutifully, he tilted his head--a motion which was not easy for someone
whose body was still 90% trapped in cleavage--and spied their
reflection. Martha looked terrifyingly gigantic, and it was good that
she hadn't stepped close to the mirror, otherwise he couldn't've even
seen much of her. Her silk bodysuit with the dark pink swirls still
looked so elegant on her, and it held and showed off the curves of her
hips and protruding ass to unbelievable effect. As if she knew right
where his eyes were, Martha pivoted a bit to the side so that Timmy
could really get an idea of just how big and round her ass looked--
scary big, and profoundly curvy. Every bit of her seemed to get bigger
and curvier all the time, in fact. Even the way the tight silk sleeves
looked around her thick solid arms seemed so curvy and supremely
feminine. And even though an adult male was on her chest, her boobs
were so big, and her cleavage so deep, that Timmy hardly noticed any
interruption in the curvy "shelf" of the silk around her chest. Were it
not for the side of Timmy's little head, poking out from the top of
Martha's collar, most people wouldn't've thought that this big naked
woman had anything beneath the silk one-piece. Martha tossed her
shoulder-length platinum blonde locks, causing her silver hoop earrings
to bounce around a bit, and smiled down at Timmy with a classic smile.

"Oh Timmy?" she asked him, cocking her head a bit to the side and with a
bemused expression examining his face in the mirror.

"Y-yes, Martha?" he asked.

"Do you know just how big I plan on getting?"

Timmy shivered, and at that he felt her soft skin jiggle around him as
Martha softly laughed at his nervousness.

"Uh, n-no... H-h-how b-big do you plan on g-getting?"

"Big enough to make you squirt your whole balls out just thinking about
me." She smiled widely and her reflection looked into his eyes
intensely. "And... I THINK I'm almost there. But don't worry, I
definitely have more than a little growing left to do. I do hope you'll
come back soon to visit me and check it all out?"

He whined and trembled a bit again, and again he felt her controlling,
enveloping body shake again with soft inner laughter.

"Now, however," she continued, "I think it is time for you to have your
little bit of fun."

Timmy moaned in response and began to buck his knees a bit.

"So get down there," she instructed him, arching her eyebrows a bit.

Martha put one gigantic soft palm on the top of Timmy's head and pushed
down slowly but forcefully. The sensation was not entirely pleasurable,
as Timmy almost felt his body begin to crumple, but eventually the
force was enough to push him lower, down through the constriction of
Martha's cleavage.

Lower and lower he went until he felt his little ballsack and ass come
in contact with the crotch of Martha's one-piece.

"Can you fumble your little paws down there and fit your peeper inside
me?" Martha asked him, in the same babyish tone an adult might use if
she were talking to a child about how to tie his shoes.

By now Timmy's face was mashed deep into Martha's cleavage and it
wasn't easy for him to breathe. Still, he desperately tried to position
himself so that his arms could move down toward his crotch.

"Here, let me give you some more room and a breathing tunnel," Martha
said. She then put her hands on her boobs and pried them apart a bit.
This had the effect of giving Timmy's upturned head a much easier
supply of air, and he quickly thrust his hands lower while he had the
chance; but when Martha let go of her boobs they closed back around
Timmy with a tremendous, pinning force. He could breathe now, but he
was totally squished from neck to crotch.

Luckily, however, his hands were in the right place and had just enough
room to work in. He fished around and found his throbbing 3.5-inch
pecker. It was so erect and sore that it almost hurt to touch it, but
he did touch it, with one hand. And with the other hand he found Martha's
gaping, waiting vagina. She had squatted a bit and bent her knees to
help him, and sure enough, her vagina was already puckered and dripping
wet, ready for him. He put his tiny penis inside and whined.

"Okay, are your little hands out of the way now?" Martha asked. "I
don't want to close the clamp on them too. It might break them."

Timmy gave an assenting sound. Martha stood back up and her vagina
closed surprisingly snugly around Timmy's tiny member.

"Are you ready?" she asked. Her vagina felt so big and loving around
his little dick. His entire body was encased within her soft but firm,
smooth woman flesh.

Again he gave a meek assenting "Mmhm!"

Martha chuckled at this of course, considering most of Timmy's
utterances cute and adorably pathetic.

As he rested against the crotch of her silk one-piece, hanging in mid-
air, facing her, with his little legs now draped a pitifully short way
down the legs of her silk one-piece, pressing against her big meaty
soft thighs, Martha began to jiggle as Timmy began to buck. The
sensation was incredible. He felt so little, especially
because her clothes were about a hundred times too big for him. And his
little pecker rutted into Martha's tight vagina with an almost painful
zeal.

He then felt her body start to spin around the room a bit, in motions
that were slow but very disorienting for him. Martha went high up on
one foot, twirled a bit, and came back down and spun a different way on
the other foot. This went on for about half a minute and Timmy was
getting very dizzy. He closed his eyes, but just has he did so he felt
Martha's body become more stable. He didn't know where they were in the
room, but as Martha's body tipped itself backwards, he could guess.

They went hurdling down through the air in a whoosh, eventually
crashing onto Martha's big sturdy bed with a tremendous bounce before
they settled, with Timmy on top of her and the force of the impact
having shoved him hard against her and as deep as possible inside her.

He was so turned on now, so thrilled that she had let him be on top and
in a traditional missionary position, that he literally could hardly
contain himself. He looked up, began to buck, and saw her pretty face
with its sparkling blue eyes, fair skin, distinctively Jewish nose, and
wide pink lips looking down at him through the tunnel of her neckline, which was made by the strain of her gigantic cleavage.

"Go wild, my little one," she told him. "I command you to squirt for
all you're worth into your big goddess now."

He felt her hands come up and cuddle his naked backside through the
silk. Her entire smooth naked body felt like a giant bouncy wonderland
beneath him. Her hand stroked his back and against the silk it felt so
good. Her other hand gently spanked his little butt as he fucked her,
and her soft hand was so big that it easily covered both of his little
butt cheeks with plenty of room to spare.

He strained and moaned and humped and humped and humped. It didn't last
long because he couldn't hold out long. But it felt perfect. Soon
enough he felt a joyful liquid sensation rising in him, and he moaned
louder as the cum began to pump out of him--squirt, squirt, squirt--
into the vagina of the biggest, sexist, most wonderful woman in the
world. He wanted more than anything to serve her, honor her and obey
her, and that is just what he was doing now, coming into her just as
she had graciously ordered him to do. Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt,
squirt, squirt, squirt, for all he was worth--just like she told him.

When it was over his entire body was a limp, exhausted wet noodle.
Though he could barely open his eyes, he felt Martha lifting him out
through the opening of the collar. She had total control over his body,
and like a mother might do to a toddler, she lovingly dressed him--good
thing, too, for he felt too weak to do so. She put Sarah's old Wonder
Woman shirt back on him, complete with the vanilla ice cream stain that
silly Timmy had gotten on it earlier.

Then Martha paused a bit and thought. Timmy was regaining consciousness
a bit more now, just enough to notice that there was something
different about the underwear Martha was putting on him. This was not
the pair of Sarah's old panties that he was wearing earlier. It felt
different, and bigger.

He opened his eyes wider to notice that onto his haunches Martha was
hiking up the thong bikini bottom that she was wearing earlier. It had
looked so impossibly small on her, but he remembered how
earlier the front of it had seemed to fit Jason's ass quite easily, and
now it was fitting over Timmy's frontside with plenty of room to spare.

"There are brown stains in the panties you WERE wearing," Martha told
him. "You really need to learn how to wipe yourself better. Anyway, as
you might have noticed, this thong doesn't really fit me very well
anymore, so you may as well have it--to remember our special day--don't
you think? Here, turn around."

He did so and felt Martha taking the slack out of the thong and waist
straps, then tying them together in a smart little knot so that the
bottoms fit better.

Timmy shivered and put his head down. He already knew how Brooks would
react to seeing him dressed in the Wonder Woman shirt, but now she was
sure to get even more of a domineering kick out of seeing him in
Martha's bikini bottoms. There was no way that he could avoid Brooks
seeing these; she was due to undress him and get him ready for bed, and
there was no way he could be able to muster enough strength to take off
these clothes by himself anyway. He needed women to help dress and undress him now; this was a fact of life for him now.

Suddenly he felt Martha's big hand give him a quick sharp spank across
his entire butt. Evidently she had noticed how sad and annoyed he was
getting.

"DON'T be a NAUGHTY boy!" she told him. "You have been such a good boy almost
all day long. Don't ruin it now, or I will be VERY angry and
disappointed with you. And I know you don't want that."

Timmy put his head down and looked a bit ashamed of himself.

"I really have been very proud of you today," Martha continued, now
lifting him a bit to fit his legs into Sarah's old pink pants and hike
them up. "You are becoming such a proper man, Timmy, getting better
every day and learning and accomplishing so much. I'm so proud that you didn't put up any fuss whatsoever in letting Sarah be in charge of you today. It's so sad I don't even get to see you
all that often--I WISH we could spend so much time together EVERY day--
but even I can tell that you are truly becoming a better little man with every passing day. And despite all the help and
guidance that I know you have had in all this, from wise women like me
and Sarah and your aunt and her maid--and even from the girls at the
party last night, I noticed, even from little Stephanie!--you should
still be very proud of YOURSELF for bettering yourself and rising to
the challenge in such a manly way!"

Timmy didn't feel like he was learning or accomplishing anything or
bettering himself. It felt more like he was being constantly
overwhelmed, more and more, and being sucked back into a childish
existence of uncertainty and dependency, all at the whim, mercy and
malevolence of increasingly strong (and increasingly good-looking)
women. They were too good-looking and too strong now. Nothing could
stop them. They impressed him so much that he just yearned to supplicate himself before them. It was already way too late for anything else to happen other than the continued demise of his ego and personal agency in life. And truth be told, if he got to
hang out with women like Martha, he would gladly sell himself into
abject slavery anyway, if only he got to come in her presence sometimes.

"I'm so proud of you and I LOVE you, Timmy," Martha told him at last,
bending down to capture his little face in her wide pink lips. "Now
let's hurry and have Sarah take you home, finally. Your aunt will be
worried sick and probably think we kidnapped you, or sold you to the
Chinese women for slave-raping!"

-----

It should have come as no surprise to him, but Timmy's mouth still
dropped open when he saw what Sarah had chosen to wear for their bike
ride: A tight black and gray sports bra, which ended only an inch or so
below her breasts, and matching black and gray lycra shorts, which only
came down about three inches over her strong thighs. She also had
shades on, as well as sporty fingerless black leather exercise gloves,
and cool-looking white, gray and blue sneakers. Her dark hair was drawn
back in a ponytail again, and her exposed midriff allowed Timmy to
admire her pearl teardrop bellyring once again. She looked like the perfect athletic, stylish teenage girl.

"Are you ready already?" she asked him with a smile, her perfect white
teeth shining under her sunglasses.

Timmy nodded and turned to say farewell to Martha. The giantess had put
her big pink robe back on and bent low so that Timmy could give her a
goodbye kiss on the cheek. Of course, Martha took care not to bend too
low--not quite low enough really--so Timmy needed to stand on his
tiptoes and really stretch for his lips to be able to reach Martha's
soft cheek.

Sarah had a very professional looking bike that was far bigger than
anything Timmy himself could ride comfortably. He felt butterflies in
his stomach as Sarah led him by the hand out into the cold late
afternoon air and down the driveway.

"At first I thought you might somehow ride behind me and wrap your
little arms around my abs," Sarah told him, "but I don't think the seat
is long enough to accommodate the both of us. So, really I think it'd
be best if you just sort of sit facing me, in my lap so to speak, and
hug me the whole time until we get there. Agreed?"

Timmy nodded his head nervously.

"You'd like hugging me, wouldn't you?" Sarah asked, arching an eyebrow playfully.

"Yes," Timmy admitted.

"Why?" Sarah asked, almost rhethorically.

"Because we're friends," Timmy offered, "and... because... well... You're very huggable, Sarah."

She chuckled.

"I'll try to ride as quick as possible, and I know it's a little chilly
out, but all in all I think this'll really be fun and bring us closer
together--don't you think?"

She put a gloved hand on Timmy's shoulder and squeezed him into her
side. "You need to understand that it's okay and even good for you to depend on my bigger, stronger body. You need to know that I can brave the cold that you can't, and that I can do physical jobs that you can't without any problem."

Timmy watched as Sarah threw one of her very long, nearly bare legs
over the bike, sat on it, and with the toe of her sneaker lifted up the
kickstand.

"Okay, little guy," she told him, bending down a bit and stretching her
arms down toward him.

He approached shyly and she noticed his trepidation as soon as she put
her hands on him. She paused after she scooped him up, holding him
easily with her two hands clamped entirely around his thin tummy.

"Don't be nervous, Timmy," she instructed. "Be a good boy."

Then she drew him close to her and he wrapped his little legs around
her taut defined stomach. He also snaked his arms around her and hugged
her as tight as he could, his little hands on the small of her nearly
naked back.

"You're like a little baby monkey clinging to his mother as she swings
through the jungle!" Sarah told him.

Then she put her arms forward, allowing Timmy to notice how smooth
strong they looked, and grabbed the bike handles.

"Ready?" she asked.

Timmy hugged her tightly and moved his head toward her. As she lifted
her feet off of the ground and onto the peddles, she leaned forward as
the bike began to roll. Her sizeable chest, covered in the black and
gray sportsbra, smushed down into Timmy's head in a way that made him
feel a sense of safety and protection.

The bike ride was pleasurable, especially once Timmy closed his eyes.
He knew that Sarah was going far faster than he felt comfortable
traveling in this way, but any reservations were just products of his
stupid cowardly male ego; Sarah was in total control and was more than
capable of performing this task at this speed. So Timmy simply lowered
his eyelids, held himself close to Sarah--soaking up some of her
bodyheat--rested his head against her breast-pillows, and was rocked
nearly to sleep by her big powerful thighs as they came up and down beneath him,
jostling him rhythmically as she peddled.

He was so drowsy by the time they arrived at his aunt's that he hardly
even noticed when Sarah got off the bike and took him to the door,
carrying him in the same position, in her arms.

Only after she rang the doorbell did Timmy really take stock of what
was happening.

"Oh God!" he suddenly said, his eyes wide open now. "Y-you should've
just dropped me o-off! You d-didn't--y-you don't--need to b-bring me to
the door! I-I-I can--"

But it was too late. Brooks had been summoned and she was already
opening the door. Timmy had hoped to slip into the house without
attracting anyone's knowledge, but now he was going to have to deal
with a meeting between Sarah and Brooks--and maybe his aunt as well.

Brooks smiled radiantly as she saw Timmy clutched tight to Sarah's
chest.

"Aw! Isn't that just fucking so adorable it makes me want to come," she
said.

Timmy turned to look at the maid. All this time with Martha had made
him forget how hot she was. Brooks Fraser, the perfect badgirl. She was
dressed in skin-tight leather pants, and had black leather pumps on as
well. She wore a skimpy dark red velvet tubetop that showed off most of
her modest cleavage. She had dangly silver cross earrings on and her
short hair was gelled and styled.

"Rose!" she called, turning her pretty head back into the mansion.
"Your little nephew is back! Come take a look at him before his
girlfriend leaves!"

Brooks then turned back to Sarah and both females laughed.

"Nice to meet you," Sarah said brightly, holding out her hand.

"Nice to meet you as well," Brooks replied. "Timmy doesn't stop talking
about how much he loves you, so it's great that I finally get to see
the girl he's so obsessed with. Well, the other girl besides myself."

Sarah laughed.

"And I guess it's good," Brooks continued, "that he can be around at least one caretaker who's young enough that he doesn't have to worry about her ripping his dick off."

Timmy blushed and buried his head in Sarah's chest.

"Hello, Sarah!" Rose said, stepping into the wide doorway. "I hope our
little one wasn't much trouble for you?"

"No," Sarah smiled. "He was a good boy almost the whole time."

"Almost," Rose and Brooks said in unison, raising their eyebrows a bit.

"Almost," Sarah repeated.

"Did you have a nice Sweet Thirteen, then?" Rose asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Sarah said, pleased with herself. "We played games and
did height measurements and even some wrestling."

"I bet Timmy liked that," Brooks added.

"And then today we went to the mall," Sarah concluded. "And we had a
nice time there, too. Didn't we, Timmy?"

She looked down at him expectantly and had to somewhat forcefully
reposition him so that he wasn't hiding his head anymore.

"Y-yeah," he said furtively, looking over and up toward his aunt.

Even though he had been hanging out with a heeled Martha Thollen and a
super-heeled Sarah Thollen almost all day long, Rose still looked so
indomitably tall to him. She wore a very expensive looking purple sash
about her. It was thrown over one side, exposing so much of her perfect
caramel-colored skin. It clung to her tall aerobic body very tightly in
some places and ended at mid-thigh, exposing her long tan legs that
went on forever. For footwear she wore brown leather boots with golden
buckles and heels that must have been at least 6 inches. She also had
on several silver bracelets and dangly silver earrings. Her supermodel-
like face looked down at Timmy with bemusement, and her chestnut hair
was styled in a very sexy layered bob.

"It sounds like you had a WONDERFUL time, Timmy," his aunt said to him,
holding out her long bare arms. Sarah took the hint and handed Timmy
over.

Once again, even though he had been in the arms of two very tall women
many times that day, it was nothing to the thrill he got of being in
his young aunt's arms. Rose just seemed so much more capable and sure
of herself--more so than Sarah, even. And Timmy instantly thrilled to
Rose's scent as well; whether it was perfume or her natural feminist
odor, he didn't know--but he loved it. She pulled him in to her chest
and he instantly took to it, hugging her and putting his little cheek
against her bare shoulder.

"It's quite a coincidence," Rose said. "Because Brooks and I were just
heading out for an adventure to the mall as well. So, lucky that you
arrived before we had left, Sarah. And lucky for Timmy that he gets to
have another fun trip at the mall with two OTHER wonderful women now!"

Timmy thrust his head back and his little eyes betrayed a feeling of
anguish, shock, pain and injustice. The three women laughed.

"Thanks for taking care of him for us," Rose said to Sarah as the
latter returned to her bike and Brooks and Rose walked with her.

"No problem," she said, then added: "Catch you later, 'lover'!" as she
bent over toward Timmy and gave him a peck on the cheek. Rose had to
lower her arms a bit for Sarah to be able to reach her little captive.

"Bye, Sarah," Timmy squeaked sadly, and the three women laughed at him
again.

======

Next time: A few little dates with a few Emilys... and a few large
fights with Brooks, i.e. Timmy's new roommate.
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