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Jack imagines a reality where he didn't shrink, but still remains a powerless toy for his sister's use and enjoyment. Part 2.

            You tramp humbly down the concrete sidewalk of your neighborhood, only loosely refreshed by the exposure to the outside world. You may be “normal” sized again, but for all intents and purposes of this strange reality, you might as well not be. The cottony dog collar coiled around your neck insists on constant forward momentum, as your teenage sister grasps the leash handle on the opposite hand in sure, confident fingers. All you have to do is follow her: the slap of her soles against well-worn flip-flops, colliding with the earth, commanding it to accept her ownership of you.

            As sure as you were before you woke up that this is all just some powerless-drunken dream, and that you’re going to wake up at any moment back at your size of just under three inches tall, that end possibility is becoming less important. Whether or not this moment is real, as your younger and shorter sister drags you on a leash toward her ride to school, is irrelevant.

            So long as your purpose as a living being is served, all is right with the universe.

            “Come on, slow poke!” Carly scolds you playfully; the lilting giggle on the end of her sentence lets you know she’s not actually upset at your shambling pace, but the quick tug from her fist around the leash also lets you know she’s not necessarily just toying around.

            The sun is out, the grass is green, the birds are squawking musically from some unseen point beyond the neighborhood’s trees. And you’re walking dutifully behind your sibling on a dog leash, out in public, ready to help and serve her in whatever ways she requires this day. Such as carrying her hot-pink backpack for her. Could there be a more perfect purpose, regardless of your height?

            The pair of you reach the end of the street just as the school bus pulls up in a puff of dark exhaust. As the doors creak open, Carly turns to you one last time in your relative solitude, flashes you a promising smile, and clomps up the high steps of the vehicle. Shrugging, you follow after her before the slack on your leash can tug your neck; this pet-accessory she placed on your neck at the breakfast table is fairly loose and would be incredibly easy to remove with just a pinch of the plastic buckle. But that’s not the point, of course. There’s never even a consideration in your mind to remove it without permission from your younger sister.

            Surprisingly to you, though, as you follow Carly down the thin aisle of the bus between the faux-leather seats, nobody seems especially focused on you. Eyes linger on you just slightly longer than is necessary to process your physical presence. You expected some boggled glances and semi-repulsed facial expressions as the teens filling the bus made judgments and conclusions about your relationship. But there are none. If anything, they only look to Carly, watching her with a certain admiration and distant longing. You can’t say you blame them.

            Maybe you’ve been in this situation more times than you’re aware right now, and they’re just used to you.

            In either case, Carly selects a seat near the back of the bus, and extends a hand into the empty seat, indicating for you to go first. Before you can take a seat on the actual surface, though, your sister gives you a little flick in the small of your back, and presses down on your head again like she did at breakfast to get you to go under the table.

            You catch on quicker this time and manage to awkwardly wedge yourself down onto the floor, sinking your legs below the bar-prodding seat and face the back of the bus as Carly slides herself into the seat, taking the entire thing for herself. Her backpack plops down where you might’ve sat. Naturally, she swings one leg over your head, so that she has your clumsy torso straddled between each of her shapely thighs. With her hand still firmly grasping your dog leash, and her cushy inner legs clamped around your shoulders, you feel absolutely secure as the bus lurches into motion.

            The bus ride to Carly’s school is mostly uneventful. Your sister tucks ear buds in, listening to music and bobbing her head as she watches out the window, occasionally twirling her gorgeous dirty-blonde locks around her index finger. As for your part, Carly taps a foot in time with the song, jostling her thigh against the side of your head. It’s not an unpleasant sensation to be bounced against your sister’s fairly powerful leg, even if it does get disorienting in combination with the rumble of the bus floor.

            Upon arrival in the school parking lot, the bus brakes hard and your head is heavily pressed into the side of Carly’s thigh by centrifugal forces. She giggles, clamping her legs harder around you and briefly headlocking you with her b-ball-trained quads. Goose bumps run along your skin.

            As the students unload, your sister swings her leg back over your head, taking special care to brush your face along the ragged hem of her cut-off shorts. You can’t help but get a whiff of her most precious aroma, cooked by body heat and her citrusy soap. Perhaps on the strength of the scent, or maybe by a tug from Carly’s leash-bearing hand, you’re tugged to your feet. You sling her backpack over your shoulders again and are guided down the length of the bus and onto the sidewalk outside.

            Next comes a trek through constantly dissolving and swelling throngs of students. Hundreds of bodies bustling toward the school, backpacks, purses, and half-finished breakfast beverages in hand. All of them both younger and shorter than you, just as Carly is. All of them with far more agency in their personal lives than you will ever have again or even deserve. It’s a very comfortable sensation, to be looking down physically at the tops of most of their heads, despite knowing what you are to most of them, and in particular to your sister: a tool and plaything.

            Again, you go relatively unnoticed. No wandering eyes clinging on you with pity or disgust. At most, you see a flash of recognition in the eyes of passerby as Carly moves past them, though generally, she doesn’t have to shoulder past anyone. They just part for her. They know her, and they know why her strapping older brother is following her, a colorful dog collar latched around his neck and looped to a leash in her hand.

            Your teen queen sibling on occasion plays with the string of the leash as she guides you into the halls of the school and toward her locker. She loops it back and forth around her hands and arms like a twirling baton, and even shortens it at times, until her thumb is poised up against your neck. This always turns into an opportunity for her to pet your face, though, either to comb your bangs over with her spit, or to simply trace her fingers over your cheeks above her. You feel uniquely blessed.

            At her silent request, you dump her backpack contents into her locker and gather the required materials for her first class of the day. She rewards you with a long kiss on the cheek that leaves a small string of her saliva on your chin. Zipping the pack back up, you depart for the room just down the hall, passing between more easily parted crowds of kids headed sleepily for their own learning experiences.

            You’re in the middle of one of your own learning experiences, of course, though not quite the same as theirs. Yours is much better than hearing a teacher drone on about algebra or American history; your teacher is giving you the most important lessons of all. Life lessons.

            Still, you can’t help but question the results of all this oddity. You can see how you might go mostly ignored on the bus and on the way into school, but the reality that Carly’s about to drag you into class at her feet is setting in. Will it be allowed?

            “C… uh, Carly?” you pipe up just before she steps into the classroom. Politely, your sister halts in her tracks and turns to face you, twirling her finger around your leash as she patiently studies your face above. She’s always patient with you.

            “Yes, Jack?”

            “What are… I mean, will I… will I be able to… um…”

            She shakes her head pitifully, her smile restricted to the corner of her mouth. She steps forward, placing the balls of her feet atop your shoes, and stands on her tiptoes, mostly closing the height difference between you. Her warm breath puffs against your neck.

            “Jackie-Poo… how many times have we had this talk? There’s no reason to worry. Nobody will care. They know why you’re here.”

            “They do?”

            “Of course they do.”

            “You… you mean you talked to a teacher about this and got permission?”

            Carly’s brow furrows in amused confusion at the phrase, and you realize you just said the word permission to your sister. Something she hasn’t had to seek in quite some time. If ever, truly.

            “I told you,” she repeats. “They know why you’re here.”

            “Okay.”

            “Just follow me, little bro,” she insists. “Unless you had an appointment somewhere to suck on someone else’s feet during this class?”

            “I don’t think I did,” you gulp, unable to stop from goofily smiling.

            “Good,” she confirms. Carly’s tongue extends softly and she licks a thin line of gleaming saliva up your neck, then steps down from your shoes and gives your leash a tug. “C’mon, toy boy. Let me play with you.”

 

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