Heart racing at his elder sister’s question, Paul ducked down into the deepest curtsy he could muster. He sensed his sisters’ eyes drilling through him as he engaged in this particularly feminine gesture, and felt as though he was standing under a hot spotlight. When he looked up again, his younger sibling was twiddling with the hem of her dress.

            “Do you like it, Paul?” Zoey gushed. She flared the ends of the skirt out with her fingertips, careful not to lift them too high and let her petticoats come tumbling out. She swayed her hips, even while seated, and got the sunny fabric in motion. “Well, do you?”
            “You better answer her, Mary-Ann,” Tory seethed, though her smile wasn’t diminished. The young woman crossed her arms. “The hired help usually wants to stay on the mistress’s good side, you know.”

            Paul walked to the edge of the floor. Even while standing on the second story of the dollhouse, laid out before his sisters in their regal picnicking poses, he felt pathetically small. He wasn’t even standing at the height of the girls’ shoulders from up here, which meant Tory and Zoey still got to gleefully look down on him.

            “It looks nice, Zoey,” he mumbled.

            “Sorry, didn’t catch that,” Tory said.

            “It looks nice!”

            “Aww, thanks!” the girl laughed. She gave the skirt another draped twirl, then patted it down, until the lemony material was smoothed snug over the shape of her slender legs. An off-white corner of lacy petticoat peeked from the edge, which she tactfully shoved back under with her thumb. “I bet you’d like to wear it, too, huh?”
            Paul sighed. The sad part was that Zoey’s voice wasn’t even mocking or sarcastic; she was genuinely asking. Tory, of course, looked to be having the time of her life.

            “No, that’s okay,” Paul answered neutrally.

            “Really?” Zoey said, furrowing her brow. “I… thought you said you liked it?”

            “I do! It’s really pretty, and it looks great on you.”

            “But you don’t want to dress up in it?” The girl sounded hurt.

            Gulping, the boy in the maid uniform wrung his knuckles. He wasn’t expecting to be made to feel guilt over refusing to wear his sister’s clothes. But then again, he also wasn’t expecting to be turned into his family’s personal doll, either, so this was just icing on the cake.

            “I shouldn’t be dressing up in a girl’s clothes,” Paul said solemnly, and hung his head, too embarrassed to look his triumphant older sister or befuddled younger sister in the eye.

            “That’s not fair. You should be able to dress up however you want… Mary-Ann,” Zoey continued, her eyes practically glowing at the mention of the new name. Paul couldn’t help but note the irony of his sister’s generous acceptance of his quirk. Her open-mindedness was making this even worse.

            “Or however we want you to dress up,” Tory added. She reached a hand into the tiny kitchen, and cupped her palm around her four-inch brother’s back, but didn’t snatch him up; the shiver that ran through Paul’s frame was enough for her. Instead, she plucked her finger under his uniform’s apron, and flapped it up and down against the boy’s thighs. “I mean, no offense, but you’re living in a dollhouse now. Dolls have to get dressed up whenever their owners feel like it.”

            “Yeah, but don’t you want him to have fun, too?” Zoey questioned.

            “I don’t think we have to worry about that, Z,” Tory said. She winked at Paul again, ensuring Zoey couldn’t see. “Once we get going, he’ll realize he’s having fun, too.”

            Tory’s hand, still hovering at Paul’s back, closed at last. Her fingers lashed down over the front of the boy’s body, binding him into her fist, until only his head poked out the top. The elder sibling chuckled as she lifted Paul out of his habitat, while Zoey clapped her hands.

            “Wow, you really did shrink him a lot smaller!”

            “You bet I did,” Tory said. “We don’t want him to feel too at home in this dollhouse, after all. Plus, I always liked smaller toys better.”

            “Me, too,” Zoey agreed. Her finger recommenced combing over Paul’s hair, though there was much less of it to interact with, as the pad of her fingertip alone covered most of his scalp.

            “Oh, just look at you, Mary-Ann. You fit so perfectly in my hand. Way better than you fit in my dress.” To drive home the point, Tory’s fingers rippled briefly around Paul’s body, changing the pressure point every second from his legs to his chest. “It’s funny. When I keep my fist closed all the way, we can’t see what you’re wearing, and for just a second, we might forget what a goofy little twisted weirdo you are!”

            Paul blushed, but couldn’t help but grimly nod. There was no arguing with that. He wallowed, with the rapt attentions of both giant sisters drinking him in and crowding nearer to him, until he could feel the warmth of their breath and almost taste the mango smoothie backwash from their shopping trip.

            “But then I go and open my fingers again, and…” Tory drawled. She spread her digits wide, cradling her brother in her palm, and revealing his frocked black-and-white duds again. “…we remember exactly what you are, anyway.”

            “Looks like he did a good job cleaning up the rooms,” Zoey commented. She picked up tables and chairs in the various segments of the house between two fingers, brushing them aside with such comical ease, when it had taken Paul a great deal of effort shifting the furniture to reach every speck.

            “What about this?” Tory snickered. With her free hand, she wiped a finger along the dusty floor of one of the two rooms Paul hadn’t yet visited. She shook her head, and clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I don’t know about this, Mary-Ann. I’m not very impressed so far. Do you really think you’re going to be able to keep this place clean for a whole week?”

            “It’s okay if you don’t, P… I mean, Mary-Ann!” Zoey squealed.

            Paul trembled, and noticed his sister’s grasp tightening abruptly. Suddenly he felt as enclosed as he did while forcing on the aquamarine corseted gown, but unlike the dress, Tory’s mammoth fingers would most certainly be the victor against his body shape. His lip quivered.

            “I t-think so,” he uttered. “I’ve been working the whole time you were gone, and I’ll… keep doing it, as long as it takes…”

            “Uh-huh. Sure you will,” Tory said, unconvinced. Her fingers rippled again. At any given moment, her curled digits were either squeezing the air from Paul’s lungs, or gently embracing him. The sensation was by turns painfully restrictive and soothingly gentle, much like the experience of trying on that damning teal gown. And again, Paul felt the telltale spreading of goosebumps, and the awakening of the pleasure centers in his brain, as his sister’s hand involuntarily simulated the unique thrill of putting on a tight dress.

            Oh, no.

            “What do you think you’re doing, Z?” Tory laughed. Startled, Paul craned his neck around at the dollhouse behind him.

            “Nothing!” Zoey, in plain sight, was furtively waving her glowing fingers over the rooms her brother had recently cleansed. After a few seconds, the previously-spotless floors and furniture were overcome with a grainy glazing of dust and grime.

            “I’m pretty sure that’s cheating!” Tory announced.

            “What? But… I just…”

            “Only kidding. I won’t tell if you won’t! Nice spellwork, by the way.”

            “Thanks!”

            Paul couldn’t believe it. That wasn’t part of the deal.

            Though, frankly, he’d have been content with his sister slapping mud pies and cow dung over the whole dollhouse for him to clean, if only it meant his goddamn pecker would stay down. But of course, he wasn’t that lucky, and he just happened to be turned on by the feeling of being in a dress that hugged his body just so. While the maid uniform was poofy, Tory’s grabby fingers were closing the distance with a powerful massage, and in no time, he had risen to half-mast. And while the petticoat folds would conceal him for a short time, there would be nothing to stop Paul’s older sister from discovering him whenever she next chose to coil him back in for a full-body squeeze.

            Which, given the unlucky streak the boy was on today, meant she did it immediately.

            Tory’s body language altered the instant after her finger stroked over the bump. Her gaze locked right to Paul, where before she’d been amusing herself with the sight of Zoey’s immature campaign to re-dirty the dollhouse. Though her fingers loosened again, allowing her brother to splay out in the bedding of her tan flesh, the look in her eye said it all. I’ve got you now, those pupils seemed to cackle.

            Paul felt like he was choking more than ever, and he didn’t even have a set of colossal feminine fingers clenched around his body anymore. As anticipated, his erection was now at full stand, and propping up the black skirt in a nub shape. Just for clarification, Tory lowered her ring finger down over her brother’s little body again, and intentionally grazed her soft digit along his miniature dress-tent. On the verge of blue balls now, after such a titillating morning, Paul visibly convulsed.

            “I think I’ve got a good idea, Z,” Tory said nonchalantly, never taking her dark and unblinking eyes off her guilty brother. She licked her lips. “Let’s have Mary-Ann put on a fashion show for us!”

            “Really?” the girl gasped. Having spread a thick layer of magical grit across the whole interior of the dollhouse by now, Zoey swiveled back around. Her neatly folded skirts came undone in the excitable shuffle, allowing her frilly underthings to spring forth up to the height of her stocking lip, but she didn’t seem to mind, even as her gauzy petticoats fluttered in can-can style. Her delicate fists impatiently pounded the carpet. “I’ll get the other clothes!”

            While his little sister fetched the box, Paul looked pleadingly into the uncaring countenance of his beaming elder sibling. Even when they played together as children, often at his expense thanks to Tory’s metaphysical talents, he couldn’t recall seeing a look of such delirious happiness on her face. For Tory, this was her birthday, Christmas, and the worst day of Paul’s life, all rolled into one glorious moment.