Shrunken women board

It is a great story! Thank you for your input on this forum.

Well congrats on the story and it was very good, kinda will miss the updates for it. I did look forward to this story.

Margaret woke feeling very rested and very comfortable. She was nestled between the giant couple, Joyce and Richard. They were both sleeping on their sides, facing each other and her. She was chest level to them, so she turned on her side and began to suckle on Richard’s nipple. Even a man’s nipple was gigantic to her, but it fit in her mouth much more easily than Joyce’s. It reminded her of sucking on the bulbous head of James’s large cock. She drifted back into a semi-sleep state as she nursed.

Sometime later, she sensed Joyce begin to wake and soon felt giant fingers stroke her bald head and rub down her back – all the way down to the bottom of her feet. They lingered at erogenous zones that were easily accessible: her sides (that tickled), the small of her back, her bottom, the back of her knees, the soles of her feet. She alternately felt the soft ridges of giant fingertips and the hard dull edge of a giant fingernail. She intensified her efforts to suck and knead the breast in front of her.

After a few minutes of this, she felt fingers curl beneath her. Joyce lifted her, as she rolled onto her back, and soon Margaret was lying on Joyce's chest. She moved her head up to a nipple and held onto Joyce’s breast like it was a giant pillow. She felt giant lips press against the top of her head. She craned her neck and returned the kiss, then set about exploring her friend's torso, from the small of her neck to the folds of her vagina, all the while feeling the light strokes of giant fingers on her own body. When Joyce finally got up to get her shower, she left Margaret on Richard. He too was in that early morning fugue, not asleep but not fully awake. Margaret snuggled with his morning wood until Joyce had her bath ready in the sink.

"Hey, pretty bird." Misty reached her hand behind Stephanie, as if to grasp her, with the edge of her palm level with Stephanie's waist.

"Misty, I am not a bird! Why do you have to tease me that way?" She sat on the edge of Misty's hand and rested her feet against her palm. Misty lifted her up and Stephanie gave her a quick peck on the cheek before shifting over to sit on Misty's shoulder.

"Sorry, I saw you in that dress, and the first thing I thought of was a bluebird. Sunflower seed?"

"Only if you're having some," Stephanie said crossly, suppressing a grin. She cracked the seed open with her teeth and began to gnaw on the kernel.

"You're dressing more conservatively," Misty observed. Stephanie rolled her eyes in Michael's directions. "Oh. New master is a bit possessive, is he?"

"A bit," she conceded. "But I don't mind. Fact is, I don't want him showing his goods to every bimbo in school either – present company excepted."

"Yeah... hey!" Misty laughed. "Isn't that strange though? I mean, before you got shrunk, I would share just about anything with you--except my boyfriend! But here we are talking about sharing Michael like it's no big deal. What's up with that?"

"Cultural expectations. You're not expected to get jealous of a mini."

"Are you saying I only get jealous because I'm expected to?" asked Misty. "I don't believe that. If a guy I like even looks at another girl, I get jealous! Most of my friends don't let it bother them. Like you, you always said looking's no big deal. But I get really, really, steam under the collar, jealous. That can't just be culture."

"Well, yes and no. Look, it’s kind of like with family. I'm sure you get jealous of your brother sometimes. I know I do! But unless your parents are giving him more attention than you, you're not going to get upset about it. The difference between jealousy that makes you mad and jealousy that doesn't is mostly cultural. The fact that I'm small and non-threatening, kind of like a baby and kind of like a pet, helps too."

"That sounds more like instinct than culture. I mean, like, the stallion at the ranch gets jealous of any other males that get close to his harem, but he doesn't mind the colts."

Stephanie was impressed at Misty's reasoning. "Yeah, that's a good point. The books I borrowed from Dr. Wiseman said it's more culture than instinct, but it's a little of both. I guess whether it's more instinct or culture depends on how much you see me as your friend, or like a baby or a pet."

"Oh. Then it's definitely instinct." Misty grinned, and Stephanie acted offended and pouted.

Joyce came out of Margaret's bedroom, upstairs, holding Margaret in one hand. The Kincaide's den had a cathedral ceiling, and the walkway outside Margaret's bedroom overlooked it. Joyce was very focused on Margaret and did not even look down at the girls. "I can't believe you said that!" she scolded Margaret in an angry whisper. She shut the door behind her, almost slamming it.

"But Joyce, I was just...."

"Are you, or are you not going to take the antidote today?"

"I am, but...."

"Then you won't be 'squeezing' my husband tomorrow! 'I'll squeeze you even tighter tomorrow?' What kind of crack is that? 'She'll still be a lot bigger than me?' How do you think that makes me feel? I've had two children! I didn't just have one – by cesarean! I have a well-endowed husband, and I'm fourteen years older than you!"

"I didn't mean it like that. I just meant I'm a tiny woman! I'll still be almost like a mini to you – to both of you!"

"And you know he likes small women! He likes tiny, tight little... Oh, just go away!" And with that, she literally tossed Margaret aside, flinging her out towards the den.

She immediately realized what she had done. She gasped and reached out to catch the tiny woman, but Margaret was well out of reach. Margaret plunged head-first towards the floor, some fourteen feet below. The girls both gasped, and Misty tried to move fast enough to catch her, but it was hopeless. Margaret screamed as she fell about seven feet. Then she slowed rapidly and seemingly flew back into Joyce's outstretched hand, screaming the entire way.

As soon as Joyce grabbed her, the screaming stopped, and Margaret began to gasp for air. The gasps continued and it took the girls several seconds to realize that they were not gasps but laughs. Stephanie and Misty could now see the elastic band tied around Margaret's ankle.

"Laugh at me, will you?" said Joyce.

"No. No. Augh!" Margaret yelled, in a mixture of joy and terror, as she went for another ride. "Enough, Joyce. Enough," she said when she returned to Joyce's hand. "I have to catch my breath."

"Mom!" Stephanie yelled. "I can't believe you did that!"

"What? Pay you back, for taking that header off your brother's head?"

"That was, like, a year ago!"

"Your mother never forgets."

"That was... wild!" said Misty. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Not as dangerous as parrot riding," said Stephanie, on her shoulder. "Trust me."

"Yeah, but..."

"Mom's an expert bungee jumper – started way before I was born. I'm sure she and Margaret practiced some shorter jumps in the bedroom."

"Yeah, I was sure she was jumping something in there," said Misty.

"Ah Misty," said Richard, startling her, "I'm glad you're here. Come on in the kitchen; we're having a family meeting. Oh, and... good one."

"Uh, yeah."

"Now," said Richard, "I wanted to have a talk with all of you about safety." Everyone groaned, even Joyce. "Ahem, Jackson, I'm not going to give you a hard time about lack of protocol with Michael. We all know he wouldn't have kept her if she didn't want to be kept. But it does underscore the need for safety rules. Stephanie is a very special mini. Things that would not be dangerous, even to a thirder like Jenny, could be deadly to Stephanie. A cat could kill her faster than you can blink. Think about that because it's true.

"Dogs aren't quite as quick, but they're just as deadly. A large dog could swallow her whole, but even a toy chihuahua is like a hyperactive grizzly bear to her. And then there are humans. There are collectors who would pay a lot of money for her; being on Oprah didn't help that any. And then there are common jerks like David Conner.

"Now, most minis have one guardian who is responsible for keeping him or her safe. Stephanie has six. Assuming Margaret is restored this evening, she will be the supervising adult for Michael. But then Jackson will be taking her back to Baltimore to finish the last few weeks of school."

"Michael's loaning her to the guy he stole her from?" asked Misty.

"Ironic, isn't it? And, of course, her mother and I will have charge of her from time to time. Misty, I assume you'll be keeping her, often. By the way, I've got some paperwork for you to sign; we're not having a repeat of Michael's trick."

"Awww."

"Anyway, having so many people to look after her has its pluses and minuses. On the one hand, it gives her greater freedom, not being so reliant on one person. And of course, we're all looking out for her, not just Michael. But the downside is that we might lose track of who's got her! So, here's a simple rule: if you have custody, you wear the bracelet. The only exceptions are bathing and sleeping – at home. If you're at someone else's house, you wear it the whole time. It's waterproof.

“You don't have to always be attached by the leash, if you're in a safe place, but do stay attached in public places. But always keep the bracelet on, as a reminder that you are responsible for Stephanie's safety."

"Dr. Miller," said Misty, "couldn't we get Stephanie something else, besides a collar. I mean, isn't that kind of degrading? Couldn't she get like a bracelet or a waist band."

Richard's expression showed that he appreciated the thought, but he looked over at Stephanie, for her to answer.

"Thanks, Misty. That's sweet of you," said Stephanie, "but it won't work. My bones are very flexible. With a little butter or oil in his hand, a kidnapper could slip a waist band off me as fast as he could grab me. A bracelet would be just as bad, and they're too small for a tracking beacon. I don't mind the collar."

She gave Misty a quick kiss on the cheek. What she said was true, but there was another reason to wear the collar: she still needed to fit in. She'd probably have an easier time back at her old school, where she already had friends, than she had in Baltimore, but there would still be tension. And that would affect Misty and Michael as well as her.

It was different with the D&D gang. The guys were thrilled at having a pretty girl in the group--whatever her size. But that wouldn't go so far with Misty's friends. They were all about status. Stephanie being pretty might even make things worse. If they saw Misty treat her as an equal--or worse, if Misty acted like her follower, the way she used to--then she'd catch hell. No, Stephanie would keep the collar, and her friend. She looked over at Margaret, looking like her mirror image, sitting on her mother's shoulder. She cocked her head to rest it against Misty's. Margaret did likewise.

. . .

"You're really going to do it?" asked Michael.

Joyce looked confused, "Do what?"

"You know," he said, in a hushed voice, "give her the antidote."

"Michael!" Joyce was shocked, but still kept her voice down. "What did you think I'd do? Kidnap her? Feed her MinFix?"

"It's not kidnapping. You've got the legal right to keep her."

"So did David Conner. It's still wrong."

"But... you don't know what it's been like since Dad died. You've only seen happy Margaret, but this is the first time I've seen that since Dad left for Iraq! And since he died.... Dr. Miller, I don't want her to go back to that."

"I don't think she will. If she does, then we can convince her to become a mini again." She sighed, "but I don't think she will. I think she's cured. She's not over her loss. I doubt she ever will be; she loved... loves him too much. But she's over her grief.

“And how do you think she'd feel, if we made her stay a mini--the people she trusts most in this world betraying her?"

"I thought... maybe you could give her a placebo. You know, tell her it didn't work. Then later, if she’s really unhappy about it, you could give her the real thing."

Joyce shook her head. "It's still a betrayal, Michael. She trusts us. We have to trust her. Do you want to go with us to the clinic?" Michael shook his head.

. . .

"Margaret, are you sure?"

"What? Joyce, you know this was just a little vacation. I can't stay this way!"

They were in one of the examining rooms at Joyce and Richard's old office. They were still the senior partners, and their names were still on the door, but the junior partners were in the process of buying them out.

"I know. And I know this seems sudden, but Richard and I would really love for you to be a part of our family. Especially, I would." At that, Joyce gave Margaret a soulful, almost tearful look. Margaret had never seen the strong, confident doctor look so vulnerable.

"Joyce, I'm... touched. I really am. And I do want to continue our relationship. My God Joyce, I've idolized you for years, and now you say that you have strong feelings for me--maybe even love me? It makes me dizzy! But I can't stay a mini. Won't you still find me attractive at full size? I'll still be a small woman, you know, and I could even get a little reduction."

"That isn't it, Margaret. Yes, I would still find you attractive. Richard would probably find you even more attractive! At full size, he could make love to you. But that's part of the problem. You know that the rules are different for minis – both legal and religious."

Margaret got it, at least partly. Joyce was a religious woman. But her religion strongly frowned on, perhaps even forbade, a major part of Joyce's nature, her lesbianism. Joyce couldn't have a lesbian lover unless she was a mini. Richard couldn't be a polygamist, unless the second wife was a mini. Margaret thought, if it was her, she would just change religions! But that wasn't really true. Her own religious beliefs had saved her, or at least prevented her, from becoming Michael's pet and sexual plaything. Were Joyce's convictions any more arbitrary or less important than her own?

"I know what you're thinking," said Joyce. "But it's not just a religious stricture, like not eating pork or lobster, it's the way things are! Think about last night, with you snuggled between me and Richard; you helped bring us closer. But if you had been full-sized, you would have come between us--both figuratively and literally."

Margaret thought about that. Joyce had a point. The physical did effect the emotional dynamics of their relationship, the same way it did Stephanie and Michael's--and Misty's. There was no way the two girls would be contemplating sharing the same boy, if they were both full-sized. As it was, Stephanie acted as a bridge, bringing the very different Michael and Misty together. For that matter, even Stephanie and Michael would probably still be 'just friends' if she had not been minned.

. . .

"But Joyce... I just can't. Everyone would look down on me. I would look down on myself! I can handle Mary Henderson's teasing for a week or so, but forever? Knowing that she was right all along and she really was better than me? No, Joyce. No."

"Is that how you think of Stephanie, that you're better than her? Or will be, once you take the antidote?"

"That's different."

"Why?"

Margaret took a deep breath. "I think of her as courageous. But I think of her as handicapped – a girl in a wheelchair. I respect people in wheelchairs; I think Roosevelt was our greatest president. But I couldn't respect someone who had her legs amputated for a fetish!

“I admit that's not a precise analogy. I certainly don't feel revulsion or contempt for Jenny, the way I would for a woman who did that. But... well, really that's not a good example. I guess the thing is that I'm just not strong enough to bear the contempt people would feel for me. I'm not as courageous as Stephanie."

"But..., couldn't you be strong for us? For me? For Stephanie and Michael?" Joyce pleaded. "You know that it would be better if we all stayed together as a family, at least for another year or so.

“Okay, mostly for me. Margaret, I'm not happy."

"What!?"

"I'm not. I love Richard; I really do. But basically, I'm a lesbian! We're Will and Grace, and I'm Will. It's so ironic, it's almost a Greek tragedy. Richard is a wonderful lover. He has stamina, tenderness, technique.... He even gives me strong orgasms, sometimes. But I'm still unfulfilled – have been since college. And even then, I felt guilty – you know, sinning. Last night was the first time I've ever really felt whole!"

Margaret was shocked.

"And I'm taking your little girl away too," she said softly, almost to herself. "It's a wonder you haven't slipped me some MinFix and Just said, 'come on Magpie; it's time to go home.'"

"I thought about it," said Joyce, smiling with her mouth, but not her eyes. "Don't worry. I won't."

Margaret motioned for Joyce to pick her up. She snuggled and nuzzled against Joyce's neck. "So again, you prove you're better than me."

"I don't think so. You wouldn’t do that to me, either" said Joyce. "Margaret, isn't there anything I can do?"

"Well..." said Margaret, "you know, there are always alternatives."

. . .

"Honey, I'm home!"

The kids were all shocked at the sound of Margaret's voice. They knew that something was up from hints Richard dropped, but they didn't know what. They rushed up to see the two women in the atrium. The first thing that caught their eyes was Joyce. She was wearing an outfit that was almost identical to the Star Trek costume Margaret had been wearing earlier--complete with bald head and collar! At the front of the collar was a thin gold leash. It drooped down to brush against the top of her right breast and then back up to where Margaret held the other end. Margaret wore a fashionable business suit. Both women were smiling playfully.

"Ah, Darling! I'm so glad you're home!" Darling? Richard kissed Margaret on the cheek as if she, and not Joyce, was his wife. "And what have we here?"

"Honey," said Margaret, "this is Maxie. Maxie, turn around slowly and let your new master have a look at you." Master?

Joyce did as she was told. Michael, Stephanie, Jackson and Misty all stared, literally open-mouthed in shock. The back of the dress was so short that Michael thought that he might have seen the crease where her leg met her buttock, if he dared to look that closely. For a moment, he wondered why he thought that was so scandalous, considering all the nudity he'd seen lately.

Richard just looked down at her appraisingly, but there was a twinkle in his eye. Joyce chanced a glance at him, before blushing and looking ahead and slightly downward again.

"Well, Honey, what do you think?" asked Margaret.

"Excellent choice. I doubt you could have done much better at the Marché du Minis, in Paris." Joyce gave him an angry look, slightly lifting her head, but still kept her eyes down.

"I think you're right," said Margaret, lightly stroking Joyce's hair. "Maxie, put me down on the table. You need to go get dinner started. Change out of that shift and into an apron. The large one, in the drawer by the sink, should cover your bosoms; and you can strategically place the tie strings in the back. This is a modest household. I'll be there in a minute to chef."

She motioned for Richard to bend down and gave him a more passionate kiss. She loved the feel of his giant tongue, barely poking between his lips to brush against hers. She thrust her own tongue out as far as she could to fiercely lap at his. Then she shooed him off, so she could talk to the kids.

"Jackson," she said, "I especially don't want you to be weirded out dear. Your mother assures me that you can handle your parents having a... slightly unorthodox relationship."

Jackson grinned. "Yeah," he said, "Mom and Dad have always been kinda freaky. And I had Steph as my mini for over a year. I'm not gonna get upset, seeing Mom in her Halloween costume early."

"Ooo, I do miss the Millers' Halloween parties! We'll have to revive that tradition. Michael, you look like you have a question."

"You... uh, I..." Michael tried to think what to ask. "You're staying a mini?"

"For now. I'll be Richard's mini - and Joyce's mistress."

"That's... where are we going to live?"

"Here. Three bedrooms should be enough, for now. Of course, the Millers need to go back to Baltimore, for a while--sell the house and let the kids finish school. That'll just be a few weeks, though. You can stay at Joyce's mother's place, while they’re gone. I'll stay with you if you need me to."

Stephanie excused herself and jumped down from Misty's shoulder. It still surprised Misty that she could jump so far. She went into the kitchen to talk to her mother.

"Mom, are you okay?"

"Yes dear, I'm fine," said Joyce. "Does this bother you? Because, if it does...."

"No.... No, I'm fine. I just... it's unexpected."

"It should work though," said Joyce. "I'm lending Margaret some of my respectability, authority. People wouldn't respect her as my pet – envy her maybe, because I'm...."

"Doctor Wonder Woman?"

"Oh, you've heard that one?" Joyce smiled.

"But as my mistress, my dom… they have to respect that, if they admire me. And trust me, people will still admire me. I know I'll be sacrificing some of that, but... I have an embarrassment of riches in that regard."

"But I thought you were a dom!"

Joyce smiled. "I thought I hid that better. I'm not dominant with Richard, and it's not like we've been living a bdsm lifestyle."

"Yeah. But you project a very dominant vibe. Plus the occasional costume party, the way you play with friend's minis, the way you've been with Margaret.... It's not like it was a big secret," said Stephanie. "So, how can you handle this?"

"You've been reading all those psychology books, Steph. You should know that every dom has a submissive side, just like every masculine man has his feminine side. I'm just getting in touch with my submissive side."

"Yeah, but...."

"And Margaret is getting in touch with her inner dom. Don't you think that's a good idea? You wouldn't want her to become a total submissive, like Misty's Aunt Susie, would you?"

"No..., but...."

"And you wouldn't want me to be like little Frank or the Marquis de Sade, would you?"

"No. But mom, have you ever read 'Mother Night' by Vonnegut? There's a famous line in it: 'Be careful what you pretend to be, because you are what you pretend to be!'"

Epilog:

Margaret did finally take the antidote--forty years later. It was shortly after Richard passed away. Joyce was having difficulty with arthritis and wanted to become an itty biddy. So, she and Margaret switched roles for her final years. Margaret set a record as the longest-minned person to ever be restored. A record that stood for several decades.

Jackson's comic book enjoyed some cult success. DC Comics even picked it up, as a miniseries. It had decent sales. It had guest appearances by Hawk Girl, The Black Canary, Raven and Robin (a female incarnation). But that turned out to be a tactical mistake; the suits at DC credited its success to the guest stars and declined to pick it up. Magpie and Starling did continue to enjoy modest success as an independent web comic for several years.

Jackson went on to have success as an artist and graphic designer. He was very happy, with a wife, two minis (both, former cheerleaders from Stephanie's old squad) and five children.

Michael did not marry Misty, though they remained good friends. He married his college sweetheart, Christine Andersen, who was a lot like Misty. Stephanie got along with her – in some ways even better than with Misty. But she and Misty remained life-long friends.

Michael and Stephanie spent their college summers working at the Fantasia mini commune in Orlando, where Michael would have himself minned for the summer. After three years of this, he was warned that he faced an increasing risk of getting stuck, so Stephanie insisted that he not do it again. She and Christine both agreed they liked him better full-sized.

Stephanie was the first (but by no means the last) mini in America to go all the way through college and grad school and get a medical degree. There had been other minis to get medical degrees, but they had all been minned after starting college. She became a psychiatrist and had a very successful practice. There was even a movie, “Shrink!” very loosely based on her life, starring Jennifer Lopez as the tiny shrink. They fictionalized it, to combine elements of her real life, as a mini psychiatrist, and her 'fictional life', as the inspiration for the popular comic character, Starling.

Margaret became very enthusiastic about the idea of having more children. She had long regretted that she and James never had more. She felt that, in a world of dwindling resources, a tiny child would not be handicapped – as long as he or she had full civil rights. She read extensively about female anatomy and obstetrics, which led to her becoming Joyce's assistant. She had special body suits made by the Trojan company, so she could perform examinations and even minor surgeries, under Joyce's supervision.

Ultimately, twenty million to one were too long of odds for Margaret to conquer. She never did get one of Joyce's eggs to implant. Instead, she found the egg that would become her daughters, while performing a simple tubal ligation. She recognized it right away, in the bright light of her 'spelunking helmet'. The largest human cell is visible, even to big people. To a mini her size, it looked like the priceless pearl it was. It got her so excited, she quickly got herself off. (A woman's orgasm is designed to suck a man's sperm deep inside her, and Margaret knew how to use it for the same effect on the tiny egg.) Joyce and the patient both gave her dirty looks when she came out, but she just said that the operation had been a toughie.

Margaret always insisted that the egg had been Joyce's, but Joyce suspected that she knew where Margaret had gotten it. Nine months later they had beautiful twin daughters, Cynthia and Cassiopeia. They had Richard's eyes and Joyce's nose (which was pure luck) and were as alike as peas in a pod. In fact, their grandmother got them a bassinet that looked like a pea pod.

The two looked so much alike that only Margaret and Stephanie could tell them apart – until they were thirteen years old. That year, they both entered puberty; and Cassiopeia had a mysterious growth spurt that, in a few short years, took her from seven inches to six-foot-seven, while her sister Cynthia (fifteen minutes her elder) topped out at nine inches even. This led to some interesting situations.

But that's another story.

[quote=Tiny_Significance post_id=22897 time=1654748893 user_id=8722]
Not gonna lie, I was kinda hoping that Michael and Margaret would go the way of Frankie and Tinkerbell lol
[/quote]
Me too, sometimes.

Not gonna lie, I was kinda hoping that Michael and Margaret would go the way of Frankie and Tinkerbell lol

[i]The halls of Empyrean are filled with flashes of lightening and crashes of thunder more intense than she has seen or heard in years, if ever!

Of course, there are always tiny static-electrical discharges throughout the citadel. They provide ambient lighting and a kind of white noise, that all giants, even lowly hill giants, find comforting. And on any given day, there will be a few major thunderbolts to shake things up – but nothing like this! The Council of Elders have summoned young Galefreya, a mere apprentice sage, on the most auspiciously stormy night since... well, since the night she was born, to hear her parents tell it.

Thrombolt Stratarus, eldest of her clan and acting Allégement of all Empyrean, presides over the Council. He is great uncle to Galefreya and kindly disposed to her, if distant. He stands a head and a half taller than she does – about twenty-five feet to her twenty (and a half). She was working on her journeyman level at miniology (or 'anthropology', she corrected herself) and had gotten the habit of mentally converting units to those of the min.

"About time you got here, youngling," his voice rumbles.

"I am sorry, Uncle. I was summoned suddenly, in the middle of the night, and I'm afraid the page had a hard time waking me over the storm."

"Not uncle here, child. This is Empyrean business." That meant that this wasn’t not just the business of the citadel, or of the city, but of the sky folk!

"The clouds portell of trouble brewing in the lowlands, involving the little people. You are a student of their curious culture," (Cultures, she thinks but doesn't correct him.) "one of the few to take such an interest in them. Old Thorombor, your mentor, is the only one who knows them better, and he is too old to Travel. The Council has decreed that you shall be sent on a mission among them. Gather what knowledge you can and try to find the source of these ill portents. You will be provided a ring, which has the charm of reduction. It will let you walk among the min without attracting undue notice." [/i]

"You mean I'm going to be a [i]mini[/i] giantess!?"

"Uh, well, I uh.... You'll be able to go back and forth; you just take off the ring. I just thought...."

"I'm just teasing, Dexter," laughed Stephanie. "It sounds great! I love the setup."

Everyone in the gaming group was happy to have Stephanie back, but none more so than Dexter. He often complained about the paucity of female gamers and thought that getting more minis into role-playing was an excellent idea. He also had a bit of a crush on Stephanie (all the guys did), but it was not the same as Michael's. He thought of himself as a kind of big brother to the whole group, but Stephanie was the only female and very cute, so she was special. Her minning had only made him even more protective of her.

Dexter was a senior and would be leaving for college in the fall. He had already been accepted at Stanford. He was a nerd's nerd, the kind of guy trekies called star warrior and star warriors called trekie. But he was also cool, in a 'king of the nerds' kind of way. He was a problem solver, and people looked up to him for that.

Earlier, before the others arrived, he had complemented Stephanie's outfit. Michael observed that it was almost perfect for a giantess, but the collar seemed out of place. Dexter grabbed a tiny screwdriver and a circuit tester. He stuck the screwdriver in a small hole in the collar, twisted and touched it with the tester. With a faint click, the collar sprung open. They hid it and the leash in a drawer – wanting the gang to see Stephanie, as much as possible, as the same old Stephanie.

Stephanie had mixed feelings about this. She had stopped trying to pretend she wasn’t a mini, and going uncollared was a little bit dangerous. But she knew she was safe enough at Dexter’s house, with Michael and Dexter and the gang. And she didn’t want to appear ungrateful.

She was also very impressed, having read how supposedly unpickable the lock was. If life was fair, she thought, girls would be hanging on Dexter like a rock star. But he was painfully shy around girls--even Stephanie. She thought that if there ever was a guy who needed a mini or two it was Dexter. She didn't think he had ever dated and doubted, sans mini, that he ever would.

He also wove a good game scenario. He was a big fan of X-files-style storytelling – a big mystery as a backdrop to otherwise unconnected mini adventures. Stephanie doubted that they would find out what the storm giants were worried about before he headed off to college. Not that it would matter to her, she would be going back to Baltimore in a few days. And not that it really mattered to the game either. The point of the adventure wasn't to solve the mystery; the mystery was just an excuse to adventure. For that matter, the game itself was mostly just an excuse to socialize.

But it was fun, sitting on Michael's shoulder, pretending to be a twenty-foot giantess – while he pretended to be a three-foot hobbit, sitting on hers. When Dorfus Stoutbelly sat on Galefreya's shoulders, he would only look a little larger to her than Stephanie did to Michael. They all got a kick out of that. Only Dave McCormick showed any resentment at Stephanie's special treatment; he'd always wanted to play a giant. Dexter just pointed out that life, and he gestured to Stephanie, was not fair.

"It's not fair," Margaret whined. "I'm supposed to be on my vacation, and instead I'm a slave to a giant lesbian sadist."

"Stop whining and keep pumping," said Joyce. "You're so close. Just a little... bit... more. Oh, oh, ohhh!"

"Ohh! Don't make me laugh, when I'm so short of breath already!"

"It's good for you," said Joyce "I told you, hypobaric exercise, a day before re-enlargement, can help reduce short-term lung atrophy and increase the odds of success."

Margaret was in a small hypobaric chamber. It looked something like an over-sized crock pot or pressure cooker. It had a glass top, a built-in pump to regulate the pressure, and an array of monitoring equipment. There was also a built-in speaker, which allowed Joyce to hear what Margaret was saying (and even her under-her-breath muttering). The internal pressure was set to 2/3 atmosphere--about 11,000 feet. Margaret finished a set of 200 pushups before Joyce let her stop and catch her breath and get a drink of water.

"Why do I trust you so much?" asked Margaret, breathing between every word. "I bet you'd just love it if I got stuck and stayed your mini."

"Yes and no," said Joyce. "Yes, the idea of having you as my mini excites me. I won’t deny that – though we haven't even given it a trial run yet. And no, I don't want you to get stuck. Not if you don’t want it. If it does happen, it won't be because I was a lousy doctor – or worse, a lousy friend."

"Thank you, Joyce. You are a good friend – even if you do torture me and keep me naked."

Joyce smiled down at her. She was glad they splurged and rented the luxury-model hypobaric chamber, with the glass top that let her watch her naked mini go through her paces. She wouldn’t tell Margaret how much it cost, but she and Michael could have spent the week at Hershie’s Kisses for less.

Joyce made Margaret exercise another thirty minutes, while she slowly raised the air pressure back to normal. By the time they stopped, Margaret was exhausted. Joyce carried her to the bathroom and set her in a sink full of warm water and bath oil. She alternately agitated the water and gave Margaret a massage.

She picked Margaret up, with soapy slippery hands, and squeezed her gently, causing her to slide forward like a bar of soap. She would slide forward, only to be caught in the other hand, where it would repeat. Joyce thought it felt a little like jacking Richard off, only nicer. Margaret thought it felt... indescribable!

After the bath, Joyce dried Margaret and dressed her back the way they found her.

"Why do I need to be bound again?" asked Margaret.

"You went to all the trouble to be tied up, when we found you. And it was so cute! I know Richard liked it, so I want to put you back that way before he rejoins us."

"Where is Richard, anyway?"

"Watching a football game he put on his ipod earlier. He doesn't think exercising is what he calls 'good naked', so I promised to get you back in costume and in character by the time his game is over."

"In character?"

"Slave girl. Oh, and be sure to call us Mistress and Master."

"Master Dorfus, me thinks thou art getting a bit cheeky in thy brashness. Mayhap, one of your stature should choose his words more carefully, when addressing an Amazon such as I."

Stephanie stood, balanced on the round of Michael's shoulder, with her hands on her hips, and looked him straight in the eye.

Michael had to close his other eye to focus on her. With her standing on his shoulder, they were just about eye to eye. Only through the magic of role-play could he envision her as a six-foot-ten amazon (her 'mini' form, when she wore the ring).

"Didst thou just offend my height? Dost thou not know that is a grievous insult to a hobbit? I demand apology, lest I must resort to fisticuffs."

"Thou wouldst strike a lady? Ah, I see now that chivalry is indeed dead. Very well. To keep peace in the party, I shall apologize for pointing out thy abundance of shortness."

"Apology accepted," he said and kissed at her sarcastically.

She kissed the air back in return.

They had been playing for over three hours--very little of it in the pseudo-Shakespearian that Michael and Stephanie seemed to switch to whenever they started their playful banter. The hokey accent seemed to make the innuendo and love talk safer. By unspoken agreement, the giantess Galefreya and the hobbit Dorfus had a mixed-up romance budding.

The other gamers, while enjoying the scenario, thought that the Michael and Stephanie show was the real main event, and well worth the price of admission. Other than Dexter, they didn't know what else was planned.

Toby dropped by at about nine o'clock, with his mini, Jenny, in tow. They all took a break from the game for a round of greetings. The other gamers were surprised by this visit. Toby hadn't been to a game in over a year. Jenny hadn't come with him in even longer.

"Stephie!" Jenny happily yelled. She ran up to give her a hug as soon as Toby unhooked her leash. "Look at you! You're so cute!"

She broke the hug and stood back to look the tiny girl over. Stephanie's blond hair was worn somewhat wild and frizzy. She wore very pale body makeup, giving her a Swedish or Nordic look. Her blue eyes matched the tiny sapphires she wore in her ears. Jenny wondered if big people would even notice the gems, they were so small. Their elegance contrasted with the simple shift she wore, with its ragged edges and large tear across the chest. The tear was meant to look like a lightning bolt. Under it, she had a matching bolt painted on her skin in metallic gold body paint. When the two bolts lined up, a viewer would get the effect of little flash of lightning. It tended to startle people. All the guys had been startled by it at least once.

"Dang, girl. It ought to be a crime to be able to pull that look off." She looked down to Stephanie then up to Toby. She looked back and forth between them a couple of times, then she held her hand out horizontally – level with the top of Stephanie's head – and brought it over to her thigh. She did the same with herself and Toby, and saw that she came to about the same place on Toby as Stephanie did on her.

"You're like a mini's mini," said Jenny.

"Yeah... uh, yes, Miss Jenny," said Stephanie, "I thought of that too. You're about two point eight times taller than me, and Toby's two point eight times taller than you."

The smallest woman Jenny ever met had been ten inches, but she knew that some minis were even smaller, and the new Seven Down pill would make that pretty common. It gave her a rush to be the giantess, for a change.

"Are you doing all right?" Jenny asked seriously. "The master treating you right?" She eyed Michael suspiciously.

"I'm fine Miss Jenny, really. But Michael's not my master. He just brought me to the game. My brother Jackson is my master, and he treats me great."

Jenny was relieved to hear that; she knew how hard it could be, especially for the invols. She noticed Stephanie's lack of collar. That was hardly safe, especially if her master was going to loan her to friends. She resolved to take her aside later and warn her about that.

"Good. And you don't have to be so formal. I think the last time anyone called me Miss Jenny was when I used to babysit."

"Well," said Stephanie, with the beginnings of a blush, "you were formal with me, the last time I saw you, and I wanted to... do right."

"When was the last time I saw you anyway? Oh, the sleep over!" she said with a giggle. Stephanie's blush deepened. "You worried that I'm going to want some payback?"

"N-no. Not worried exactly. But... you'd be entitled."

Jenny looked around at the six guys in the room. None could even feign indifference. Some were literally on the edges of their seats.

"With all these guys around?” she asked Stephanie. “You think you can handle that?"

"I'm a mini. I can take it." She looked Jenny in the eyes, defiantly.

"Truth or dare?" asked Jenny.

"….Truth. I cannot remember the last time I had a nicer dinner or a more pleasant evening," said Richard.

"To our lovely and charming hostess, to whom we are eternally grateful," said Joyce.

She clinked her glass to Richard's – and then the tiny glass she held in her left hand to both. She had to do that for Margaret, who was kneeling on the table, with her hands still tied behind her back. Joyce held the thimble-sized glass to Margaret’s lips, for her to take a sip, before taking one herself.

"Thank you, Mistress," she said. "Eternally grateful? I'm a little worried what I'm expected to do to earn that!"

"Silly," said Joyce. She stroked Margaret’s bald head with her index finger, ran her fingernail down her back, tickling her through the thick shirt she wore and briefly stroked her bottom. "That's for what you've already done. You gave us our happy daughter back."

Margaret was surprised. "What? Stephanie is happy. I mean, she was already happy. Wasn't she?"

"No," said Richard. "She wasn't. She was... resigned and... adjusting. But she wasn't happy. Not last week. And her relationship with her mother and me was very strained. She and Jackson remained close, but even there.... We were seriously considering placing her in a commune or back in Micro City, or even with another family. In fact, if you hadn't run into the kids at the park last Saturday, we might have given you a call. Joyce and I were struggling with that."

"But something wonderful happened last Saturday," said Joyce. "She met an old friend."

Margaret thought back to the previous Saturday. Stephanie had been happy to see Michael, but then she quickly withdrew, when he expressed a very reasonable concern about the way Jackson treated her. Once she had gotten over that though, she really opened up to them, treating them almost like surrogate therapists.

"Shouldn't you be thanking Michael?" asked Margaret.

"Oh, we will. But I didn't mean Michael. I meant you. Let me tell you. Last Saturday, I insisted that Jackson take Stephanie to the park. I thought it might cheer her up to let her socialize with some other minis, minis who weren't in therapy and didn't hate their lives. But I had no idea how right I was! She came home more excited than I've seen her since before she got minned.”

"Mom!” Stephanie called out from the front hallway. “You go talk to Dad, Jackson. I want to tell Mom.
[i]
“Mom, guess who we met at the park!"

"Uh, Misty…? Michael…? Toby and Jenny?"

"Pretty good. You were right the second time. But you'll never guess who he was there with."

"Dexter…? Svetlana?" She almost guessed Misty again, but Stephanie would have told her if she had guessed right first and second. "I give up."

"His mom!" Stephanie said, with a mixture of excitement and shock.

Joyce was confused for a moment. Why would it be shocking for Michael to be at Morris Park with his.... "No! She didn't! How small?"

Stephanie held her hand up just a little above her own head. Joyce actually squealed, then clasped her hand to her mouth and struggled to control herself. It just wouldn't do, to have a spontaneous orgasm in front of her daughter.

"Richard!" she called. "Margaret’s a mini! A micro!"

"I just heard!" he called back. "I'll assemble a snatch team, and we'll have her before sunrise."

Joyce turned her attention back to Stephanie. "Tell me all about it."

"OK. So, we're at Mini Park, and it's about like I expected – a giant pet show, people walking their dogs on one side of the creek and their minis on the other, and some of the dogs are looking hungrily at the minis, and the minis are all looking longingly at the dogs."

Joyce looked confused, so Stephanie explained. "Two of the things I miss the most are Mittens and Schnelly. They really should come up with a way to min dogs and cats.

“Anyway, after that, we went over to the water park. I'm in line for the Big Gulp when I hear someone say 'Hi' to Jackson. It's Michael Kincaide, and he's got Margaret, smaller than life!

“He was carrying her in one of those papoose cases that a lot of newbies use, and she was wearing this ugly bathing suit that looked like she must have rolled Barbie in a dark alley. And let me tell you, she did Barbie a favor. Anyway, we got to talking and we just hung out together the whole day. It was great!"

"So, Margaret finally did it."

"Yeah. She says it's just for the week, though – a 'little' vacation. Isn't that weird? My nightmare is someone else's vacation."

"One man's cheese," said Joyce. "And no. It's not so weird."

Joyce paused a moment, then asked, "is it really a nightmare, darling?"

Stephanie frowned a moment, but then she smiled and said, "Not today."

She jumped up to Joyce's shoulder and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
[/i]
"That was the first time she's [i]ever[/i] done that. She used to kiss me almost every day. And she still kisses me if I lean in for one. But jumping up on my shoulder to steal a kiss? Last week, she wouldn't do that on a...."

"Dare," said Stephanie.

"Oh, aren't you the brave one?" said Jenny. "I kind of expected truth the first round, like last time. Well, I was going to ask what that gold is, but I guess I'll just have to see for myself. I dare you to take off that chemise."

“That's not much of a dare," said Stephanie, tossing off her dress. "I'm a mini. I'm naked more often than not."

Stephanie looked even younger than her seventeen years. She was smooth as a baby, with pale skin that looked like it had never seen the sun—or a blemish. Blemishes tended to shrink more than normal skin, but it was partly due to expert application of high-quality makeup.

Also, Stephanie had been a vegetarian since she was six years old — after visiting a petting farm — and an all-vegetable diet tended to cause girls to develop more slowly. She had not been long in puberty before she got minned. The minning had not only halted that development, but slightly reversed it, though most of those effects were internal. Other than some nicely-developed breasts, Stephanie was the picture of an innocent sprite.

She did a little pirouette and bowed.

"What's that supposed to be?" asked Jenny, pointing to the gold design painted on Stephanie's chest.

"Painted circuitry," said Stephanie. "It's a tracking device that's a lot harder to remove than a collar."

Jenny looked surprised, the scowled. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," said Stephanie, grinning.

"What's that supposed to be?"

"A lightning bolt. My character's a storm giant."

Jenny snorted, then that sunk in. In a way, it was even more unbelievable than her first story. Playing with bigs was one thing – that was pretty much what minis were for – but a giant? The boys’ faces told her it was true. She looked up at Toby. "Why don't we ever do anything like that?"

Toby shrugged. "You never asked."

She looked back at Stephanie. "Sorry. I took two turns. I'll take truth."

Stephanie shook her head. "Not ‘til we're even. You didn't get any turns before."

Again, Jenny was surprised. She thought back to the party two years ago. It had obviously made more of an impression on Stephanie than it had on her.

"Master," she asked Toby, "may I sit?"

"Oh, sure. Sorry. Make yourself at home."

That meant she was pretty much free to do whatever she wanted, even leave the room, without asking Toby first. They were casual at home, usually.

"You have a lovely home," said Joyce. She looked down at Margaret in her cage, as she said this. Margaret sat on her couch with her hands now free. They had just briefly toured the house, but now Joyce was being intentionally ambiguous whether she meant the whole house, or just the cage. Margaret didn't rise to the bait. "Thank you, Joyce."

Richard brought the last of their luggage into the room. It was just a couple of bags and something tall that was covered by a white cloth. "That's the last of it. Slave driver." "Sorry, dear. I'll make it up to you." They kissed and embraced. Then Richard unhooked her pearls and unzipped the back of her dress. "Bath or shower?" he asked. "Oh, bath. Definitely." Richard went to run it, while Joyce began putting away her jewelry and to finish undressing. Like most women, she dressed and undressed more slowly than her husband.

Margaret found the scene hauntingly familiar, she remembered having almost the exact same conversation and actions with James, not too many years ago. Baby Michael had been in his crib, just a few feet from where she sat now. She felt infantilized. That thought made her pout, and the irony of that wasn't lost on her either. She started to say something, but Joyce just said, "Shhh, let mommy get ready for her bath." Margaret fumed, and grew strangely aroused.

Naked, Joyce reached into Margaret’s cage. She lifted the shirt off Margaret, unnecessarily using two hands, then she lifted Margaret up to her bosom. She had beautiful DD cup breasts. Margaret was sure she must have had work done; nature was never that kind to fifty-year-old women, but she couldn't tell for sure. Someone did very good work, whether it was God or some doctor. She wasn't sure if she was expected to suckle, so for now she contented herself to be cradled while Joyce walked to the bath.

"Do my boobs intimidate you?"

Stephanie gave Jenny a side-long look. "My mom's got big tits. And I hate to disappoint you, but Misty's are way bigger, even at scale."

"And how close up have you seen your mom's tits—since puberty—or since you were ten, if you haven't hit that yet."

"Don't be gross, Jenny," said Stephanie, ignoring the dig. "I've stood on the dresser, while she changes – about as close as I am to you now."

"Yeah well, I think it's got to be a little more intimidating, knowing that you’re going to get closer. And what about Misty's?"

Stephanie's face was the picture of innocence. "Misty's... I've actually been inside Misty's. She just lifts them up like this... pops out the silicone, and I crawl right in. It's very cozy."

There was a loud bump, as Danny barely caught himself from falling. He had been sitting a bit too far forward in his chair.

Jenny got the game. If she asked a question without getting a 'truth', Stephanie would make up an outrageous lie. She had scored a small point, getting Stephanie to say even an innocuous truth about her mother. She settled back into the little chair she had made herself by, stuffing a pillow partially under the couch. The pillow was her seat, and the front of the couch made the back of her chair. She motioned Stephanie to come closer. "Truth or dare."

"Truth.... Wait!" said Stephanie. "If you're about to ask about Misty, I won't answer. It's one thing to pry my secrets, and another to get my friends'. And no, that doesn't confirm she has any secrets; it's just a general rule."

Jenny shook her head. "Not the way it works. You don't have to answer – but there's a penalty."

She straightened her legs and crooked her finger. The penalty was simple: five spanks. Stephanie had been the only one to pay that penalty two years ago, for refusing to allow Jenny to.... It wasn't that much of a penalty, anyway, and Stephanie was proud that, both then and now, she took the spanking to protect someone else. She wondered if she was going to get the same dare again tonight—with their positions reversed. And if she did, would she do it—or take the spanking again? This time she wouldn't be protecting someone else. She'd just be wimping out.

Jenny was not rough with the spanking. She hadn't planned to be anyway, but as she looked at their audience, she was glad that she had decided to be gentle.

"You know," she said, "I was going to go easy on you because we're in a room full of guys. But now, I'm looking around, and I see a room full of mother hens. They all look ready to pounce if I get out of line. Even Toby! You know, you're my guardian, not hers! How do you do it, Steph? Why are all the guys so protective of you? Am I not small enough?"

"Well," said Stephanie, standing and resisting the urge to rub her bottom, "we've all been friends a long time. But you don't have to worry about them. I... I'll do anything you had to do. They won't interfere."

Jenny arched an eyebrow. "Truth or dare?" "Dare." "I dare you to sit in my lap, like a baby."

"It's been a long time since I had a little girl in the bath with me." said Joyce. She held Margaret in her lap, as she washed her.

"I know," said Richard, sitting next to her in the large tub. "And you look as beautiful today as you did then." He alternated between kissing Joyce passionately and kissing Margaret more playfully. Of course, it would have been physically impossible to give Margaret the same kind of passionate kisses he gave Joyce. But aside from that, he and Joyce were acting like a loving couple - with a baby in the bath with them. At first, Margaret had been off put by the infantilization. But as she got into it, she liked it more and more. She felt secure, protected, loved.

"We'd better get her out of here, before she and I both turn into prunes," said Joyce.

Richard unstopped the drain, then got out of the tub and began to dry off. Joyce ran fresh warm water into her hand and used that to rinse off Margaret. Then she handed her to Richard.

He laid her on a folded towel on the counter and brought the sides up around her to pat her dry. "Thank you," he said. "This has brought back memories – happy times of new fatherhood. But I'm ready to move on to more grown-up activities. You?"

"Mmmm Hmmm," Margaret moaned, lounging on her terry cloth bed.

Richard kissed and nuzzled her and tentatively touched her body with the tip of his giant tongue. She arched her back to bring her breasts up to meet him, then leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

That was too much work in her present state, so she lay back and just made cooing noises and moved enough to let him know that she liked what he was doing. Richard drew designs in saliva on her torso and slowly worked his way downward until he got to a spot that he didn't want to leave. Soon he brought her to her first orgasm of the evening. It was a blessed relief to Margaret, having spent most of the evening, and much of the day, on the cusp, in anticipation.

Recovering, Margaret looked up and saw Joyce and Richard towering over her, smiling. She was struck by her own sense of deja vu. "I know what you mean,” she said. “For a moment, it was like I was looking at me and James, standing over Michael. Don't get me wrong; the closest we ever came to that was giving him zubers!"

She looked at Joyce and added, "and that was the closest I ever came to having breasts like yours--back when I was...."

"Breast feeding? What... who?" Stephanie asked, then gave a sheepish look. "I guess that was a dumb question."

"Why?" asked Danny, breaking the unspoken vow of silence all the guys had been keeping. He looked back and forth between Jenny and her master.

"For one thing, it's very healthy—for both of us," Jenny answered. "The longer a woman breast feeds, the lower her chances of breast cancer. Everyone knows that. And I look good—two cup sizes up, relatively speaking. And even though they look big on me, they only weigh a few ounces. I'll never sag. And I look like I'm stretched more than I really am, too. I bounce right back into shape when I dry up.

And I'll never have children, so this helps me feel maternal. So why wouldn't I?"

"Because it's... weird!" said Danny.

"Then you should write a letter to Little Miss Sunshine and suggest that minis stop doing something that makes them prettier, happier and healthier, and helps them bond with their guardians, because you think it's weird. Better hurry, it's becoming more popular all the time. While you're at it, you might want to lobby to get all those laws and rulings that let mothers nurse in public places overturned."

She smiled to let him know that she wasn't really angry, just a little put out.

"Oh, and did I mention that it's very good for the masters too? There are whole books on the benefits of breast milk. Toby hasn't had a sniffle in a year. You've heard the expression: like mother's milk to him? Well, it really is." She looked down at Stephanie, cradled in her lap. "Truth or dare?"

Stephanie gulped. "Dare?" she said, uncertainly.

"Danny, you might want to leave the room," said Jenny.

He didn't.

The nipple barely fit in her mouth, but she gave it her best effort. Margaret first positioned herself so that she could use her legs and feet to massage Joyce's left breast, while she hugged and sucked on the right. But then she sat up, so that she could wrap both her arms and legs around the one she was sucking. She took a quick break and leaned back, twisting herself, so she could take the other nipple in her mouth. She did this for many minutes, alternating from one breast to the other.

While Margaret focused on Joyce’s tits, Richard caressed and kissed her lips – alternating from one set of lips to the other. Finally, he intensified his efforts on her clitoris, until he was rewarded with a massive shudder and moan.

Richard laid back on the bed. After taking a moment to recover, Joyce wrapped her thumb and finger around Margaret’s waist and lifted her up. There was a quiet 'pop' as she was pulled away from the nipple. Joyce set her down on Richard's penis to let her give him similar treatment. She watched the tiny woman for a while, then got up. She moved behind Margaret and started massaging her with lotion. Margaret loved the sensation of being massaged while massaging Richard. Soon she also became very slippery, which added to both their pleasure.

"Margaret, look at me," said Richard. That reminded her of Dave Conner, but only a little. There was no glare in her eyes this time, no chance that Richard would say, never mind, just do your work. They basked in the beauty of each other's faces and each other's pleasure. Richard knew that he got the better deal. For one thing, he was sure that she was prettier to him than he was to her. For another, he could also see the beautiful face of his wife, looking gigantic behind the tiny elf. Joyce continued to massage Margaret and move her around--using Margaret to massage Richard. Occasionally, she would bend close and kiss or lick Margaret’s head or back or both. A few times she licked low enough to touch Richard with the tip of her tongue, behind and below Margaret.

"Look only at me, Margaret. Don't look at Joyce until I say so--even if you need to talk to her, understand?" Margaret nodded. "Think you can handle something more... intense? Indulge your submissive side?" Margaret nodded again. Wasn't she already? Joyce got off the bed. Out of the corner of her eye, Margaret could see her uncover whatever it was they had brought. She tried to focus on Richard, concentrate on his head—heads. Fortunately, they were both right in front of her. Look down, lick; look up, smile.

"Do you like being a mini?"

Stephanie had to think about that. "A week ago, I called it my living nightmare. But that wasn't really true. I was already having some fun, with the cheer squad and all. And it's sweet the way Jackson takes care of me. I'm never lonely; he won't let me be. And this week I've had a lot of fun. I'd still be restored if I could, but there's a lot to be said for it. Good enough?"

Jenny nodded. "Truth or dare?" "Dare." "I dare you to... do your sexiest cheer routine for us."

Stephanie felt very self-conscious about that one. Usually she'd at least wear body paint, and her audience would be more than a dozen yards away. No one could tell body paint from a leotard on her, from more than a few feet away. But it was a fair dare.

"You'll have to stand up. I need an assistant for parts of it."

She started with some standard cheers, leaps, and splits. Her audience especially liked the jumping jacks and airplane jumps. Michael and Dexter looked embarrassed, turned on, but embarrassed; but she smiled at them, and they smiled back. She worried that Michael might be feeling a bit jealous. She knew she should discourage that; she wasn't his – girlfriend or mini. But she didn't have the heart to hurt his feelings in front of his friends, so instead she focused on him and pretended that she was doing the cheers just for him.

[i]“Pick that pocket! Trick that troll! Hide in shadows! Make that roll!”[/i] The guys all laughed at her impromptu cheer.

She had Jenny stand with her arms outstretched. She leaped into her right hand and did somersaults up her arm, across her back and down to her left hand. She had misgivings doing this with such a small partner but, like her, Jenny was stronger than she looked. The handstand behind Jenny's head had a very different look than usual. A lot more of her was visible than just her legs, so it didn't look like antennae coming from the back of Jenny's head; it looked like what it was, the lower half of a naked girl. But she doubted anyone would complain. From there, she did a backwards half flip, landing just in front of Jenny. Bringing one leg back, she knelt on one knee and stretched out her arms in a final 'ta da'. Her arms bumped into Jenny's legs, which were to either side of her, reminding her that this was a smaller partner than she was used to.

"Don't move but look up." She froze with her hands clasped above her head. She was doing a houri dance – or, as she thought of it, the 'I Dream Of Jeanie' dance. Nervously, she looked up... and up. Joyce towered over her like a skyscraper. Margaret noticed the symmetry of their positions. She was kneeling with her legs on either side of Richard, and so was Joyce—directly above her. She could only see her face because she was leaning over to see Margaret.

"Margaret, darling," said Joyce, soothingly, "you know you don't have to do anything you don't want." Margaret nodded.

"OK, I need you to help me with some final calibrations. Here, breathe through this tube, in through the tube, out around it or through your nose." She put the end of a plastic tube into Margaret’s mouth. She noted approvingly that Margaret still had not moved from the position she had frozen in when Richard said, "Don't move."

The end of the tube was shaped like a mouth guard, so Margaret could easily hold it. Joyce leaned over and made some adjustments on the monitoring device beside her. Soon an oscilloscope was undulating, lights were blinking, and it made a soft beeping noise, all in time with Margaret’s breath.

"Open." Joyce removed the tube from Margaret’s mouth and counted to five. Alarms began to sound. She replaced the tube and it quieted down, returning to its steady beep beep. "Blow. Hard," she said, and again the alarm sounded.

"Good. Remember, five seconds without a breath, and the alarm will sound. Blow hard, and the alarm will sound."

Margaret was nervous and excited. Joyce was as intimidating as ever or even more so. Margaret should have known she was up to something, massaging her with oil. Joyce could be very generous and giving, but it seemed she almost always had ulterior motives for her good deeds, preferring to "do well, while doing good."

Joyce's face retreated from view. It was the moment of....

"Truth or.... Just choose truth, OK? There's something I want to ask you."

This should be the last round, and Stephanie had been dreading it. She was relieved, but... "You sure? I told you, I'll do everything you had to do at the party."

"You've done everything but one. And a. i. r. you took a penalty, rather than be the one that made me do that. I'd be a rat to make you do it now. And yeah, I had to do everything you girls said, but I didn't have to become a mini.

"Oh, and b. t. w., I had fun at the party." Jenny smiled.

Stephanie was relieved. She had said that it would be easier to do humiliating things in front of guys she trusted than girls she didn't, but.... She looked up at Michael, gave a sigh of relief and said, "Truth."

"Are you in love with Michael?"

"What? How? Why...?"

"Well, Toby and Mike have been friends a long time. Not super close, but friends. And everyone knows Mike’s crazy about you."

"And crazy is the right word there—having a crush on the brilliant, beautiful, rich girl, who's over a year older than him. Girl, you were so far out of his league—and imho, still are—he has to be either crazy or stupid. And I know he's not stupid.

"But then I see the way you've been looking at him all night, and I think maybe he's not so crazy either. So... inquiring minds want to know."

Stephanie was taken off guard. She tried to think what to say and how to say it, but she was also distracted by what Jenny had said. She didn't think of herself as better than other people and certainly not out of Michael's league. She was a little offended. She didn't know anyone who was out of Michael's league. "I, well, I do love him...."

"Uh uh, I said 'in' love. I love lots of people. I love my mom and dad, even if they do think I was nuts to become a mini. And I love Toby, but I'm not 'in' love with him. Thank goodness. That would be kind of awkward, you know?"

"Exactly, I mean, maybe someday I could be his mini, but I can't ever be his lover. I can't cook his meals or bear his children or... be his wife."

"And he's a really great 'just a friend', isn't he?" said Jenny, sarcastically.

Stephanie glared.

"Don't you think he deserves an honest answer?” Jenny asked. “Or do you just want to take the penalty?"

"Fine." Said Stephanie, angrily. "'In' love. Yes. I'm in love with him. But I don't see how that changes anything." She looked at Michael as she said that.

Michael stood up, with a grim and determined expression on his face, He walked slowly over to Stephanie and grabbed her around the waist. He lifted the tiny girl up to his face.

Stephanie struggled. Just because she was in love with him didn't mean she wanted him to manhandle her, and she wasn't sure if she wanted a kiss right now.

"I'm claiming this mini," said Michael, "this unattended, untagged and uncollared mini, under the Mini Guardian Act."

He smiled. “You are mine, tiny girl.”

"Michael! Stop fooling around. You can't do that. I'm already in your charge! Now put me down and apologize, or I'm telling Jackson."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" said Joyce.

"I didn't pull out. I came inside you."

"Oh well, you weren't the only one."

Margaret blushed. "Wait a minute. Are you saying you could be pregnant?"

"It's highly unlikely. I was never very fertile; you notice we only have the two children. And at my age...."

"You don't use precautions?"

"We're Mormons."

Margaret almost laughed, but she knew that would be rude. Religious rules didn't have to make since.

"Still, it's exciting to think that I might have been in on it, from the beginning, so to speak."

"Well," said Richard. "It is even possible that [i]you[/i] could be pregnant."

"What!!!"

"That's right," said Michael. "Jackson loaned you to me, Monday night. And he loaned you to Misty, Wednesday night. But today he just ran off and said, 'you guys have fun.' That's very irresponsible. Guardians have to be responsible, or what's the point of having them? And look at you. What are you wearing? Earrings, a little splash of gold on your chest and a smile—well, you had a smile. No collar or other ID. It's like you're begging to be claimed."

"You... you took my collar off!"

"Uh, actually, I did," said Dexter. "Michael just mentioned that it didn't go with your persona."

Stephanie glared. "Michael, you're being ridiculous. You know you can't make it stick. And if you could, would you really betray Jackson that way? He looks up to you. He trusted you!"

"Yeah. I guess I should call him and smooth things out."

"What? I'm a mini! I'm not even ovulating! How could I get pregnant?"

"Well," said Richard, "if an egg traveled into the lower areas—and Joyce is prone to that, that's why she's not very fertile—then it could get sucked into you, say during a powerful orgasm. You didn't have one of those did you?"

Richard grinned. "Grad student at Cal Tech made a computer model of the possibility. Under the best conditions, the odds are about one in twenty million. I don't think you need to rush to the clinic."

Margaret was stunned. Then she sighed. "I guess that's for the best. Full-size egg, full-size sperm. I'd look like I swallowed an inflatable raft."

"It doesn't work that way," said Joyce. "The same effect that shrinks the microbes in your body, and any internal parasites you pick up after you’re minned, would cause the fetus to develop in miniature."

"So, the baby would be born a mini?"

"Technically a midget," said Richard. "Legally, one can't be born a mini."

"Want to try again. Double your odds, to one in ten million? What do you think?"

"Pretty good. Everyone loved her outfit. That lightning effect worked great. Look, the reason I called, I just claimed Stephanie as my mini. I know I should have asked you first but.... Well, sometimes it's better to ask forgiveness than permission. … Huh? I'm not sure. She's acting real mad at me, but I think she's mostly just worried about you – ya know? … Yeah, same here. You want to talk in private, or can I put you on speaker? The other guys are right here. … Okay."

"Jackson?" said Stephanie.

"Sorry, Steph. Sounds like I got careless."

"The whole thing is just stupid. He can't make it stick."

"Why not?"

"For one thing, I'll just demand to be put up for adoption. I don't think he's jerk enough to hit us up for the adoption fee." She glared at Michael.

"Well, if I have to drive you out to your grandmother's, I should get a dollar for gas money."

"See, Steph," said Jackson. "All you have to do is say you don't want to be his mini, in front of witnesses."

"That's right," said Stephanie, crossing her arms in satisfaction.

"But Stephanie?"

"Yes, Jackson?"

"Would that be true?"

Stephanie didn’t say anything.

"I've been a pretty good guardian, haven't I?"

Stephanie nodded without thinking that he couldn't see it.

"I mean it's almost been like I was your giant, more than you were my mini. Right?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then you gotta be honest. You owe me that." He paused a moment, then he said, "I just want you happy."

Stephanie walked up to the phone and pushed the speaker-off button.

"I love you, baby brother," she whispered.

"Love you too, big sister. Hey, Michael!"

"Wait. He can't hear you." She motioned for Michael to take the phone.

"You better take care of my sister."

"I will, Jackson. You know that,” said Michael. “See you tomorrow, okay?"

"Now comes the hard part," Michael said, turning off the phone.

"Having an uppity mini?"

"Telling your mom and dad."

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom. I've got Michael on speaker. Can you put Dad and Mrs. Kincaide on?"

"Your father's right here, but Margaret is, uh, lying down. Yes, I hate to get her out—of bed. She seems very comfy, in kind of a oh, oh, fetal position. What? Oh, I've got something in my... the oven. I'm worried about overheating. What's the trouble? . . . Oh, he did! Pretty daring, considering the position his mother's in. No. I wouldn't really hold her—too long. And what did Jackson say? … Oh. Well, we could probably fight it, but you know we won't. You'll be back by twelve, right. That beeping? Uh, uh, that's my casserole. I've got to come, uh go, get Margaret. I need her. One at the very latest! By! Yie, Yie...."

"Cooking?" said Stephanie. "I tell ya. Adulthood is wasted on the old." She stepped on the phone's off button. "What now, O Master?"

"Now, Milady? We forge on. To the caves of the hill giants! Adventure awaits!"

"That was... wonderful," said Joyce, sprawling on her back beside Richard, Margaret sprawled across her chest. She used two fingers to slide Margaret up closer to her mouth

"Oh, and that was our children on the phone. It seems they've made an end run around guardian supervision."

It took Margaret a moment to register what Joyce was saying. Giant lips and tongue were buffeting her and caressing her, and Joyce's words were broken by kisses, licks and nibbles. "What do you mean? They made love?"

Margaret couldn't think what they might have done that Stephanie would feel the need to call and confess.

"Worse. Michael claimed her as his own mini."

"What!? That's, that's.... I'm sure I should be angry or apologizing or something. But all I can think is, that’s wonderful!" The idea of Stephanie coming to live with her and Michael sounded.... "Oh! Joyce, Richard, I don't know what to say."

"We are going to have some logistics to work out," said Richard.

"Let's worry about it in the morning," said Joyce.

Michael felt reassured as he rejoined the group for the flying lessons. He thought about what Stephanie had said. He was glad that she promised she wouldn’t let him go overboard with his mother. That made him feel relieved. But more than that, it meant she was going to remain a presence in his life - somehow.

He also pondered what she had said about Misty. He already knew that she was fixing Misty up with him, but now he wondered if she had also been fixing her up with his mother – in a way. It looked like Stephanie was making sure that both he and his mother would have someone to look after them, after she went back to Baltimore. It was classic Stephanie. And it made him more determined than ever to keep her a bigger part of his life than just phone calls and IM.

He was so thrilled that she was committing to stay in his life, he was practically walking on air. But now he wanted more.

"The Navy doesn't ask for volunteers to get minned. Everyone on The Tom Thumb was already a mini before they got recruited," the man mini was telling Misty, Margaret and Jackson. "The crew are all people who became minis on their own or got minned on the battlefield – or like me, and got in trouble with the law." The man looked in his late twenties to maybe as old as Margaret. He could have been even older; it was very hard to tell with minis. Gravity didn't bother them much, and it was hard to see the few wrinkles they might have. The tall young man with him looked about 22, and enough like him that Michael pegged them as brothers.

"Robert here is a submariner," said Misty. She pronounced it sub-mare-in-er. "And this is his brother, Bill. Isn't it kind of awkward, being your brother's mini?" Leave it to Misty to ask the rude questions. Robert was so irritated by the question that he let his brother answer. "Actually, he's not my mini. I'm his personal assistant. The Navy pays me to help him, while he's on leave. And, in case you're wondering, no, we don't act like master and mini. I know some service men and their PA's do, but... we're not gay. He's not gay. I'm not gay. We don't do gay things together!"

'Some' was an understatement. Most 'toy soldiers' and their PA's were in master-mini relationships – especially if one interpreted the phrase broadly. Not all masters were dominant over their minis, and in some cases the reverse was true. Michael imagined – no, knew – that if his father had been minned in Iraq, his mother would have still been submissive to him. It was their nature. Maybe Stephanie was right, and it could be changed, but it would have taken a lot more than a little thing like a mini dart to do it.

"And it's sub-ma-reen-er, not sub-mare-in-er," said Robert. "You're thinking of Namor."

"Who?"

"Namor, the submariner," sang Jackson.

"Prince of the deeeeep." Jackson, Michael, Robert and Bill all sang together, forming an impromptu barbershop quartet. The humor of it seemed get Robert over his anger at Misty. Misty was charmed that way - doubly charmed, or at least double-D.

"I'm not gay either, but look at them," said Misty, gesturing to Margaret and Stephanie. "They're hot!"

The brothers looked at each other. "Lesbo," said Robert. "Big time," said Bill.

"I am not! Just ask Michael. We slept together last night!"

"Slept?" said Robert. "If it was me, I wouldn't be sleeping!"

"No. But you'd be unconscious,” said Misty. “Six of one, half... maybe one and a quarter of the other."

"How did you get in trouble with the law?" asked Michael. It might have been an even more rude question than Misty's, but Michael saw him eyeing his mother, and he knew that she had a thing for soldiers. In fact, she had that 'hey, sailor' look right now.

"Armed robbery," he admitted. "I got in with a gang and robbed a liquor store. Someone got hurt – not killed, thank God – but hurt. I pushed the shopkeeper hard, when I saw him reaching for something. He knocked over a bottle, then landed on it with his hand. He lost a lot of feeling and mobility in that hand, and I got eighteen months in a min-max. They went easy on me because... well, difficult home life.

“For the record, I do feel badly about doing it, and especially about the guy's hand. But I also think I've paid for it, as best I could. Most people would agree I've lost more than he did, and I also serve my country."

He did not elaborate that the 'difficult home life' was due to his father and mother being killed in a fire and having to raise his little brother on nothing but debt.

"So, the antidote didn't work?" asked Margaret.

"Usually doesn't for the ex-cons," he said. "It's partly physical; the lungs atrophy a lot in eighteen months. And for some reason scars and such make the antidote less likely to work. If you plan to take the antidote, watch out. Even a tattoo can screw your chances."

"I know," said Margaret.

"And partly it's psychological," he finished.

"Learned helplessness," said Misty. "I learned about it in AP Psych."

"Yeah, that's part of it. But there's more to it than that." He looked at Margaret. "Something deep inside you gets scared to grow back and just... balks. Try to make sure you're in a good place, emotionally, before you take it. Of course, that's easier said than done, when you've been in a min-max."

Everyone was quiet for a minute, then he said, "Hey. You're Stephanie Miller, the famous Starling! We saw you and Magpie on Oprah this morning. Y'all made some enemies there, girl." He extended a hand and Bill a finger. They exchanged pleasantries until Mr. McHenry came back with Polly and Magellan.

The enemies comment was because Margaret had told, in some graphic detail, how David Conner had treated her, while he held her prisoner. That just was not done. Minis didn't tell tales about their masters – even abusive ones. The interview, which they had recorded the day before, aired that morning. The boys, both Michael and Jackson, had been forbidden to watch it. Margaret felt she needed to tell it, but she didn't feel the boys needed to hear it.

Mr. McHenry had new policies about the lessons. He would not teach two minis at once unless there were two guardians to hold their tethers. And he kept a paint-ball shotgun handy. The pellets would sting an Eagle, and stick to it, forcing it to land. He also had a net, in case that ever happened.

Of course, it didn't. Margaret’s earlier adventure was a freak mishap. The lesson went without a hitch this time. Misty watched while ‘Magpie and Starling’ flew on Polly and Magellan, with Michael and Jackson holding the leads.

The only thing Margaret was disappointed about was that Aaron refused to let her pet Polly without the muzzle. Polly was used to it, though, and didn't seem to mind the muzzle much. And she was happy to see Margaret. When Aaron wasn't looking, Margaret would stick her fingers through the mesh of the muzzle and pet Polly's soft, dry tongue.

Misty, Robert and Bill enjoyed chatting while they watched the lesson. Bill was a little too old for Misty and not her type, and Robert was not in the market for an 'owner', but Misty enjoyed flirting for its own sake.

"So, the tallest guy on the sub is eighteen inches tall, and the smallest is six?"

"Right, but the smallest isn't a guy; she's a gal."

"But six inches--that's...."

"She was short to begin with, and she took an experimental eighth scale. You won't see it on the market for a while – not until they get an antidote that works!"

"I still don't get it. What good is a tiny submarine?" Robert and Bill both laughed, and Robert answered: "Actually, there are lots of uses for tiny subs: scouting, spying, mine laying, exploring deep sea caverns.... But the Tom Thumb isn't a tiny sub. It just has a tiny crew! The smaller cabin space makes it easier to maintain hull integrity – we can dive deeper. And we have a crew of a hundred and four, but we only need as much air, water and food as one normal-sized man."

After a fun flight that masqueraded as a lesson (mostly for tax purposes), Aaron took the birds back in. He took Magellan first, because he knew Polly would behave, and Margaret was enjoying the visit. Michael and Jackson brought the girls some Gatorade, and Michael noticed something that gave him a scare.

"Mom, your hair!"

"What, is it a mess?"

"No.... It looks like it's falling out!"

"What!?!"

Michael rushed her to the restroom to let her look in a mirror.

"Oh, this is awful! And right before my date with Joyce and Richard! Uh, our get-together. And what is it? Allergies? Did David Conner slip me something? Oh, that awful man! Am I having a reaction to the mini?"

That last thought was very frightening. Bad reactions to the mini pill (other than getting stuck) were very rare, but they could be very bad. Stephanie could never be restored, because some of her internal organs had shrunk more than the rest of her. Her lungs, for example, were too small, relative to her size. Ironically, they worked better than they had before, since a lung’s effectiveness was proportional to its surface area, not its volume.

Margaret tugged at some hair, which came out easily. Michael suggested calling 911.

"Hey, Michael, Mrs. Kincaide!" Jackson shouted through the door. "We've got Dad on the phone, and he thinks he knows what it is."

Michael almost knocked Jackson down with the door, then mentally kicked himself. He should be more careful with minis about. Stephanie was on Jackson's shoulder and just yelled: "Michael!"

"Here, let me put him on speaker," said Jackson.

"Margaret?" asked Dr. Miller. "No need to be frightened, dear. You just got a sunburn." "What?" "That's right, a sunburn. But your skin is so thin that the rays penetrated much deeper than they would on a full-size person. Remember, I've already examined you, and the damage and increased cancer risk were minimal. Nothing to worry about. But hair follicles are very sensitive to radiation; that's why people lose their hair under radiation therapy. Margaret? Are you still with me?"

"I'm going bald."

"Only temporarily," said Dr. Miller. "Your hair will start growing back almost immediately. Margaret, I'm an oncologist. I see bald women all the time. I don't find it a turn-off. In fact, I know a lot of very cute bald women."

"Margaret, it's me." Joyce's voice replaced Richard's. "Can we talk privately?"

Michael took Margaret into the kitchenette and left her to talk to Joyce.

"Richard was telling the truth; actually, he was understating. He likes bald women.... And so do I."

"What!?!"

"Hey, it's not that weird! It's not even kinky. I just think it's pretty. Whenever the Star Trek movie is on, I flip to it, just to see Persis Khambatta. And I don't even like sci fi!"

"Well, I think it's ugly. I'm ugly!"

"Shedding isn't pretty – but smooth skin is! Magpie, honey... if I had a mini, who thought bald was ugly, I wouldn't make her shave. I promise! I wouldn't even bring it up. Well… maybe every once in a while. But you need to get bald anyway. Dead hair could interfere with the Kirlian energy flow and make the antidote ineffective. Fillings and the like will grow with you, because your body has incorporated them as part of itself. But your hair is being rejected by your body. It has to go – by the roots!”

“Ugh,” said Margaret. “I suppose I can get a wig.”

“Of course, you can, Dear,” said Joyce. “But not tonight. I love the bald look. So, just for tonight, dress to please your mistress. No wig!”

Margaret made a complaining moan.

"Are you going to disappoint your mistress?"

"No, Ma'am," said Margaret.

“I'll see you at five."

Margaret closed the phone, wrapped both arms around it and took it back to the others.

The Aerie was a very mini-friendly shop - having been designed for Aaron's deceased wife. Using the catwalk, she could roam all over the shop, without fear of getting stepped on. She was disappointed to find that her handsome sailor had left – hightailed it, as soon as he saw her shedding. So, what do you do with a shrunken sailor? Fuck 'im.

Oh well, she thought, with the kids around, I don’t know how we could get to the 'high ho and up he rises' part anyway.

She dried her eyes and resolved herself to being a baldy for the evening. Joyce might have been just trying to make her feel better – or she could have been telling the truth about finding it attractive. But even so, she didn't want to just be pretty for Richard and Joyce; she wanted to feel pretty for herself!

A minute later, Jackson got a text message from his mother. "It says, 'see if you can find Margaret a dress like this. Love, Mom.'" He held up the phone to show a picture of Persis Khambatta, in a very skimpy shimmy, from the Star Trek movie. Margaret smiled. It was pretty. They headed to the big Mini Mart downtown.

They picked up several items at Mini Mart and got Margaret a full makeover; the downtown shop had a mini beautician. Michael, Stephanie, and Mindy debated if Margaret should keep her bush. She had not gotten sunburned there; but Misty pointed out that, with the rest of her bare, it would just look like a smudge, from a giant's perspective. And if Joyce had a thing for bald heads, she probably liked bald bottoms as well. The three teens snickered at that, and Stephanie whispered in Jackson’s ear to explain the double entendre.

Margaret tried to join in that discussion, but Michael shushed her. Her face burned and her pussy tingled, when she realized that her master was going to decide the fate of her bush without even consulting her. Her face burned even hotter when Michael set her down on the beautician’s table and said, “Mom, you do what the beautician says, now.” Did he have to tell everyone she was his mother while he was treating her like his slave? When she stripped off her dress, she wiped moisture from between her legs as surreptitiously as she could.

With Stephanie perched on her shoulder, Misty stepped away from Michael, while he told the beautician what he wanted. Jackson was wandering around the shop to see if they had anything interesting.

“What do you think?” she whispered. “Want to be treated like that?”

“Not by Jackson,” said Stephanie, cringing.

“No, silly. By Michael, or maybe by me,” said Misty.

“Uh, I don’t know,” said Stephanie. “Maybe sometimes. Not all the time. On special occasions.”

Misty grinned. She turned her head and began to lick Stephanie, who screamed in shock. Stephanie tried to pull away, but Misty put a hand behind her back. She nibbled the tiny tits then licked Stephanie from her belly to her face before pulling back and grinning even broader.

“You big bully,” said Stephanie.

The beautician was a foot-tall mini man, who gave the impression of being gay. That might have been affected. People seemed to want their male beauticians to be gay – especially if they were getting a Brazilian. He was very lean. To Margaret he looked seven-feet tall and almost alien in appearance, with a graceful beauty that very tall people didn’t have, due to their weight. She understood now what Stephanie meant, when she said that larger minis were in some ways more intimidating than normal-sized people.

Michael told him what he wanted for his mini. It was a bare-to-the-walls sale – everything must go. When they were done, she didn't have a spec of peach fuzz on her body. The only hair she had left was in her nose, and that was neatly trimmed. Even her eyebrows and eyelashes had to go, since the sunburn reached there. "You don't want a lash falling in your eyes during dinner," said Stephanie, who was back with Misty. "Mom and Dad won't be able to help you get it out."

Margaret’s whole body was painted with a flesh-tone makeup. It was a shade lighter than her arms – the most tan places on her body. Putting several coats on the areas where hair used to be made her tan lines vanish. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a rose color to match her lipstick.

"Wow!" said Misty. "You look hot! Do you think we have time...?"

"No!" said Stephanie and Margaret together.

"You are not smearing this," said Steph.

"Sorry Misty, but I have promises to keep."

"And miles to go before you sleep," Misty finished with a giggle.

Back home, Margaret and Stephanie worked together to alter the dress they bought and make it look more like the one in the photo of Persis Khambatta. Margaret would not let the boys see her until she had it on. The girls insisted that she looked like some kind of pixie, but she thought she looked like a naked mole rat. "Then you better stay away from Michael," said Stephanie. "He used to love Kim Possible." "If he calls me Rufus, he's grounded."

The boys ooh'd and ah'd, when they saw her, and no one called her Rufus. Margaret struck a pose, like the one in the photo Joyce sent. Jackson took several pictures with his phone, until he felt he had one that was a near-perfect match. He showed this to the others, flipping back and forth between the two. Margaret conceded, it did look good. It took her a minute to realize that meant she looked good. Jackson asked if he should send the photo to his mother, and they debated the pros and cons of giving her a teaser.

"How ‘bout this?" asked Jackson. "I'll send this text, and she'll have to hit 'accept' to see the picture." The message read: "Spoiler alert."

"What do you think?" asked Stephanie. She modeled her giantess costume for him--a simple shift, hardly fancier than a man's tee shirt, with a jagged hem and a tear that ran from above her right breast to just below the left. "It's got a tear in the front," he said, dryly.

"That's supposed to be a lightning bolt – like The Flash." "More like the flasher. I can see your nipple." "No, you can not! Not unless I... do... like... this." "Oh. You're right. My mistake."

"Come here. Let me put you into a better light." Michael lifted her to a high shelf and looked up at her. Stephanie put her hands in her lap to hold the dress tightly to her. "Are you trying to look up my dress?"

"Wha? No! Stephanie.... I've seen you naked – a lot."

"That's artistically nude. Peeking up my dress is completely different."

"Why would I want to peek up your dress, when I see you 'artistically nude' all the time?"

"Why were you trying to get a glimpse of my nipple?"

"Uh, okay, good point," he conceded. "Two good points, actually. But I wasn't trying to look up your dress. I just thought it would help me picture you as a giantess, if I was looking up at you."

Smiling, Stephanie stood at the edge of the shelf and struck a pose, with her hands on her hips like the Jolly Green Giant. "Wow!" said Michael.

"You like?" "Uh, huh." "So, does Mickey have a little gts fetish?" "A little. Plus, I can see up your dress."

"You're incorrigible!"

"What were you doing, trying to corrige me in the first place?"

While Stephanie was visiting with Michael, Misty took the opportunity to have a heart-to-heart with Margaret. "Are you really going to take the antidote tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yes Misty, I really am."

"I was just... kind of worried about you," she said, with a tone that said she meant it. "Did you ever meet my Aunt Susie?"

* * *

"Is this really necessary?" asked Margaret. She and Stephanie were in her cage, which Michael had moved to her bedroom, and Stephanie was tying her hands behind her back with a soft cord.

"No. But it'll be cute," she said. "Don't worry, they're really easy to untie. I'm using a plain bow knot. You could get out of it yourself in about a minute." The doorbell rang. "Tell 'em to wait," she said to Michael. "Jackson! Tell them to wait right there. We'll be down in a minute!" yelled Michael. Stephanie hurriedly tied Margaret’s ankles and positioned her on the bed.

Michael started to lift Stephanie out of the cage, but she warded him off.

"I haven't done this in a while," she said. Stephanie leaped up and grabbed the wire that formed the top of the cage wall. She crouched for just a moment, then pushed off to bring herself up into a handstand. Her dress flopped down over the rope belt she wore at her waist, but her legs were crossed, so it wasn't lewd, although her bum was fully exposed. She turned her head, winked, and kissed the air in the general direction of Michael and Misty. A one-handed handstand was something she could never have done at full size, so there were some advantages to being a mini.

Unexpectedly, the knife that Mr. McHenry gave her slipped out of her belt and fell to the desktop below her. It brushed against her arm on its way down; and, though it did not cut her, it startled her and caused her to slip. She fell over backwards and landed... neatly in Misty's outstretched hand. She grinned up at her giant friend.

"I meant to do that," she said and blew an errant strand of hair out of her face. They all laughed.

"Wait just a minute," said Michael. He reached into the cage and scooped up the 'helplessly' bound Margaret. "Michael!" chided Stephanie. "I had her situated." Michael rolled his eyes and brought Margaret up to give her a kiss. She kissed him back. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said.

"I'm not promising that!” said Margaret. “I don't think Richard's your type!"

He grinned and kissed her again and set her back into her cage. He headed down to greet the Dr's. Miller and gave them a house key and temporary custody of Margaret. "She's up in her room," he said with a wink.

"I'll tell you in the car," he said to Jackson.

They had to drop Jackson and Misty at Jackson's grandmother's. Jackson had friends coming over, and Misty had to get her car. Stephanie and her parents would be spending the night at the Kincaide’s, though Stephanie and Michael would not be home until late.

Michael was risking a ticket for driving without a license, but he promised his mother and Stephanie's parents that he would be extra careful. Michael and Stephanie looked at each other with matching smiles as they headed to their friend Dexter's. Michael started the car and said, "Let the games begin!"

"Michael," Margaret whispered. "Michael honey, can you lift the cage top. I need to get up and about."

"Huh? What?" Michael answered groggily. He was just beginning to wake from a deep sleep and caught his hand reaching over to hit the snooze button, before he realized that it was his mother and not the radio. Ouch! That would be bad. The cage would have protected her, but still.... It made him glad that he had used the cage instead of just putting her stuff on the dresser. The image of slamming his tiny mother also helped bring him fully awake. "Yeah, OK. Do you need any help?"

"Just with the roof," she said. She and Stephanie both grabbed a few things--towels, clothes and the like--and bounded out of the room. A few minutes later Michael heard water running in the bathroom. Michael wondered about Stephanie not saying anything to him, like, "good morning."

"Is Jackson running that for them?" asked Misty. That gave Michael a start. He did not think she was awake and had almost forgotten she was even there beside him. He wondered if that was why Steph didn't say anything. Maybe she didn't want to wake Misty. She had given him a quick smile, hadn't she? He thought she had; but then again, that might have been more of a smirk.

"Uh, I don't think so," he answered, "the handle's not very stiff." He also wondered if his mother would have been so blasé about a girl in his bed, if she were normal size. "Guess I'll find out soon enough," he thought. "Hey, who was watching us last night?"

"Do you mean who was it that you saw – or who watched us the most?" she asked.

Michael looked at her, slack-jawed, for a moment then just said, "Never mind."

Misty giggled. "Let's return the favor. Think we could sneak up on a couple of minis?"

"Only if they're distracted."

"If they're not, what would be the point?"

The bathroom was almost directly across the hall from Michael's bedroom, with a second door leading to the master bedroom. Michael tip towed to the door and peeked in, with Misty close behind him. The minis were both standing there, naked. His mother was on the counter, and misty was on the faucet over the sink that she was filling with water.

"Oh great," said Stephanie. "The handle wasn't that hard to lift, but I don't have enough weight to push it down!" Margaret carefully climbed over to help her. The two stood on the flat-topped faucet, on either side of the handle, and tried to push it together. On the second try, Margaret slipped and fell into the water. Michael started to rush in to help her before he heard the two of them laughing.

"I've got an idea," said Stephanie. She got a damp wash cloth and pushed it over the handle, covering it like a tablecloth. Then she walked out on top of it. The damp cloth was much less slippery than the chrome was. Stephanie bounced up and down on the handle a few times, until the water went off. She then motioned for Margaret to move aside and did a cannonball into the water, with a loud "bonzai!" The sink was almost completely full, so some water splashed up on the counter and even onto the floor.

"Hey!" said Michael. "Who's going to clean that up?" The two looked startled, but then smiled at him.

"Michael!" said Misty, punching him in the arm. "If you hadn't given us away, we might have really seen something. Morning, Steph! Morning, Mrs. Kincaid!"

"Morning, Misty!" the two sang back, in unison. “Morning, Master!”

"Oh, Michael," said Margaret, "speaking of cleaning. Will you please clean the other sink? It ah... is easier to clean than the bedpan."

Michael sighed and went to work.

"That hurt," he said, back in his room.

"It was supposed to," said Misty, "I was waiting my turn, and then you go and announce us. Had they already seen you?"

"No.... Misty, that's my mom! I shouldn't have even gone there. If they had been 'doing something', watching would be... perverted."

"They watched us! Besides, they're both minis--at least, for now. You're allowed to watch; your expected to watch! God I still can't believe my best friend is a mini."

"Watching us was different. They fixed us up! It was like... like when a baby takes his first steps. The parents run to get the camera, and if he's naked--all the better! They're not doing it for a sexual rush; they're just... happy. And proud and... all that. And what do you mean, your friend's a mini? So what? You've never had a short friend before? Are you afraid of being a 'Mini's Shadow'?"

Misty glared for a moment, then her look turned into something more like pity.

"Michael, you just don't get it. First, I never minded being 'Stephie's Shadow'. I was proud of it! But I can't be that anymore. She wouldn't want me to, even if I could. And she doesn't want you to, either! That's what I was talking about last night. She wants you to be her man, maybe even her master, but definitely not her follower. She's not just Short Stephanie; she's Mini Stephanie. They're... different."

"Did you ever meet my cousin, Frankie?" She only paused a moment before continuing. "His mother, my Aunt Susie... well, she used to be my aunt, and she used to be Susie. Too Tall Susie, they used to call her. She was like six foot one and really pretty. But she hated being so tall, so she took a mini--a two-fifth pill. They told Frankie about it and made sure he was OK with it, but they didn't tell him that they would have to get rid of his dog. He got home from the mini clinic, and she was gone. They had given her away behind his back. They thought he'd be so excited about his new mini mom, that it wouldn't matter. But he really loved that dog, and he just cried and cried."

"That's sad," said Michael, "but what does that...?"

"I wasn't finished. They told him that having a mini was a lot like having a pet--only better. And boy, were they right! He started treating her just exactly like a dog: petting her, playing with her, training her, disciplining her--he did a lot of that, at first, because he was still mad at her. Three years later, and she's still his pet. She acts almost exactly like his dog used to--except she knows more tricks, and I don't think he ever did anything sexual with his dog. He even renamed her, Tinkerbell. She's not Too-Tall Susie anymore. She's not even Susie anymore. She's just Tinkerbell."

Michael looked at her in shock--almost horror. "My.... My mom...'s not like that!" he stammered in a hoarse whisper.

Misty cocked her head and looked meaningfully at the cage on the dresser. Then she looked back at him and said reassuringly, "You're not like that, Michael. I mean, I'm glad you didn't take things that far. But I bet you could have. I bet.... I'm not trying to say bad things about your mother. I really like her! And I'm glad you didn't go there. At least, not too far. And I hope she takes the antidote tomorrow and takes away the temptation. But Steph can't take the antidote. She's stuck. She's a mini.

“But don't think I'm going to let you turn her into Starling, or Tinkerbell or... whatever, either! She's a mini, but she's still my best friend." And with that, Misty left the room. A minute later, he heard the shower running.

. . .

"I can't believe you talked me into this. You almost got killed! You almost... I almost lost you!" Michael was turned around in the front passenger seat, looking at his mother – and occasionally Jackson and Stephanie – in the back of the car. Misty was driving. She pointed out that Michael only had a learner's permit – and no, minis don't count as supervising adults.

"We'll be a lot more careful," Margaret answered. "When you fall off a horse, you get right back on it. You're too much your father's son not to know that. Michael, I really just have a few hours of 'vacation' left. At 5:00, I become Joyce's mini for a whole day! And I need to take the antidote tomorrow evening, so I'll be recovered enough for work on Monday. So, this is my last hurrah, as a mini. It'll probably be my last chance to ever ride Polly again."

Michael fumed but didn't say anything else. She didn't 'have' to be Dr. Miller's mini any more than Steph 'had' to be Jenny's. But in a way they did. Backing out would be like welching on a bet.

"Why are we in the bathroom again?" Michael asked. The others were browsing around the shop while Mr. McHenry gave someone else a flying lesson. It turned out that the publicity from Margaret’s mishap had been great for his business. He gave Michael and Jackson a couple of rolls of coupons for free lessons.

"I had to pee," said Stephanie.

"Didn't you go just before we left?"

"I have a tiny little bladder, OK? I have to go so often at school that Jackson just keeps a supply of panty liners. When I have to go in the middle of class, he just slips me in his pocket and...."

"Whoa! Way to much information!"

Stephanie didn't say anything to that. She thought it was just the right amount of information, for someone who still fantasized about having her as his own mini--and more. Let him ponder that image for a while!

"So, what's up?" she asked.

"Uh, you asked me in here. Remember?"

"Because something's up. So, what's up?"

Michael had to think how to respond to that. He wasn't even sure, himself. "It's just... Misty. She's still your friend, you know? She'd look out for you and all. But she doesn't see... she doesn't think you're still you!"

"And you thought that would change, overnight?"

"Well...."

"You're good, Michael. But not that good--or so I've heard."

"Heard or saw?" he asked, but he didn't wait for an answer. "Have you ever met Misty's aunt? Uh, her mini aunt?"

"Oh," said misty. "Susie. Actually, she's not her aunt anymore. She's not Susie anymore either. But I refuse to call her 'Tinkerbell', even though that's her legal name, and the only thing she answers to. Why do...?" she looked at his expression and body language--a mixture of worry and shame. "Michael, she's not your mother. And she's sure not me! And you're not Frankie."

"Not my mother," he said, softly, "'and sure not me!' You think she's kind of like my mother, don't you?"

Stephanie sighed. "A little. But Michael, you're not Frankie. Yeah, you were or are dominating her a bit. But you've been careful not to go too far. You love her and want her to be happy. I think Frank and Frankie loved--maybe even still love--Susie, but not as selflessly or unconditionally as you do. They really resented her becoming a mini. Frank loved tall women and couldn't deny her anything. He couldn't even say no when she said she wanted to stop being a tall woman. But when she did, she stopped being someone he couldn’t say no to. And he resented her for taking his amazon away. Same with Frankie. She took his mommy away--and his dog. That's a big double-loss for a little kid."

"How do you know all that?"

Stephanie blushed. "I don't--not really. I got most of the story second-hand. And I read a bunch of books from Dr. Wiseman's office. And I used to talk to her about Susie, because... I was afraid something like that would happen to me. But it won't, Michael."

"But it could happen to my mom--if I wasn't careful. You know the chances of her getting stuck as a mini are way higher than the warning on Seven Down says - for a bunch of reasons. There's a real good chance she's going to be a mini, if not now, then soon, and for the rest of her life. I'm scared that inside her is Tinkerbell, waiting to come out. And inside me is Frankie."

"Michael, one of the things I learned from Dr. Wiseman is that we are not immutable. We can be molded by what happens to us and by the people around us, especially the people we love. Your mother is kind of submissive. But that just means that she's a little easier to mold than most people--not that she can be molded, and they can't. And it would be even easier for you to do because she loves you so much. But no, you couldn’t turn her into Tinkerbell, just by not being careful. You'd have to try to do it. And you won't. You're not Frankie, and you're not going to become Frankie."

Michael thought about how he had already treated his mother, since she became a mini: the cage, the collar, the chocolate, the nudity. "It's different for you, Steph," he said. "It's not just you and Jackson. I mean he's better than me to start with, but you've also got your parents and Dr. Wiseman and your cheer squad and me looking out for you. Mom's just got me. And if I don't say no to me, no one else will."

"You're wrong. She's got me, and my mom and dad, and Mr. McHenry--and Misty. I hope she gives you lots of nooky, but you better know that if you get out of line, I'm going to hear about it! Come on, I bet they're ready for the lesson."

[quote=javiersolana post_id=22650 time=1652788036 user_id=21177]
[url=https://postimg.cc/7b1rB7FD][img]https://i.postimg.cc/L4w483vq/goldenyou.png[/img][/url]
[/quote]
I like it!

[url=https://postimg.cc/7b1rB7FD][img]https://i.postimg.cc/L4w483vq/goldenyou.png[/img][/url]

[quote=AB23 post_id=22353 time=1651025557 user_id=208]
Nah, this makes it easier to follow. Posting them as individual topics takes away from the single thread nature of it.
[/quote]

I wish it let us manually insert page breaks, instead of just doing it automatically, after a certain length.

And I will be posting the final chapters soon. I promise.

I hope this continues…

"What's up?" asked Jackson. Michael was rushing, practically running, down the stairs.

"I... uh, walked in on Misty," said Michael, blushing. He decided not to elaborate.

"Oh." Jackson giggled. "Isn't it kinda funny, Steph and your mom are like naked all the time, but with Misty it's a big deal. Is it just cause she's big?"

Michael snickered at the, probably unintentional, double entendre. Misty was one of the best-endowed girls he knew.

"I don't know," he said, "things like sex and modesty are just... complicated."
. . . .
"That was... nice," said Misty, "and amusing! Like dinner and a show, or at least a snack and a show - or a couple of snacks."

Wearing only panties, she lay on Michael's bed. She was exhausted - mostly from laughing. Two minis sprawled on her chest, one on each side. Her breasts were like large bean-bag chairs to her tiny friends.

Stephanie was lying on her stomach, using Misty’s left tit as a pillow. She propped herself up on her elbows to look Misty in the eyes. She ignored or pretended to ignore the soft flesh underneath her. She resisted the urge to rest her chin on Misty’s nipple.

Margaret was positioned a little further up, so her torso was elevated above her head and legs. She seemed more exhausted than the two younger girls.

"Didn't you just kind of rape us?" Stephanie asked. But her look showed only mock anger.

"No," said Misty, emphatically. "I would have stopped if you'd, like, really objected."

Stephanie looked over at Margaret, who opened her eyes sleepily and shrugged, "Sometimes it's tough being a mini,” she said. “Besides, I think she probably would have."

Misty smiled, then looked back at Steph and began to get a little worried. Minis were conditioned, trained even, to be non-confrontational. That sometimes made it difficult to tell the difference between mock anger and real; a mini couldn't really say no, which gave the big person a lot of leeway. Even what David Conner did to Margaret was not technically considered rape. But Misty knew that, technicalities aside, he had raped her--physically as well as emotionally. And she did not want to be guilty of the same.

Glancing at Margaret, she felt reassured, seeing the tiny woman sprawled so comfortably on her warm bosom. No, she hadn't been raped, not by Misty. But Stephanie's question and accusing look had her worried. She hadn't just raped her own best friend, had she?

Sensing Misty's concern, Stephanie gave a reassuring smile and said, "I guess I'm the one who should be feeling guilty."

"What for?"

"Well... I didn't exactly reciprocate in kind."

"That's okay," laughed Misty. "I know I'm a little more liberated that way than you are. I've wanted to do that to you since... way before you got minned." Stephanie gasped and Misty laughed again. "Still, if you'd become a giantess instead of a mini, I'd probably be intimidated too."

Stephanie didn't rise to the bait of Misty implying that she was intimidated - she was! Briefly, the image of herself as a forty-foot giantess flashed into her mind. It was silly, of course. The maxi pill seemed to have an upper limit of about twelve feet. And that had so many downsides hardly anyone ever took it - even back when it was legal in every State. These days, it was illegal in every State, except Alaska and Montana. Even Texas had recently outlawed it. It was still a favorite fantasy of hers, and she read just about every gts story she could find. Something even Jackson didn't know about – she hoped.

"Earth to Stephanie," said Misty. "Earth Goddess to Mini Stephanie!"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I zoned."

"That's okay. I just said that what you're doing is pretty good reciprocation."

"Huh? I wasn't doing anything."

"Well, it's less what you're doing than where you were doing it."

Stephanie grinned and pushed her elbows together, like she was doing chest exercises, and began to wiggle. She even gave Misty a few kisses. Misty's face was too far away, so she settled for what was convenient. Sensing the motion beside her, Margaret too began to wiggle, though she did not lift up. She was very tired and relaxed. Misty just sighed and sunk back into the pillow beneath her.

"So, how do you think I should go about seducing Michael?" she asked, dreamily. Her two masseuses stopped and looked up at her, but all they could see was the underside of her neck and chin. Misty didn't bother to lift her head to look at them. She was too comfortable. "That is what you want, isn't it? How else can we be one big happy?"

"Misty," said Margaret, hesitantly but firmly, "I am taking the antidote in two days. I hope you know that I can't do anything like this, once I'm back to normal. For one thing, there are different rules for bigs and minis; and for another, I just... I couldn't! Of course, you can still date Michael. I just don't want you to think that you'd be getting two or three for the price of one."

"And Michael doesn't even want me for his mini, Misty," said Stephanie. "He's said so."

"Then he's a liar," said Misty. "But if he really is that stupid, then that's all the more reason he needs a girl with a good head on her shoulders. My mom says I've got a good head on my shoulders and two more on my chest – just to keep guys from getting in trouble trying to use their own. But if I was dating Michael, if I eventually married him, then whether you're his mini or mine, it'd work out about the same – right? I mean, if you wanted to."

Misty said that last part hesitantly, remembering how Stephanie had reacted to that suggestion, back when she first got minned. Stephanie was relieved to hear Misty say, "if you wanted to." It was scary business rejecting a giant girlfriend.

"Thank you Misty," she said. "But I want to stay at home with Jackson and my parents--for at least a while longer. I have thought about seeing if you'd like to take me with you, when you go to college, though. That's just a thought, not a promise, but I really have thought about it. As for Michael, I'd like to see you two get together because I think you'd be good together. I mean good for each other!" She blushed. "It's not because I want you to adopt me."

"But you have thought about it?"

"Yes."

"You're not completely opposed to the idea."

"No... definitely not."

"Good enough. So, how should I do it?"

Michael headed to bed, shortly after Jackson. It wasn't all that late, but they were both tired and bored. He wasn't certain what the sleeping arrangements would be, other than that Misty and Steph would be in one room, and he in another. Jackson, of course, was in the guest room. Normally, Steph would be in there with him; but this was her sleep-over with Misty, after all.

Coming to his bedroom door, he noticed it was partly open. When he glanced in, Misty caught his eye and motioned for him to come on in. Looking over at his mother's cage, he saw that she and Steph were sleeping under a light silk handkerchief.

He looked back at Misty. She was propped up in his bed, watching TV, which was turned way down. She was wearing a mother of pearl toned satin nighty. It was not translucent, but it was very thin and seemed to accentuate her breasts more than cover them. Then he realized that there was no way he could really know if that was true. He had never seen her breasts without both a bra and shirt covering them before. So, for all he knew, they could still be de-accentuated, just less than before.

That was an almost frightening thought. As it was, his brain could barely spare enough power to keep him standing. He sped over to her and made a heroic effort to look her straight in the eyes, but not before he also noticed the apparent lack of a panty line.

"Want to watch TV for a while?" she whispered, scooting over to make room for him on the bed.

He again looked over at the two minis and felt both guilty and embarrassed. Guilty, because he felt like he was cheating on them, right in the same room! And he hadn't even done anything! Other than react the way any guy would to a scantily-clad Misty in his bed.

He knew it was stupid anyway. They weren’t going to be jealous. They both wanted him to date--if not Misty then at least some girl, roughly his own age and size.

And he was embarrassed, because he was afraid that she could tell how he felt about both his mother and Stephanie.

From knowing looks and casual comments, he could tell that Stephanie knew about his little (little?) Oedipal complex. But that was okay. She owned his heart, so it was only right that she should know its every nook and cranny. Misty was another matter. He liked her and was attracted to her, but he wasn’t ready to share everything with her.

He sat on the bed beside her and leaned back against the headboard.

"There's not much on," she said and smiled broadly when this had the predicted effect of making his eyes dart downward. "Do you have any good movies? I mean any other good movies." She gave him a wicked grin as she crawled over him to get to the TV cabinet. Her night shirt rode up and was so short that Michael could have verified whether or not she was wearing panties, just by leaning forward. She noted with approval that he didn't. "Knock yourself out," he said, as she bent to browse through his movies.

Misty accidentally bumped her head on the cabinet. "Hey!" she said. "If you want to take advantage of me, don't you think you should at least use liquor?" "Nah. I hate broken glass on the floor." "Ouch. Your mother warned me about guys like you--so did Steph. Well, actually it was less of a warning and more like an advertisement." "Huh? What, what did they say about me?" "Oh, that you're a tricky one, all right: cages, leashes, smooth talk and smoother chocolate. Apparently, you're pretty good at getting a girl out of her clothes. So, I'd better be careful."

"Aha!" she said triumphantly. She held up a movie--Stardust. "Sci-fi chick flick, perfect!" She put it on and came back over to the bed. He didn't bother correcting her that it was a fantasy, not sci-fi. "Scoot over," she said and sat down beside him. "But they also said that he's a good boy. Loves his mother, good to his friends, likes dogs but apparently doesn't know any."

"I might know a bitch or two." "Ooo, just oblique enough for me not to take offense. Here." She gave him her pillow, then backed up to use him for her own support. "Ohph." "What?" "Belt and belt loops. Aren't you uncomfortable? Why don't you go change into pj's?" Why indeed?

"That's better," said Misty, sinking back against him. Michael agreed. The pajama shorts were much more comfortable. They were the same material as Misty's nighty. "I can see why they all like you so much," she said, looking down to turn the comment into a double or even triple entendre. Michael had the beginnings of an erection, and it seemed to him that her breasts were even perkier than before.

"They all?" he asked. "Well, they both--plus Mrs. Miller, although I think she likes you in more of a motherly way." "I think my mother also likes me in more of a motherly way." "Oh, you are cute. Steph told me you were naive." "What's that supposed to...?" "Shhh, this is a good part coming up."

"Are you sure we're not going to wake them?" asked Michael. Misty had just kissed him and was still stroking his thigh. It was no more than they might have done in a theater, but he wasn't sure how far it might go. "I told you, I really wore them out. You're lucky that I'm... amply blessed with enormous... stamina." She took a deep breath. "So, what are your intentions... towards my best friend?"

"What? I, uh..." it took Michael a moment to switch gears and try to answer the unexpected question. "I... don't really know. It's funny. It feels like I've been in love with her my whole life. I only met her when I was eleven, but even then I think it was like I already knew her. And now she's kind of liking me back, but it's awkward, you know? Before, she didn't want to be what I really wanted. Now... she still doesn't, but for different reasons. I mean I think she wants to be my mini, but that's not enough. If she was my mini, then I'd want even more, and she... thinks that's all she's got. But at least now, I think she would give me more, if she could; she just doesn't think she can.

“So... what are your intentions... towards me?"

"Oh, I intend to watch a movie with you, cuddle with you, talk with you and make out with you--but not go all the way. Stephanie said it was OK..." "I kinda figured." "But there are some firsts I don't want to take away from her--unless I have to." "Uh, why would you have to?" "Michael, naive is cute, but don't overdo it."

"I am so hot for you right now," Misty whispered in his ear as she nibbled on it. "But where does that leave you... with Stephanie, I mean." Michael was beginning to get used to her sudden gear-shifts, sort of. "I don't know. Best friends, I guess. I'm not sure what else we can be."

"Michael, nice is sweet and sweet is nice, but don't be a wuss." "What do you mean?" "I mean I'm her best friend. You can't have her. And no, I won't share her. I'll share you with her but not her with you. I know it's hard, but you're going to have to step up. Steph needs a man not a boy.

Fortunately, I know just the girl to make you one."

She kissed him, and he kissed her back. He leaned forward until she was practically lying in his lap. He kissed her the way men kiss women in the movies and on the covers of romance novels. In that position, he could see the cage that had been behind him. For a moment, he thought he saw a tiny face looking over the back of his mother's couch. But in the dim and flickering light of the TV, he couldn't even be sure he had seen it, much less who it was.

[quote=MrWitness post_id=22358 time=1651076650 user_id=7367]
It's gettin' better and better! And Raven? It's gonna be gas!
[/quote]
As I recall (I am touching up and reposting this), that's about the last mention of Raven. Sorry.

It's gettin' better and better! And Raven? It's gonna be gas!

Nah, this makes it easier to follow. Posting them as individual topics takes away from the single thread nature of it.

I wonder if it would be better if I posted the individual chapters as their own topics.

"Ugh! That's... that's it." The muscles and veins bulged on her face, as she strained with all her might.
"Come on Raven. Just a little more."
"N'ugh. ... No. That's it. ... That's all I've got."
"All right, back off a little. Don't just collapse," said the man in a white lab coat.
"Two foot, eleven and one quarter inches, essentially unchanged for four days. I told you we should have tested the formula on Bobo first. It was a mistake to only test it on smaller primates.
“Dr. Clement - Raven, I think it's time to accept the facts. Two foot eleven is under three feet. You're officially a mini. And you can't sustain a height greater than two and a half feet without visible strain. You need to take the antidote."
"No, Bobby - Robert, I can't." The tiny woman stood on a dais, covered only by sweat - and tiny electrodes taped to her body. "The formula is a success! I can control my size from almost three feet… to less than one inch!" The electrodes peeled off, and the yardstick standing beside her seemed to move away from her, as the woman shrank. She took a few steps to stand beside it again. The top of her head was now level with the 7/8th-inch mark. The man stared in shock at the tiny nude woman.
"More importantly, the bird antigens allow me to utilize the smaller gap between my neurons, in a way that no normal mini can. My intelligence has gone up a full fifteen percent! My IQ is now over two hundred.
And that’s why we couldn't test it on Bobo. This is wonderful to me, despite the downsides. But a fifteen to twenty percent increase in his intelect would have made Bobo fully sapient--and utterly miserable. Neither humans nor orangutans would ever accept him."
"But Dr. Clements - Raven, can you really handle being my mini?" asked Robert.
“Your mini?” she asked, looking more amused than shocked.
“Oh, yes,” Robert said, grinning. “I, of course, will give you the antidote, right now. It would be completely unethical to withhold it. But if you decline it, I’ll get you to the mini registration bureau so fast you’ll think I invented a teleporter.”
Raven laughed. "Then I think you should be asking if Tina can handle having a roommate, and if you can handle having a mini who's IQ is 48 points higher than yours!" she said with a smile.
"What? You haven't even seen your own results yet. And I know you've never seen mine! How did you?... Whoa. You really are smart!" Dr. Robert McHenry looked at the paper in his hand - IQ test results. The number read 207. "It's 49 points, actually."
"A rounding error," said Raven, dismissively.
Mere blocks away from the lab, two men were discussing drugs of a very different sort.
"That's the third deal gone wrong this week. And I almost got Busted!"
"I know Jerome. Maybe this place is too hot."
"Naw, dude. This place is prime! Buncha 'urban pioneers' with their rich brats, right next to the hood--this place is real prime. It's just that one bitch. An that bitch is goin' down," Jerome opens his fist to reveal a dart, "way down."
. . .
"I take it that's a mini dart for the future Starling?" asked Michael.
"Yeah, Stacy Ling," said Jackson. "Thugs are trying to take over her neighborhood, and she's been organizing neighborhood watches and stuff. So, Jerome gets an eighth-scale dart from an Iraq vet. He hits her with it and takes her prisoner.
“He plans to sell her." Jackson whispered.
"But Magpie rescues her," said Michael.
"Uh huh, after she discovers she can talk to birds," Jackson continued. "But they don't start calling her Magpie until after the fight with the drug dealers. Also, the formula she’s taking turns half her hair white."
Michael nodded. It was formulaic, but not bad.
"Anyway, so Stacy's in this cage in a run-down house, and starlings have made a nest there. So, she keeps calling: “Help. Help!” And one of the starlings imitates her. They do that sometimes, you know. So, Magpie hears that, only she's not Magpie yet, she's still Raven. And she wonders why a bird is saying 'help' and suddenly she knows! And Bobby's not around, so she has to rescue Stacy by herself, cause the gang's about to sell her."
"Makes sense," said Michael. "So, I guess she and Bobby don't get rich off the formula. If they did, there'd be a whole bunch of super-smart minis, and she wouldn't be special."
"Nah, she destroys it."
"Huh? Why?"
"Cause if she didn't, there'd be a whole bunch of super-smart minis, and she wouldn't be special," he said, grinning. "And ‘cause it'd wreck the world. That's what Steph says."
"I don't get it."
"Think about it," said Jackson, pleased to be able to explain something to the older boy. "Lots of people would take the pill, and they'd be mostly smart people, who care more about brains than brawn. And lots of other people wouldn't take the pill, cause they care more about brawn than brains. Pretty soon, there'd be two kinds of people: super-smart minis and not-so-smart norms. And the norms would fear the minis' brains, and the minis would fear the norms' muscles. And pretty soon they'd probably fight."
Michael thought about it and decided that was probably right. "I sometimes think we have a super-smart mini here."
"Sometimes think? You mean you still don't know?" They both laughed at that. "Do you think they're all that smart, and just playing normal, so we don't get scared of them?"
"You mean minis or girls?" said Michael, "I don't know about other minis, but Stephanie was definitely already doing that before she got minned. She just does it more now."
He remembered Stephanie telling him that a lot of big people did not like the idea of a mini being superior, in any way. A lot of guys were that way about girls too. He felt sorry for his friend, having to always hide her light under a bushel, and idly wondered if that attitude would hurt Jackson's comic book's chances.
"Does she wind up with Bobby or Starling's folks?"
Jackson grinned. "Neither. Bobby gets mad cause she throws away, like, a billion dollars, when she destroys the formula they worked on. And Starling's mom is ashamed about having a mini daughter and tries to send her to a reservation. Mom hated that part, cause the character kind of looks like her, and Mom tried to talk Steph *out* of goin' to a reservation; but the story works better this way.
“They wind up this little kid's minis, and they live in his tree house that they call 'The Aerie'. And there's a girl next door who always wants to play with his 'dollys'. The first part ends with them dressed up in frilly doll clothes an' havin' a tea party with her. That's called comic relief."
Michael snorted. "Okay, now that you've spoiled the ending, let me finish reading it. I really like the first part, but it's kinda wordy. And you're going to have to trim it to fit in captions and word balloons."
. . . .
"Whoa! It's so cute!" said Misty. "And kinda creepy."
"It's not creepy!" objected Stephanie. "It was very thoughtful."
"It's a bird cage," said Misty. "He made his own mother live in a bird cage. You gotta admit, that's kinda…. Le'me put you two in it and take a picture."
Quickly she set the two minis into the cage and took a few shots with her iPhone. Stephanie and Margaret both laughed.
"So, speaking of Mr. Thoughtful...." She situated herself on the bed. She looked over at the two minis and started to giggle. "You're both blushing!"
Margaret and Stephanie looked at each other and saw that it was true, which caused them to blush even deeper. Minis blush very easily. In fact, a mini's skin is so thin that it is always more pink than it was at full size. People don't normally notice this, without something to contrast with, but the slightest blush shines through bright and clear. Misty's giggle turned into a laugh, which she choked back. She really was just trying to be playful--not rude.
"Well," said Margaret, "if you girls are going to have pillow talk about my son, maybe I should just go read Jackson's comic book."
"Awe Mrs. Kincaide, don't go. I'll be good," said Misty. "OK, bedroom rules."
Margaret looked confused.
"Things we do or say in the bedroom stay in the bedroom," explained Stephanie.
"It used to just be things we say," said Misty, "until someone discovered a little thing she liked to call experimentation. Anyway, about Michael? OK, I'll start. He doesn't like me. In fact, he dislikes me."
"No, Misty…," Stephanie objected, "he doesn’t dislike you. It's just... to you, I'm somewhere between a friend and a pet. But to Michael, I'm somewhere between a friend and a goddess. I know that sounds conceited, and I know I don't deserve it, but it's true. So, to him, it's like you're dissing his religion, when you treat me like a pet."
Misty giggled. "But seriously, Steph, I'm really trying to treat you like a friend. I mean, you are my friend. But you're also a mini. And minis are, a little bit, like pets, right? Even the mini beauty pageants, they're called pet shows! But a little bit like a pet doesn't mean you are a pet. I mean, you're sure not my pet. Maybe you're Michael's - or Jackson's. They treat you more like a pet than I do. Why doesn't Michael hate Jackson?"
"That's different," said Stephanie. She was a little surprised that Misty had heard about how Jackson treated her these days. The grapevine was long indeed. "Jackson takes care of me twenty-four, seven. I had to - bedroom rules - train him to be dominant. If I didn't, it just wouldn’t be fair to him. I'd rather be his pet than let him become my beast of burden."
Misty thought about that for a minute. She sometimes imagined what it would be like, if what happened to Steph had happened to her. It wasn’t hard to imagine; she had almost dated the jerk who minned Steph.
“Yeah… I can’t imagine being my brother’s mini. It’d just be awful!” said Misty.
If it had happened to her, she hoped her mother would’ve let Stephanie take her. But if it happened to her brother, she could well get stuck with him. He was not high on her mini wish list, ranking below her own mother and Stephanie and even Stephanie’s mother. But he was on the list. And he most certainly would be her pet - and she most definitely would not be in any danger of becoming his beast of burden.
"And what about Michael?” she asked. “Maybe you are his tiny goddess, but I bet he wishes you were also his pet."
She said that, while looking around the room, getting a better sense of him. The room mostly said, nerd. "And considering how quick you were to defend him -and how quick you got me (us) into his bedroom - not to mention how you blushed when I just mentioned him, you can't tell me you haven't thought about becoming his pet."
"Well..." said Stephanie, glancing at Margaret, who looked as interested in her answer as Misty was, "you've got to admit he's not the fourteen-year-old I left. And I still think you two would hit it off if you gave him a chance."
She had tried more than once to fix her two best friends up. She had an image of them as Ron and Hermionie - to her Harry, of course.
"Oh no," said Misty, "you're not putting it back on me! This is about you and Michael."
She decided she didn't like the two of them in the cage together. Next to each other, with all the doll furniture and such, they looked too... normal. She lifted Steph out and set her on her chest, as she leaned back against the headboard. Now, Stephanie sat mere inches in front of her face, and Margaret was several feet away, making her look even smaller than Stephanie.
"You don't just like him like a friend anymore - if you ever did. Look at you - both of you! You don't think some nymphominia is kicking in?"
Nymphominia that was one of the biggest stereotypes about minis. All the worse because there was some basis for it. The drug that made minis sterile worked by effectively regressing the testes and ovaries. The drug companies insisted this did not cause any mental or emotional regression, but a lot of minis, like Gordon Bronson, were infantilized. Of course, a lot of minis like Gordon were infantilized by the young children who had charge of them, but people still blamed the drugs.
And it had another side-effect: It lowered sex drive. So, the drug companies compensated with other drugs to kick start the libido.
The end result was supposed to be a slightly higher sex drive than they started with. But most people believed it was more than slightly. The simple answer: "It's the drugs," was easier to understand and believe than: "It's the fulfillment of their sexual fantasy, for people who choose to be minis; and it's a way to compensate for their feelings of powerlessness, for people who didn't."
And whatever the reasons, minis commonly acted like nymphomanics. Or, like Stephanie, they at least did things they wouldn't have done before.
"I am not a nympho - miniac or maniac or... whatever!" said Stephanie. She sat down on Misty's shirt and looked sternly at Misty. She crossed her arms and crossed her legs in front of her, to look more businesslike. Her tiny feet reached the hollow of Misty’s throat. She didn't seem to notice that the bench she sat on was the strap of Misty's bra, connecting the two 'D' cups.
"Me neither!" said Margaret, sitting likewise on the couch in her cage.
Stephanie's dramatic gesture was spoiled when she realized what she was sitting on. She tried to stand, which caused her to push against Misty's left breast. Realizing her hand was on Misty’s nipple, she recoiled, which caused her to tumble over, flat on her back, with her feet pointing roughly at the dimples on either side of Misty's grinning mouth. Misty's grin quickly transformed into a full laugh, which caused Stephanie's night shirt to flare open in the wind.
Stephanie wore more than most minis, but even she didn’t wear underwear. Even micro fabrics made thick uncomfortable and unattractive panties on an eighth-scale. Seeing Stephanie’s cooch, elevated by the strap of her bra, made Misty laugh even harder, and she started alternating between laughing and blowing.
Stephanie's weight kept the shirt from going up any higher than her waist, but it was very open in the front.
"Stop that!" yelled Stephanie, but her voice also had a hint of giggle. She was having a hard time getting up. Her legs were higher than her head, and she couldn't get any purchase, her hips were wedged into Misty's cleavage, and the only things she could grab were Misty's breasts. But Misty’s shirt was stretched tight on her buxom chest, so Stephanie could not get a grip on the fabric.
Seeing her plight made Misty laugh even more, but she did place her hand behind Stephanie and gently pushed her back up. Misty steadied and supported her, but this also pushed Stephanie even closer to her face. Stephanie was not, however, about to be intimidated.
"Don't call me a nympho!" she said, indignantly.
"I wasn't calling you a nympho. I just said you might have a little touch of nymphominia. Most minis do."
"Well, I don't."
"Yeah? Well...." Something on Michael's chest of drawers caught her eye. She lifted up, causing Stephanie to lean back into her hand, with her feet still resting in the hollow of Misty's neck. She gave a small yelp, but Misty's attention was on the tape protruding from the VCR. She pulled it out and examined it.
"The Story of mOm?" she asked. "Whoa, talk about complex relationships. Oedipal, that is."
Margaret seemed to shrink into the couch, where she had been sitting so confidently. Stephanie tried to come to her defense. "Come on Misty, you're invading Michael's privacy!"
"Hey, you're obviously still trying to fix me up with him. Don't I have the right to know if he's a pervert?"
"It's mine!" cried Margaret, with her hands covering her face. "Michael found it in my room. He was just... curious. He wanted to see... how I'd react to seeing it - while I’m a mini. Ohhh!" She moaned in despair.
The girls looked back and forth from the older woman to each other, wondering what to do. Finally, it was Misty who spoke: "Well, it's still bedroom rules. Want to talk about it?" She reached into the cage and grabbed Margaret and placed both minis on her chest, as she lay back on the bed.
Now, instead of sitting on her bra strap, both minis sat on her tits. She could feel her nipples getting hard under their bums. She was glad she was wearing a bra, or maybe she wished she wasn’t. Her nipples got even harder.
"Nooo," wailed Margaret. "What kind of person even has such a thing? I'm a horrible person, a horrible mother! Maybe I should stay a mini, so I don't put Michael in danger!"
"Awe, Mrs. Kincaide," said Stephanie, "it's just porn. Everybody’s got porn. Lots of people read and watch things they'd never do in real life. Misty loves slasher movies. I still have nightmares, when I think about 'Shrunken Sorority'. But I'm not worried that she's really going to do the things the 'little sister' does in that. Burrr."
"Maybe you should be," said Misty, playfully biting at her.
"I guess so," said Margaret. "I just.... I guess I'm just missing James."
"Nymph *o* minia," said Misty. "You'll be fine, once you take the antidote. It's this poor horny girl we need to worry about."
"Misty..." Stephanie started to point out that Margaret must have bought the tape before she became a mini - probably years ago. Who buys tapes anymore? But then she decided not to further embarrass Margaret. "I don't have nymphominia!"
"Are you sure?" asked Misty, lightly rubbing her fingers up and down both minis’ backs, lifting the silk of their dresses, as she did.
"Yes."
"Completely sure?" With her index fingers holding their dresses up, she rubbed her middle fingers across two bottoms.
"Yes!" said Stephanie. She squirmed in her seat, very conscious of the nipple she was sitting on. Even through the bra and blouse, she could feel the hardening nipple press against her mons.
Margaret closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of her bottom being caressed.
"Let's see," said Misty. She pinched Stephanie’s dress and lifted it further, to expose her front.
"Wha... what are you doing?"
"Giving you a zuber."
"Stop that! Why?"
"Last time 'buthup' we had a sleep over 'buthhhp', you held me down and 'buuuthpht' gave me zubbers."
"Just on your stomach!"
"Sorry. It's a small target. If I'm just a little off, like this 'buthphup', or this 'burrthph'..."
"Misty!"
"Then I miss. Oops! Like that."
"Wha? What has that got to do with nymphominia?"
"I want to see if it turns you on. 'buthththp.' Cause it sure does me!"
"Misty! I'm not even wearing underwear!"
"Hmmm, You're right!"
"Misty!! Right in front of Mrs. Kincaide?!?"
"Oh, sorry. You're right. I'm being rude."
It took Margaret a moment to realize what she meant. Then she thought about running - but was too slow by half.
"And you're calling me a nympho?" asked Stephanie.
"With me, it's called microphilia," said Misty.
. . . .
"I like it," said Michael. "I really do."
And he meant it. Michael was pretty sure that, if 'Magpie and Starling' was at the news stand, he'd buy it. It had action and adventure, a little comedy and a bit of sexuality - everything a teenage boy wants in a comic book. And the fact that the main characters were minis gave a good excuse for nudity.
"I wonder what the girls are up to?" he asked, absently.
Jackson shrugged. "Probably watching a video or something."
"Yeah, I.... Ohmygosh!" Michael ran up the stairs to his room.
He knocked on the door, "Uh, Mom, Steph, Misty?"
"Come - in!"
"Yeah, could you girls excuse me for a few minutes, I need to..." Michael paused, mid-sentence. It took him a moment to understand what he was seeing. Then his jaw hung limply, and the rest of him stiffened. He couldn't move.
Stephanie and his mother were both sprawled naked on Misty’s chest. Stephanie was lying on her back, on top of one nipple. She looked like she was trying to get un, but Misty’s fingertips danced over her body and constantly pushed her back into place, while at the same time tickling and molesting her. He wasn’t sure if Stephanie was laughing or having an orgasm.
Margaret lay on the other breast, also on her back. But she was more propped up against it, not lying across it. And her legs were completely inside Misty’s mouth! It looked like Misty was eating her – and she was! But Margaret’s howls were certainly not in pain.
"Michael!" Shouted Stephanie.
"I'm sorry!" he yelled. "You said, 'come in'!"
"She said, coming!” said Misty, letting a pair of legs fall out of her mouth. “Ing, as in carnaling…."
Margaret squealed and rolled off of Misty’s chest, away from Michael.
"Misty, it's not 'carnal', it's...."
"She's playing word games!” Yelled Margaret. On her hands and knees, she searched frantically for her discarded clothes. She hoped she was low enough that Michael couldn’t see her. In fact, he could see her rear, over Misty’s torso.
"Us, as in the three--not four--of us," said Misty.
"Sorry. Sorry," Michael said, as he made a hasty retreat. "Sorry!"
Misty and Stephanie were both laughing to the point of tears. Margaret was too embarrassed for that. "Don't you want your video?" called Misty, as Michael ran back down the stairs.

[quote=slepytyme post_id=22231 time=1650555756 user_id=432]
Simply wonderful thank you for reposting this story. Isn't "too tall susie" in the next chapter?
[/quote]
Thank you ❤️
No. I think you might be confusing it with another story.

Simply wonderful thank you for reposting this story. Isn't "too tall susie" in the next chapter?

“Tell us, why did you become a mini – in your own words,” the woman asked, in her famous, comforting voice.

"My husband was killed, while serving his country in Iraq, two years ago this August. I've grieved for him every day since then. And I've felt an enormous sense of guilt that I never gave him this one fantasy that I knew he wanted. Other people want to go to Europe or Hawaii or Alaska. But the trip that James wanted to take was to spend a week or so with me as his mini. So, this year, as Memorial Day approached, I wanted to do something special, in his memory. So I did it. I became a mini."

Margaret had talked with an attorney earlier, who had assured her she was in no legal danger, talking about her escape from the Connor's. Simply put, a mini had the right to escape.

OK, it was a little more complicated than that. Her master was supposed to give her the opportunity to ask for adoption, but he also had the right to prevent her from doing something foolish, like running into the yard and striking out on her own. After all, without Polly she could not possibly have made it back to Aaron's on her own. Her master had, not only the right, but the duty to prevent her from doing something so self-destructive.

The law treated minis as non-competent persons - like children, the insane and the mentally handicapped. But the good news was that non-competent persons could not be held liable for property damage. And now that she was back with Michael, the Connors had no claim on her at all. Even if she wanted to go back to them, Michael could forbid it.

So, Margaret had given a full statement to the police; and now she was telling her story, in her own words, to Oprah Winfrey. Oprah did not usually do video interviews; she liked meeting her guests in person.

But Margaret was a special case. She was not only giving the inside details of a big news story, but she also gave a unique take on being a mini. She was breaking a big rule of mini etiquette - talking about what happened in her former master's home. Most minis wouldn't do that. For one thing, if it was very bad, it was usually too embarrassing for the mini to discuss. For another, it ruined their chances of getting adopted by a nicer family later. Who wants a blabber mouth for a pet? To sweeten the pot, with Oprah, she was accompanied by Starling - the smallest teenager in America.

When she finished her story - punctuated by tears and the occasional breakdown - Oprah asked, "Why are you still a mini now? Haven't you had enough?"

"Miss Winfrey, excuse me, but that's like asking a new bride why she's still going on her honeymoon, if she was raped the night before. I'm going...I'm staying a mini because this is something I want to do, for my deceased husband - and for myself. Our second honeymoon has been marred, but it hasn't been ruined. I won't let it be."

"Thank you, Magpie, or Margaret. You're very brave. And so is Polly, by the way. We should have had her on too." She turned to face a different camera. "We'll have Starling tell us her story, after the break."

Earlier, her reunion with the Millers had been as joyful as any she could remember. She regaled them with her adventure - leaving out only the details of what happened in David Connor's bedroom.

"Joyce, I'm going to have to beg your forgiveness about this," she said.

"Oh?" asked Joyce.

"Well, I have twelve thousand myself, in savings. In fact, I made sure to have that much before I took the mini - just in case. But they weren't willing to settle for that. So, I told them that I was sure you would be willing to adopt me, and I could give them my twelve thousand, off the record. I hated making a promise, on your behalf, without asking you, but I was just in a desperate state!"

Stephanie and Jackson both laughed at that. "Margaret," said Stephanie, "you know Mom and Dad would be happy...."

"Yeah," said Jackson, "they'd pay a lot more than twelve thousand for...." The two went quiet at a look from their mother.

"You were sure I would be willing to adopt you?" asked Joyce with an arch to her eye.

"Well... the other night, you did say.... I'm sorry, Joyce. I know it was presumptuous of me, but I didn't know what else to do."

"No. I understand," said Joyce, understandingly. "You were in a bind. I just feel a little... well, I'm not sure how I feel. Did you mean real adoption, or fake adoption? I mean did you expect me to adopt you and then hand you right back to Michael?"

Margaret blushed and did not meet Joyce's eyes. "No, I wouldn't have felt right about that. But to be honest, I wasn't sure exactly how we'd handle it. Just... whatever you thought was fair."

"Oh, that's fine then," said Joyce cheerfully. "Because you know, it's not about the money."

"I know."

"It's about presuming on my friendship - especially after I confessed my unrequited crush on you."

"Interest," Margaret corrected before she could stop herself.

Joyce gave her a long look, then continued, "So don't you think you own me a little something for that presumption - whether you actually used the money or not?"

"Whatever you think is fair, Joyce," said Margaret contritely.

"One day. My mini. No terms or conditions."

"Mother!" said Stephanie. "You're being totally unreasonable! Margaret was fighting for her life! Or at least her freedom! You know you would have given her the money, no strings attached. And if you wouldn't, Dad would. And if Dad wouldn't, I would - from my trust fund - and Grandma would've let me!"

Joyce sat quietly and patiently and continued to do so, after Stephanie finished.

It was Margaret who spoke: "Stephanie, my love, why don't you worry about Jenny, and let me worry about your mother?" Stephanie gasped and blushed - deeply.

There was a pregnant pause. Then Joyce and Jackson both asked, "Who's Jenny?" Joyce had to buy Jackson a Coke.

"Oops," said Margaret, "sorry about that, Stephanie. Joyce, that does remind me. I do have one condition: you can have my every secret - as long as it's mine to give. I don't – intentionally - tell other people's secrets. OK, I'm making an exception with the Conners, but I don't want to make it a habit."

Joyce agreed. Stephanie took Jackson to their room to tell him about Jenny.

"Shouldn't I be there? You know, to look out for you?" he objected.

"Jackson, we made Jenny do a bunch of embarrassing stuff, but we didn't make her do them in front of her little brother! We weren't *that* cruel!

“My friends will be there, Michael will be there, I'll be fine."

"I'm going to lose you soon," he said, simply.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Jackson shrugged. "Big sisters grow up. They get their own rooms, boyfriends. They go to college, move out, and get married. I just got a little... reprieve."

"Don't be silly, Jackson," said Stephanie. "You're stuck with me."

Jackson kissed her on top of her head. "Don't argue with your master.

“Come in!"

"Two things," said Michael, "Tobby can't make it Friday, but Dexter and the gang are all up for moving the game to tomorrow."

"Okay," said Stephanie, "what's the other thing?"

"Misty's here."

Michael quickly got tired of Misty. She was so condescending to Stephanie - and to Margaret, though she mostly ignored Margaret. She treated Stephanie like something between a child, and a very senile grandmother a... non-competent person. Where had he heard that phrase? Oh yeah, a mini's legal status. But that was no excuse.

And he felt like he was in a Twilight Zone episode: no one even seemed to notice how she was acting, but him! He was glad when they had to go to the TV studio for Margaret’s and Stephanie's interview. But she was still there when they got back.

"Stephanie!" she squealed. "Here Jackson, give her to me. I've got to go talk to her."

"Sheesh Misty, at least let me unleash her." Jackson slid the key down the chain to unlock the clasp. The key was a cylindrical device that looked like a large bead on a necklace. When it touched the collar, it would unhook from the leash.

Misty stared at the gold chain, with its elegant design and intricate interwoven circuitry. "Whoa, that's so petty! Can I?" she pleaded with Jackson before he unhooked the collar.

He looked at Stephanie, who shrugged. Michael's jaw almost hit the floor when Jackson took off the bracelet and put it on Misty. "Five minutes, tops!" he said. "I don't keep her on the leash at home Misty. It's mean."

Happily, Misty reached out and took Stephanie off Jackson's shoulder. For her part, Stephanie smiled and lifted her arms up to be taken. Misty ran into the guest bedroom that Jackson and Stephanie were using and shut the door. Jackson looked over at a stunned Michael, rolled his eyes and shrugged.

In the bedroom, Misty looked at the closed door quizzically, as if she could see through it. She swallowed back a laugh, then turned to Stephanie.

"Michael kept giving me odd looks. I wonder what for?" Then she giggled.

"Why are you laughing?" Stephanie asked, avoiding Misty's question.

"Promise you won't get mad?" Stephanie shrugged a half promise. "Well, I was really upset at the way you cut me out. And then you left, so I kinda took it out on Michael."

"I cut him out too," said Stephanie.

"Really? If I had known that…. Well anyway, you know how I'm on the yearbook staff? Well, they had me writing little blurbs for everyone I knew. And for Michael I wrote: Most likely to min his mom!"

Stephanie had to laugh at that, in spite of herself. "And they let you use it?"

"No. Miss Jackson made me change it," said Misty. "Now it's: Most likely to marry his mini."

That stopped Stephanie's giggles. "Be glad you made me promise," she said. "Is that why we're in here?"

"No. I've got news."

* * *

"Michael!" Misty said sweetly, sitting down beside him on the couch. "Can I ask a big favor?"

Stephanie was sitting on her shoulder, and he noticed with some irritation that the leash still connected her to Misty's wrist. But Stephanie just smiled, so he didn’t say anything.

"My mother gave me permission to sleep over with Steph," said Misty.

Joy, thought Michael.

"But Mrs. Holiday doesn't have enough room. So… can we have a sleep-over at your house? Dr. Miller said it was OK, and so did your mother - if you say OK."

"Your mother's OK with you sleeping at my house?"

"Sure, your mother's going to be there, and she knows I don't like you."

"That... makes sense."

"I mean 'that way'."

"Sure, you do. Uh, can I take Stephanie for a minute?" He pointedly removed the leash and went into the guest room, with Stephanie on his shoulder.

"What's wrong with you?" Michael asked, in a harsh whisper.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Misty! She's treating you like... like...."

"A mini?"

"Oh, come on! Most people don't treat you like that. I don't!"

"How many people have you really seen interact with me Michael? The staff at 39? They'd be polite to a poodle if its owners were good tippers. Mr. McHenry? He's a special case, because of his wife. And you... OK, you don't treat me like that - much, but you do your mom, a bit."

"Mom likes it - mostly."

"And you like the power rush. And I'm not trying to pick a fight, but you need to understand. People are the way they are – and they act the way they think they're supposed to. Every other mini Misty knows is a pet. That's the only way she knows how to relate to one.

“Look, either she's going to come around, or we're.... Or she and I will drift apart. But right now, just be patient.

“So, can we have a sleep over, or what?"

Margaret brought Polly to a stop on a tree branch to assess her situation. Her biggest concern was the hot South Carolina sun. She was completely naked. With no clothes or sunscreen, the sun would cut right through to the bone. But she should be able to make it back to Aaron's in about Fifteen minutes. She could get there even faster, if she could fly straight there, but she didn’t know exactly which direction it was. Her best bet was to fly East, to the sea, then follow the coastline to Aaron’s.

She remembered a conversion chart, showing relative sun exposure. Fifteen minutes, to a mini her size, was the equivalent of over two hours. Two hours of South Carolina sun in May…. Margaret burned easily, and the sun was as bright in May as it was in July, even if the air was colder. It was almost eleven o’clock; the sun would be high and strong. And what if she took longer than she expected?

Two hours of sun on her naked back could put Margaret in the hospital. She had no choice but to wait. She needed to stay in the thick shade until the sun was less harsh. Wait to at least three or four, five would be best. Scary as it was to be a mini in the wild – literally in the wild – the sun was the biggest danger now.

Stephanie couldn’t stand it. She had turned off the television three times, only to turn it back on again a few minutes later, each time. "Magpie and Starling. We sound like a comic book. And why does Magpie get top billing anyway?"

Stephanie gasped and started biting at her lower lip, as soon as those words were out of her mouth. How could she even think something so petty, much less say it, with Margaret missing and probably dead.

"It just sounds better," said Jackson. He noticed Stephanie's reaction but decided not to mention it. "I bet somebody will make a comic book out of it - or a movie! That'd be great!"

"You should do it," said Stephanie, idly. "You're a great artist."

"Wow! Do you think I could?"

"Sure."

"Will you help me?"

Stephanie tried to get out of it, but Jackson played the 'master' card. He didn't do that often - almost never, in fact. And he didn't need to do it now, except to speed things up. Of course, Stephanie would help him with his artistic projects - and it was well within his prerogatives to require it. But if he hadn’t played his trump card, she would have put him off a day or so, while she beat herself up and worried herself sick.

Jackson decided he'd seen enough of that, so he put her to work as model, muse, co-writer, and editor. It didn't stop her from worrying, of course, but it did help cut down on her beating herself up over things she couldn't have done any better.

Misty called back at ten. They talked a short time, and Stephanie said that it would be alright if she stopped by sometime the next evening. She didn't know if it would be a reunion or a wake, but Misty was welcome to come.

Richard called at eleven. The police were making Michael take a break. They had a skeleton crew searching through the night, mainly to keep wild animals away. He and Michael would try to catch some sleep at Michael's place. The full search would start up again at six - and continue to noon. If they still hadn’t found her by then, they would open the beach back up.

Stephanie started crying and did not stop until she fell asleep in her mother's lap. She woke up early the next morning, lying where her father would normally sleep. She looked over at her mother's pretty face. The giant face was only a few inches in front of her. It didn’t scare her, not exactly; she knew her mother would never hurt her, but it still filled her with a kind of awe. She understood why some people, like Margaret, chose this, were willing to risk everything to have this feeling.

She told herself that she would never have chosen this if she had a choice. She told herself that, every few days or so. It absolutely used to be true. Then it was mostly true. Then she had to remind herself every few days that she didn’t want to be what she was, no matter how many up sides it had. Now, she decided to stop doing that. She was what she was, and hating it didn’t help a thing.

She felt an embarrassing excitement she worked to suppress. That was her mother, not some elegant goddess. Find some other giant to feel in awe of. But she knew she would have a hard time finding any other woman or man who had her mother’s mix of beauty, sternness, majesty and compassion. She would never let her mother know how much this turned her on. That was her new resolve, one she planned to stick to.

Looking at her mother, she saw a sadness there that she had not seen since shortly after she got minned. As she watched, her mother's eyes fluttered open. She looked at Stephanie and gave a wane smile. Stephanie was sure that she had not made any noise or movement that might have waken her mother; her mother simply had as good a biological clock as she did.

"Do you need anything, dear?" she asked.

Stephanie wanted to say no, but she was thirsty and needed to use the rest room, and her grandmother's house was not very mini friendly.

Margaret was going to be sick. Polly was a restless bird, who liked to move around a lot. She was probably as uncomfortable with a mini on her back as Margaret was sitting on a giant bird all day. She so wished she could get down for a while, give Polly a break and stretch her own legs, but she had learned her lesson at the birdbath. If Polly got startled and flew off without her again, she’d wish she was back at the Conner’s.

Maybe not, it’d be close.

Through much of the day, Stephanie continued to work on Jackson's comic book. She edited what he had already written, drew out some story boards - and watched the news. Hope, already in short supply, dwindled by the hour.

It was time – though Margaret had no idea what time it was. The shadows were getting longer, so the sun was getting lower. A lower sun was a weaker sun. It wasn’t as weak as she would like, but it would have to do. She was getting saddle sore and thirsty. Polly was getting restless. The bird already nipped at her, a friendly warning. Polly could easily chomp through her arm.

With a few deep breaths and a tight grip on the reins, Margaret spurred Polly into flight.

That first dip was always the worst. Then the majestic bird spread its wings and pulled up from a dive that looked like it was going to leave Margaret splattered on the forest floor. Margaret was glad she hadn’t eaten in a while; she just wished she could have made a pit stop.

They flew East by Southeast, until they saw the sea, then turned South, towards Polly's home. They crossed Shoreline drive about a quarter mile south of the police's northern roadblock, so Margaret didn't see it. The police were letting cars through now. They only had a couple of patrol cars there, on the off chance that one of the searchers found something. At this point their main purpose was to keep the searchers themselves from getting in trouble.

Margaret could feel herself getting hot and thirsty as the aviarium came into view. Aaron had installed a few pet doors high on its outer walls, and Polly made a bee line for one of them. It was a one-way door and had a small porch on each side. Polly landed and pushed through the door. It bumped roughly against Margaret but didn't knock her off. Polly quickly flew up to her nest, where there was a feeder and water.

Margaret wanted to call out for Aaron, but her throat was too dry. Instead, she waited for Polly to get a drink of water. Polly had never tried to bite her, but it's never a good idea to interfere with an animal when it was eating or drinking, especially one that weighs six times more than you do and could crack your skull like a Brazil nut.

Polly finished, and Margaret started to get some water, when she saw two of the most frightening things she had ever seen. Two condors, much larger than the eagle, were flying at her from opposite directions. She screamed a hoarse dry scream and fell to her stomach as the two birds landed on the perch, one just after the other.

Margaret tried to yell for Aaron, as the two giant condors started to peck at Polly. Polly squawked and snapped back at them but also moved forward to cover Margaret with her body and wings. Margaret was grateful that Polly's mothering instincts had been triggered - perhaps by her weak croaks for help, but she knew that Polly could not last long against the two giant scavengers.

What had triggered this reaction from them? Didn't they always coexist peacefully with the parrots? Maybe Polly had picked up some smell while she was outside. Then she realized it was probably her! The smell of mammal flesh - sunburned mini, and sweea, and sex and fear was driving them into a frenzy. After all the times that Polly had saved her, she was getting Polly killed!

Margaret tried again to call for help. "Aaron! Aaron!" she cried. But her voice was so weak she doubted he could have heard her if he was standing on the ground below her. Then she heard Polly repeat: "Aaron! Aaron!" Other than a little metallic twang that said it was a parrot speaking, it was probably Katie McHenry’s voice. Margaret stroked Polly's chest and said, "good girl." Then she continued to call for Aaron and Polly continued to repeat it.

Aaron heard a small ruckus in the aviarium, but he didn't think much of it at first. Then he heard Polly's voice calling: "Aaron, Aaron." That was unusual. She was more likely to greet him by calling out her own name than his. Then he did a double-take: Polly!

He ran into the aviarium. There was Polly, up in her nest. The two buzzards, Mortis and Rigor, were up there too, and they looked like they might be getting into a fight. He saw no sign of Margaret.

"Hear 'ear, lads," he said, as he started to climb the ladder that stood beside Polly's nest. The ladders used to stand mounted perpendicular against the walls beside the bird's nests, but as he had gotten older, he had the ladders angled, so that now they were almost like stairs. "What's the trouble ‘ere?"

"Aaron!" he heard again, but this time it was not Polly. It was a woman's faint cry!

"Margaret? Margaret! Here lass, I've got you." He stroked and scratched Polly, then carefully extracted the tiny woman from beneath her. With Polly being in mother-hen mode, he had to be careful, or she might start snapping. He had a few scars to prove that she could bite hard, when her dander was up.

"Oh Aaron, I thought they were going to kill me! And Polly!"

"Who, lass?" asked Aaron, as he backed down the stairs.

"The vultures! Those!" she said indicating the birds behind her.

It took Aaron a moment to catch up. He thought some outside birds must have chased her again. "Oh no, lass. They's just greetin Polly – lovin’ on her. See? Now they’s preenin her."

"That didn't sound like preening!"

"Well, I reckon Polly's bein’ a mother hen – protectin’ you. An’ the lads don’ understand why she's bein’ so snippy."

Margaret looked at Aaron in shock, then she started to laugh - or at least she tried to. Her throat was so dry she choked on it.

Aaron rushed her into the kitchen and quickly got her a spoonful of water. He held that for her, as he looked around for something better. "Aye," he said, "Polly's near 30-year old. An’ she takes all the new chicks under her wings."

Margaret grinned and blushed at that.

"It's a shame she canna have none o' her own. But then, I dunna think she really misses bein a 'natural' mother. All o' the other birds think o' her as their ma, anyway."

He found a suitable cup. "Do yer want some sweet tea? Or would ye like somethin' a bit stronger?"

Margaret said that tea would be fine.

"Magellan now, he got a bit o' oedipal complex."

"I guess that's natural too," said Margaret wryly, "or as natural as a scarlet macaw bonding to a blue and gold."

"Folks worry too much about what's nat'ral. Parrots lookin' after a brood o' buzzards - or a mini woman - that's not nat'ral, but I'm glad of it. Buzzards tearin' up a weakened bird or mini; that'd be nat'ral, but I'm right glad they din. Takin' care o' the one's that love you - nat'ral or no - tha's what's important. E'en the buzzards know that, and they's nowhere near smart as parrots.

“Now, where is that police woman's card? I know I've got it ‘ere somers."

As he talked on the phone with the police, Aaron readied a sink full of warm water and bath oil. The sink even had a jacuzzi attachment, that dated back to when his wife was alive. It still saw a lot of use - many of his customers were stiff and sore after their rides.

While Margaret soaked, he got Starling's parents number from her paperwork, and gave her mother a call. The police were already calling Michael, of course, but he wanted to give Starling the good news. When he called the number, he got her father, Richard Miller, on his cell phone.

Richard and Michael were still out looking for Margaret. He had parked his car five miles from the police command center and were working their way back to it, searching in a zigzag pattern. A couple of other searchers still did the same. Richard said that Michael would catch a ride with the police to Aaron’s shop. He also spoke briefly to Margaret and told her to wait for his lawyer friend to call her before giving the police a statement.

When Aaron heard the patrol car pull up, he rushed to help Margaret dry off and get dressed in some riding clothes he gave her. Margaret had decided that she would look less... abused if she was dressed. She didn't want to upset Michael any more than she was sure he already was.

"Mom!" Michael shouted, as he rushed up to her. He lifted her up, kissed her and pressed her to his cheek. He looked - and smelled – even worse than Margaret did, before her bath. And he had tears streaming down his cheeks.

After a week of seeming like a younger version of James - handsome, competent, and confident - Michael was suddenly her little boy again. He could barely hold back his sobs. And for the first time all week, Margaret wished she was not a mini, so that she could hug him properly and shield him from the world. Of course, when she was at the Connor's she had wished that she had hidden away a bottle of antidote, instead of a knife. (James had taught her hand to hand, and giving David a thrashing would have been very satisfying.) But that wasn't really the same as wishing she was not a mini. Mostly, she had just wished she was home.

Margaret was angry with herself for putting him through this and for thinking and acting as if he was ready for full adult responsibilities. He wasn't. He was close, and he certainly could step up if the need arose, but it would not be right to force him to. She was even more angry with the Connors. They had hurt him more than they had her. She suddenly realized that she was a bit snippy when she was in mother-hen mode too. One more bond she had with Polly.

The police wanted Margaret to give a statement, but then George Thompson, Richard’s attorney friend, called. He had Margaret talk to him before she talked to them. Aaron had a phone equipped with a mini mike in his office.

Margaret told George what had happened to her. George said that she could tell the police everything, except to leave off the part about breaking the window or cutting the screen; the Conners could sue, maybe. George wanted to look into that some more.

“Just say that you found a way out of the house,” said George. “They’ll press for details, but tell them your attorney said not to get more detailed without him present.”

“I’m not sure I want to talk about the sexual… assault. I doubt the law will call it that, since I’m a mini, but I do. I’m not sure if I want Michael to hear about it, especially today. He’s still distraught.”

“It’s best to tell them,” he said. “Leaving out that much could trip you up later. Can the phone there be set on speaker?”

“Yes, it can,” said Margaret.

“Set it to speaker, then ask the police to interview you in there,” said George. “You don’t need him present, if you’ve got me present. I’ll stay on the line, through the interview.”

After telling her story three times – once for George, twice for the police – Margaret pled exhaustion and trauma and asked Richard to take her and Michael home. Each time she went over it, her anger built. By the end of the third telling, she had made up her mind not to simply let it go.

In the car, she explained what she had in mind. Richard didn't completely approve. Payback was the kind of bitch that turned on its own mistress. But he conceded that Joyce would probably agree with Margaret. And in any case, she should have a long talk with George or another lawyer before she did anything else.

Richard convinced Margaret and Michael to come back with him to his mother in law's. "Stephanie and Joyce have been worried sick about the two of you" was all he had to say.

Ok that’s good, u had me bloody worried there for awhile. U have done a very good job with the tension in this part.

"How many times am I going to slam into that damn bird, anyway?"

Stephanie was pacing on the coffee table in her grandmother's den. She was feeling very anxious - and useless. Her mother would not even let her field the many phone calls they had gotten. She was worried sick about Margaret - and Michael. There was a very good chance that Margaret was already dead, and that thought filled her with grief. And if she was, then Michael would be devastated. And that filled her with concern. Stephanie was a very logical person, so the concern won out over the grief. Grief was what you felt when there was no longer any need for concern. But she knew that the grief would hit her hard later - if Margaret was dead.

They kept the news on, to hear any updates on the search. But mostly they just replayed the footage of Stephanie and Magellan flying into the eagle and gave teasers of updates to come. It was maddening. "Maybe we could turn away from local news for a while? Dad's out with the searchers; he'll call if anything happens." She had said that before and didn't really mean it. She could no more turn off the TV, right now, than she could go to a party.

"That's not local, Steph," said Jackson. "That's 'The News Hour'. Grandma always watches it at 7:00." She stared at him in surprise for a moment, then sat down in the Barbie lounge chair they had put there for her to watch TV. Barbie was a bit taller than she was, and the chair had no padding; but because she was so light, she was not uncomfortable. Her grandmother brought her a thimble of tea. The thimble was like a large beer mug to her, there was a single shard of ice in it, and her grandmother had put tape around it for insulation. Metal cups were always so cold to hold, and her grandmother was always so considerate. "Thank you Gra'ma."
[i]
With us tonight are Dr. Charles Dolphin, of the Mini Research Center in Baltimore, MD. He's also a senior fellow with the Lily Tomlin Foundation - and Dr. George Hartman, professor of psychology at George Mason University, author of 'The Mini Mind'.

Dr. Hartman, in your book you say that mini's are almost totally self-absorbed and focused on hedonistic pleasure. What do you think, watching Starling do what most people would call a heroic act?

Jim, minis - and teenagers, for that matter - have very little concern for the long-term consequences of their actions. Starling didn't act - heedless of the danger, she reacted - without thinking about the danger. For that matter, so did Magellan, the parrot. If we're going to credit her with heroism, don't we have to credit him, as well? We're all glad that they were able to buy Magpie and Polly a few seconds, for all the good it likely did them, but I see that as an act of recklessness more than heroism. Don't let the costume, or body paint, fool you; mini Starling is not Supergirl.

Dr. Dolphin, what do you think?
[/i]
"Gra'ma! I'm turning it, OK?" yelled Stephanie.

"OK, dear!" her grandmother shouted back. She wanted to hear more but decided to let Stephanie have her way.

Stephanie stomped on the channel-down button on the remote control a few times, then got frustrated and stomped 'off' even harder. "And now I'm Starling? I'm not even Stephanie anymore?"

"Yeah, what's up with that?" asked Jackson. "Shouldn't... uh, wouldn't I have some say in that, Mom?"

"Legally, you can rename her," said Joyce. "But you better not try it! Starling is like a stage name; it helps protect her privacy a little. I asked the news people to leave out her full name – even though the rags are bound to announce it. I hope you don't mind?" She directed that at Stephanie, who just shook her head.

Joyce bent down and kissed Stephanie on top of her head. "I'm worried about them too," she whispered. Just then, her cell phone rang. "Hello? What? No. Absolutely not. First, we are not accepting any solicitations at this time; and second, she will not be doing any celebrity auctions - at any time! What? I'm her mother! Call again and I'll file a complaint!"

No sooner had she hung up, than it rang again. "Though, it doesn't seem to protect her privacy very much," she said to the room.

"Hello!" she said, testily. "Who is this? Oh, Misty! Sorry, we've had a stressful evening. Yes, she's right here. Just let me plug in the earphone, and I'll give the phone to her. Just know: if we get an incoming call, she might have to put you hold without warning. And it’s good to hear your voice, dear. Tell your mother I said hello." She plugged in an earphone and set the phone on its side, leaning against a doll table that Stephanie used.

Stephanie held the earphone near her ear and spoke into the mike on the cell phone, using the modern cell phone like an antique wall mount – talking into a box, and holding a big speaker to her ear. "Hello," she said, nervously. She and Misty had been playing phone tag since the night before, but now she was so worried about Margaret and Michael that she was afraid she wouldn't be as polite as Misty deserved.

"Hi, Misty! No, I haven't heard anything. Michael's still out looking. Yeah, thanks. So do I. Look, Misty, I.... No, you first. No Misty, that was my fault, completely. I was just being awful to everyone back then, you know? It's just a good thing that my dumb parents and brother think that they *have* to forgive me, or I'd still be living in a bird cage! No, I'm just kidding; they never did that - although Michael did! Yes, way! ... Misty, I've got another call. I promise to call you tomorrow, even if it's just to touch base. OK? OK. Bye!"

* * *

Margaret tried to maintain her balance, as the body beneath her bounced around. She glared at David Conners, as she dutifully went through the motions he demanded.

"You know what?" he said without pausing. "I was wrong... to make you look up at me." With his index finger, he firmly pushed down on the back of her head. "And those lips were made for other things, besides pouting."

Later, she sobbed quietly. Alone. That was a scene she had imagined many times--with James! Even having him pretend-force her to do some things were part of her fantasy. And now it was ruined! Of course, she couldn't do it with James. He was gone. But she had been preparing herself to do it with Richard - probably - while Michael was at his game this Friday. He and Joyce hinted about the three of them getting together, while Michael and Stephanie were in the restroom at the restaurant. (And while Jackson stuck his fingers in his ears and sang, “La la la.”) Was that really only a day ago? It seemed like a lifetime.

She had not been with anyone since James; it always felt... too much like cheating on him. But Richard was different. He was Joyce's husband and James' friend. He'd be almost like a surrogate - filling in for James out of friendship - not trying to replace him. Not exactly, of course. Richard was his own man, and quite attractive too.

But now it was ruined!

She felt foolish. She had much bigger problems than one ruined fantasy, and she knew that she should focus on how to escape. But it was a big deal! It wasn't just one little fantasy. It her tribute to James! This vacation was the trip they'd planned and never taken. It was supposed to be like taking his ashes up the mountain he had always wanted to climb. And now it was ruined.

Well, she wasn't going to let it be. Somehow, she was going to get out of this. And she *would* make love to Richard. And he would help her forget this pitiful excuse for a ‘male’, as he helped her remember what a real man was like, as he helped her remember James. She would!

Somehow.

She was in a box, in the boys’ room. It had holes in it - about 1 1/2 inches long and maybe a quarter inch wide - too narrow for her. It was cardboard, but the extra heavy-duty kind. If she had to tear through it with her bare hands... it would take days. And she didn't dare try anything anyway, with the boys sleeping just a few yards away.

They had given her some napkins, for bedding, so she made herself comfortable for the first time in half a day. There had been times today when she thought her gut was going to explode, but she was tougher than she knew - and certainly tougher than they knew! She burrowed into the covers and set her internal clock for 7:00.

David Conners got up at 7:00 to get ready for work. He checked on his sleeping sons and their new pet - mostly the pet; the boys were old enough not to need checking. She was awake but did not look like she had been up all night. The noise of taking the cover off her box probably woke her. In fact, nestled in the silk hanky he had given her, she looked quite comfortable.

"Good girl," he said. She only glared up at him, but he could tell she was coming around. If only all women were that easy to handle.

That made him think about his wife, and showing her the new addition, when she got back from her conference. He sure hoped she'd let them keep her. He'd be sure to keep the receipt on the terrarium, just in case.

* * *

"I'm bored," said Bobby. He was sitting at the kitchen table, where his new pet stood. She was naked and very cute. He hadn't gotten tired of looking at her, not really, but other than that, there didn't seem to be that much to do with her. He stroked her gently, and she responded by moving against him affectionately. That was nice, but he was still getting bored.

"I'm sorry, Master," she said. "I should have gone larger--maybe half scale or point four. But I was going to have my son take care of me; and despite what Da... Master David said, I didn't want to give him too much temptation. You know what they say: Minis are for boys, Micros are for girls."

"Yeah." He had heard that. "I guess it's like playin’ with Barbies, for them."

"I guess," said Margaret, with a giggle. [i]’After all, Muff-Diving Barbie is the most popular model,’[/i] She thought. She needed to be very careful with her banter. If he thought she was making fun of him, she was in trouble. She also needed to avoid lies. She had a terrible tell; she was the worst poker player ever. One reason she was so casual about nudity was that, back in high school, she lost a lot of games of.... Focus Margaret, Focus.

"It also makes them great babe magnets," said Ron. "'Get a mini, get a harem.'"

"Yeah? Is that right, Magpie?"

"I hadn't heard that expression," she said, "but it sure seems to be true. Jackson -that's Stephanie's master - is only thirteen, and he has *three* high school cheerleaders wanting to be his minis! And my son Michael ran into his old gal pal, while taking care of me. She used to always say, ‘Let's just be friends,’ and now she's practically climbing all over him!"

"See?" said Ron. "Keep the mini; leave the cannoli."

"Huh?"

"I'm just sayin’ keep the mini, and you'll have more girls than you know what to do with. But don't worry, I'll help you think of something to do with the mini, too," he said with a wink.

"I'm sorry, Master, but that won’t work." Ronald gave her an angry look, but she continued: "A mini, or a baby, or a dog - they only work as a babe magnet if you take them out in public. Jackson has three cheerleaders wanting him, because they see how good he is to Stephanie. Same with Michael and me. But as soon as you take me out in public, I'm outta here!

At best, your friends are going to see an unhappy mini you've managed to drug and brainwash into staying with you. Maybe they'll just think I'm a burned-out ex-junkie or hooker, but that's not a magnet. Or if it is, it's north to north – repelling, not attracting."

"That sounds right, Ron."

"Maybe. But dad's right too. You can always send her back later. Let's enjoy her now."

"You won't get as much money later," Margaret said honestly. "My friend Joyce, that's Stephanie and Jackson's mother, really wants me for her mini - right now. I know she'd gladly pay the adoption fee. But later... like I said, Jackson has three girls who want to be his minis, and Joyce will have to 'help out'. What will she need me for then?

If you let her adopt me now, I'll match her twelve thousand with twelve thousand of my own. That's not an illegal ransom; that's just a promise from me to you. Your father's right that you couldn't legally enforce it. But you have my word, and I don't cheat."

Both boys looked uncertain, but Ron spoke up: "How can you pay up, if your someone's mini?"

"Joyce is my friend! She wouldn't make me be her mini - to pay her back or otherwise. I'm the one who would insist on paying her back. And she'd definitely let me take a few days, to get my affairs in order - something that I can't do, if your father gives me MinFix!"

The boys ate their cereal in silence for almost a minute, thinking about her offer. Then Ron spoke up: "I've got an idea. Let's call Sharon! She can keep a secret."

Margaret’s heart fell, as she watched and heard the boys talk about this 'Sharon'. It was obvious that Bobby's brain turned to mush whenever he thought about her. Margaret was pretty good at reading men. Bobby didn't have a crush on Sharon; she was just hot, and almost available; and he was thirteen and gawky, and his hormones were raging--even though he didn't seem to have a good idea what to do about them. He wanted someone like Sharon to show him what to do with the weird feelings he was feeling.

Soon they had her on the phone. "No, I'm not sayin’ me and bobby want to watch nuthin’," said Ron, in a syrupy voice. "I'm just sayin’ we can't leave her alone with anyone. I thought you might just want to come over and see her. Yeah well, bullshit makes the flowers grow. OK, I'll be over to get you soon as I can. Bobby, I'm going to go get Sharon. You stay and watch Magpie."

"Aww, I've been watchin’ her all morning. Can't I come? She'll be safe in the box."

"That's a bad idea, Bobby. We leave her here alone, and Dad'll have our hides."

"But Ron...," whined Bobby. "She's not goin anywhere; are you Magpie?"

That was the opening she had been looking for: "I can't promise you that, Bobby--uh, Master."

"Yes, you can," he said pointedly, with a hint of threat.

"Master, I haven't lied to you - not about the money, not about anything. But if I get a chance to escape, I'll try to escape. If you make me promise not to, then I'll lie. I don't want to lie - so don't make me. I also don't want to be locked in that box for hours. Why don't you just stay with me; I promise to be more... entertaining."

Ron didn't like that business of saying that she would lie if they made her promise not to escape. If she thought that was the way it worked, she had another think coming - as his father would say. But he didn't want to get in a big fight about it now, with Sharon waiting. And if Sharon came over and saw what looked like an abused mini, she might decide to turn good citizen. That led to another thought: "Will you promise not to offer Sharon any kind of reward to tell people about you, or help you escape?"

Margaret though about that, then nodded. "I promise not to offer Sharon any reward. Escape itself is the only thing I won't make promises about. I know you've got to be able to trust me on things like this, or no promises I make will mean anything."

Ron nodded. "Break that one, and you'll just wish you were our pet," he threatened.

"So, can I come?" asked Bobby.

Ron looked at him then back to Magpie. "Do you promise not to talk any more about rewards to Bobby, while I'm gone?" he asked. Margaret pursed her lips and thought about it for a moment. She started to say something when Ron said, "Come on, Bobby. Let's put her in the box."

Margaret started to make herself comfortable, as soon as she heard the car doors slam, but she didn't open the knife up until she heard it back out of the driveway. "A little sticky," she said to herself, "but none the worse for wear."

She had hidden the one-inch pocket knife that Aaron had given her the only place she could, as soon as she saw the boy running towards the bird bath. Thank God and Aaron’s foresight it was a pocket knife and not a bowie knife.

At times, it had been uncomfortable, to the point of being painful; to her, it was a full seven inches long. James had been bigger, but he was also soft and flexible. And she had never kept him in while doing the kinds of exercises and contortions the Conners had put her through. But she hadn't been too worried about injuring herself. In fact, she had considered injuring herself enough that they would have to take her to the hospital.

That was still a backup plan. But right now, she was focused on plan B. Plan A had been to get them to sell her back, but she could still try that again, if this failed.

The first part of plan B was to expand one of the air holes enough to squeeze through. That turned out to be tougher and take longer than she expected. The only thing that was very effective was to use a serrated part of the blade to saw through the tough cardboard. But that part was less than half an inch long, so it was slow going.

The next part was even trickier. She wasn't sure if she wanted to risk going outside. Outside was dangerous! But she at least wanted to make it look like that was what she had done. Then she could hide inside the house and wait for an opportunity to contact someone. The Conners didn’t have a house phone, so she might have to wait until some night that David got drunk and use his cellphone. That plan sounded almost as scary as going outside, but it also sounded possible.

She went to the kitchen, which was at the back of the house. The best way out was probably to break a window. And for that, she would need some kind of tool. On the countertop, just below the window, was a coffee cup - just about perfect.

Margaret weighed about 2/5 of a pound, but she could lift almost three pounds--about seven times her own weight. This was another case where the laws of scale worked to her advantage; she was much stronger, relative to her weight, than she had been at full size - seven times stronger, in fact. But she couldn't possibly jump with that much weight. Fortunately, she wouldn't have to. The hard part was getting up on the counter. It was too high to jump, but she was able to climb up, using the cabinet doors for purchase.

She cut off a section of the curtain drawstring to make herself a belt. She slipped the cord through the eyelet at the hinge of the knife and tied it around her waist. She tied it in a slip knot, so she could easily free the knife if she needed it.

She tied the curtain drawstring to the cup handle, then climbed up it to the windowsill. She started to pull the cup up, but then she saw something that made her heart skip a beat. In the back yard, at the bird feeder, was the most beautiful bird she had ever seen – Polly! She hung upside down on the feeder and helped herself to some sunflower seeds.

Margaret tried to get her attention, but Polly couldn't hear her through the glass. Quickly, she hoisted the cup up and began to use it to tap on the glass, harder and harder until Polly noticed her. Now that Polly was aware of her, she just hoped that she wouldn't be too startled by the sound of breaking glass.

This was dangerous. If the glass shattered too violently, it could cut or even kill her. It was also a lot harder than she had hoped. She stood on top of the bottom window, bracing herself against the runners. She swung the cup to make it hammer at the glass. She could swing it, side to side, but not out and in, not enough to do any damage.

There was a hook, even further up. Steeling her resolve, she climbed up to it and wrapped the cord around it until the cup hung at the same level as the glass. Nearly exhausted, she made her way back down to the top of the top of the lower window. Now she could use her feet to push the cord further out than she could with her arms.

And it still wasn’t enough!

Margaret slumped on the ledge and let despair wash over her. She looked longingly out at Polly, still chilling at the birdbath. She looked in Margaret’s direction, but Margaret wasn’t sure if she saw her. Margaret looked down at the cup, dangling against the glass. She took a few steading breaths and climbed down to it.

Standing on the windowsill, she pushed the cup away from the glass. She stepped up backwards, so she was standing on the bottom board of the window, leaning forward about forty-five degrees. She stepped a foot against the glass and began walking backwards. She had her arms stretched out over her head and managed to get almost parallel to the floor before she slipped and fell into the sink.

Even at one-seventh gravity, it hurt. She got up and noticed the open drain and disposal a few inches from her. She was reminded of the famous scene in “The Incredible Shrinking Woman.” It wasn’t on, and she wasn’t as small as Lily Tomlin had been, but it still gave her chills.

She climbed back up the cord to the windowsill. A corner of the pane was broken off from the rest. Yes!

Carefully, very carefully, she pushed the piece out. It fell, and broke in two, lying between the window and the screen. Danger was everywhere, but Margaret didn't have any real choice. There was enough room for her to get out without touching the razor-sharp glass, if she was very, very careful.

She took off her belt and used the knife to push the shards out of her way. Then she eased through the hole, careful not to touch its deadly edge. She then stepped lightly over the glass to get to an area where she didn't have to be quite so careful. She was gratified to see that Polly was still looking at her quizzically from the feeder. The noise had not scared her away.

"Polleee! Mini girl! Go fly!" Margaret called out to her.

Just as she did this, she heard a car pulling up around the house. Quickly, she got her knife open and cut a hole in the screen, giving a quick prayer of thanks that it was nylon, and not the old-style aluminum.

Outside the window was a decorative flower trough, but there was nothing in it. To Margaret, it was just a wooden ditch, as deep and wide as she was tall. She jumped across it, dropping her knife in the process, and landed precariously on the opposite side. Now she stood, with a nine-inch drop on one side and a much deeper one on the other. She guessed she was about five feet up. It looked so much higher. She had to remind herself that such a drop probably wouldn't hurt her.

She could hear the children entering the house; it was now or never. "Polly! Polly!" She called. "Mini girl, go fly!" She twisted herself to hang her head and torso upside down, in imitation of something she had seen Polly do. She waved her arms and called again.

Polly did not recognize the urgency of the situation, but she did recognize the mini girl - who reminded her of her old friend. Birds have very good memories. She remembered her friend holding her, when she was little and riding her when her friend was little. She remembered the words and the friendly gesture; hanging upside down and spreading their wings was one way parrots flirted and greeted friends.

Lazily, she flew over to the perch where the mini stood. She almost knocked her down with her wings, but Margaret managed to dodge them. Margaret quickly climbed onto the bird, just before the boys came running into the kitchen. They shouted, which startled Polly, so she took off with her little mini mounted snugly on her back.

Kidding about ending the story was the worst joke since the beginning of the year.