Mini Vacation

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Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Fri Nov 19, 2021 2:46 am

It's been a long time since I dusted it off. But here is a repost of a story I wrote some years ago.

Mini Vacation by Xinunar

Mini Vacation Part 1 - A Little Decision

Margaret Kincaide stared at the blister pack of pills in her hand. It was partly torn, as she had started to open it earlier--several times, in fact. "I should just go ahead and take these and be done with it," she thought to herself. If she did it now, she would never be quite the woman she was again. But that would be fine. Her present height was pleasing to her. She should be satisfied.

This was good, she told herself. She should just stay like this. But she didn't do it. She paced a little more, then put the pills in the medicine drawer. Then she went to the den, turned on a barely-distracting sitcom and waited for her son to get home.

"Michael!" she said, rushing up to hug her son, almost as soon as he walked in the door.

"Oh, hi mom," he said. He hugged her back, awkwardly holding his book bag and jacket. "Why are you home so early?"

"Well, I had some errands to run, so I took half a day off." Nervously, she continued, "Michael, can you come into the kitchen for a few minutes? There's something I want to discuss with you."

"Sure, mom," he answered. "Let me just put my stuff up." He headed up the stairs towards his room, glancing at his mother to see if whatever she wanted to discuss was important enough to stop.

Margaret hesitated a moment, then said, "Ok, I'll pour us some tea, while you do."

I few minutes later, Michael was sitting across the table from his mother. She seemed to be having a hard time deciding how to tell him something. He doubted that he was going to like whatever it was.

"Michael, have you heard of the new MinFix pill?" she asked in a rush.

"Huh?" was all that he could say in response.

"It's a new medicine, that basically makes a person immune to the effects of the mini pill," she explained.

"Oh, yeah, mom. I've heard of it," Michael replied, still totally confused where this was going.

"I think we should take it," she explained. "For safety's sake, so you won't have to worry about someone slipping you a mini... at a party, or…. Or whenever."

"Oh. Yeah, mom. Sure. That sounds like a great idea," he said, and he meant it. Sure, going to a mini spa might be a blast, but it was so not worth the risk, as far as he was concerned. Getting slipped a mini was a real fear of his, almost a phobia. It had happened to a friend of his a few years ago, and it was a nightmare.

"But why the big deal about it?"

"Well, it's just that, I do want to take the MinFix, but...," she stumbled over her words. "I want to try it one time, before I do.... shrinking, that is."

The words hung in the air like some cloud of doom.

"Oh," was all he could say. He was surprised, to say the least. But he was also kind of excited – and embarrassed by his excitement. He tried to push pictures of his mother at a mini resort out of his mind. Almost everyone at those places was usually naked.

"I have saved up a little money," she continued, "that I was thinking about spending on a trip to a mini spa – maybe go to Mini World or Hershey's Kisses. Your father always promised to take me to Hershey's Kisses one day. And I always promised to let him." She paused for a moment. Her eyes grew misty at a memory, then she continued. "But they're very expensive, and the MinFix pill is also expensive. And now I'm thinking that it would make more sense to just do it at home."

She rushed that last part out. And if her earlier proclamations hung like a cloud, this one fell like a bomb. Mini spas were expensive because they were safe! But a mini 'in the wild' was fair game. Anyone could claim her. He could claim her! Another of those nasty thoughts he tried to push away.

Michael pulled himself closer to the table--partly to steady himself, partly to hide his growing excitement. He thought he should be saying something, so he asked, "How small do you want to be?"

He could claim her.

Margaret excitedly pulled some brochures from her handbag as she began to explain her plans, "I'm looking at the Seven Down treatment."

He could claim her; she'd be his. How horrible was he to even think such a thing?

"It's a new 2-step treatment."

Not his mom anymore – not really, not legally – but his mini!

"The first step is taken at home. That one will only reduce me by one seventh."

His mini. Like his dog or his car. His property – almost.

"And it's very slow, taking about nine hours--about 1 inch per hour for a person my size."

A mini was still a person, not just a thing or an animal, but sort of. They had more rights – technically, at least – than slaves did in the old south, but not much more.

"That kind of lets my body get used to the idea of shrinking, so the second step goes more smoothly. That’s done at a doctor's office, where he can check for allergic reactions and the like. He’ll make sure the first treatment worked well before administering the second"

But minis were treated more like pets than slaves anyway--or else they were treated like sex slaves!

"They say it’s much safer than a standard mini," she continued. "The odds of getting stuck are.... Michael, are you listening?"

"Huh?" Michael started. "Yeah. You were saying about the second step, but uh... Mom? Have you already become a mini?!" Michael almost shouted the question, as he stared at his mother, or more specifically, her clothes – which, he now noticed, had become very baggy.

"No, silly," she chided. "I only took the first part. This is just a little reduction. I'm not a mini, and I won't become one, if you don't want me to. And from your reaction, maybe I'd better not?" She looked at him nervously.

"No, mom," he backpedaled. He was very close to his mother. He understood the look she was giving him--seeking his approval, fearing his disapproval. It was funny that she would look at him that way. Surely, she knew that he would never disapprove of her, that he would never make her feel--small.

So why was he having all those shameful thoughts?

"I didn't mean.... I was just surprised. So, you took this first part, which is just going to reduce you a little--and the second part?"

"Well, if I don't back out," she continued. "And if you agree, then I'll go to the doctor on Friday, for the second treatment. They call it a treatment, but it's really just a pill. Anyway, this time I have to be accompanied by someone who will take responsibility for me, as a mini. Uh, I'm hoping that will be you."

"Me?" he asked. "I mean, sure. I don't mind. But I thought the 'responsible party' had to be an adult?"

"Well, it's kind of a loophole," she explained. "A child would have to be accompanied by a parent or guardian, but I am your parent and guardian! Plus, we'll draw up papers that will effectively make you an emancipated minor for the week." She looked at him and waited for his reaction.

"Oh. Wow!" he said. "That sounds great."

He smiled brightly and continued to try to absorb this rush of information. Then he had a thought, "But you still didn't tell me how small you'll be?"

"Oh," she answered. "The name pretty much says it: 'Seven Down'. The total reduction is to one-seventh my original height--or about nine inches."

---End Part one.
Last edited by Xinunar on Sat Nov 20, 2021 10:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.


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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by MrWitness » Fri Nov 19, 2021 12:51 pm

It starts interesting, waiting for more :)

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Fri Nov 19, 2021 1:07 pm

Mini Vacation Part 2 - Game Rules & Dungeon Masters
by Xinunar

"The name pretty much says it: 'Seven Down'. The total reduction is to one-seventh my original height – or about nine inches."

She paused for a moment to let that sink in. She then continued in an excited rush: "So, you really don't mind? You'll do it? You said you didn't have any plans for spring break, next week, but I also know this is a big job – like babysitting. And I will pay you for it. That's only right. And it doesn't have to be for the whole week, if you don't want to."

"Whoa! Wait. Mom!" Michael interrupted her. He wondered if it was true that becoming a mini – or even being 'slightly reduced' – made a person childlike. He had never seen his mother act like this before. Michael sat q­uietly for over a minute, holding one hand up to get her to wait. He collected his thoughts. While he did, his mother was staring at him, literally waiting with baited breath, to hear what he had to say.

"First," he said, "you don't have to pay me." His mother started to object, but he continued, "no, you said you're getting us some MinFix. I know that stuff's expensive! That's worth way more than a week babysitting. And second, is this stuff safe?"

Happy about his concern for her safety, she directed him to the drug safety information in the brochure. It was very safe – used as directed – but one point really caught his eye. There was a 97.7% reversibility rate in the first month. He grabbed a calculator.

"Mom," he said, "that means there's a one in 43 chance you could be stuck that way!"

Now it was her turn to be quiet for a minute before answering, "I know. And that would be a bummer – to say the least." She gave a little laugh and then continued, "But it wouldn't be all that bad, either. I know that you would take care of me, and if that didn't work out – if­­ having your old mom under foot cramps your style too much," they both gave a short laugh at that, "then I could join one of the mini communes or reservations. Plus, if I got stuck as a mini, then my social security would automatically kick in. We'd both be OK, then. You know, it's an open secret that (unofficially, mind you) the government wants people to become minis – they use way fewer resources."

She smiled, and then her face grew more serious: "really, the only thing that would worry me is the way people treat minis. One week would be one thing, but forever...? Still, it's just one in 43. That's like your chances of getting minned in Central Park." They both laughed at the recurring Saturday Night Live punch line.

"But seriously, mom," Michael said, "I wouldn't want you to join a commune. I'd miss you too much. Would you be willing to stay with me, if I promise to treat you right?"

"Well..." she replied, "you could twist my arm. No, really. You'd have to be very careful, when you held me, or you could twist my arm!"

"All right," Michael started, after a few minutes of joking back and forth – signaling that he wanted to get back to the main topic. "How do you want me to treat you, while you're a mini?"

Margaret was a little taken aback by the directness of the question. "Well, couldn't you just treat me normally – maybe help me get around, kind of like if I had a broken leg?"

"I could," he said. "But if I did that, I think this whole, once in a lifetime, special vacation you have planned would be a big bust. How about if I really pamper you for the whole week?"

"That would be nice," she said.

"But still not the total mini experience. Right?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, a little nervous about where this was headed.

"I mean," he said, "I could pamper you any time. You don't have to become a mini for that. And I've read enough about minis to know that it's usually more about wanting someone else to take charge, than it is about wanting to explore a giant house. Do you want me to… take charge, for the week?"

"I guess," she answered hesitantly, "it would depend on how much charge?”

"Exactly." Michael looked at his mother reassuringly. "Don't worry, mom. This is just like in a role-playing game – just exactly like a role-playing game, actually. You're going to take a break from real life, by transforming into someone else for a while. And I'm going to be the dungeon master! Uh, you do know what a dungeon master is, don't you? I hope you don't think I was talking dirty?"

"I went to college, son," she answered curtly. "I know what a dungeon master is."

Michael could hardly help laughing, seeing his mother blush. He felt that he was really on his own turf now, and thought that he knew just how to play it. "Good," he said, "so for a good gaming experience, you have to set the rules and parameters – how the game is going to be played. You want me to be in charge – but not too much. We have to find that happy medium. And we need to do it now, before the game begins. If, next week, I take too much control, then you're going to be upset – more than upset. But if I don't take enough control, you're not going to have a mini-vacation at all – not the kind that you want."

He paused for a bit to let her think about that. Then he continued, "So, at the one extreme we have... me: doting son who normally lets his mother take charge and would never dream – well, would never actually – treat her like a mini. Uh, no offense. Then at the opposite end we have... that boy on the news the other night. You know, the one who's mini/mother used to be a porn star. I take it you don't want me to take that much charge?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "God no. I'd die of shame. Don't even joke about that, son. Please?"

Michael smiled, noticing that her blush had transformed into something resembling a sun burn. She was that red! "OK, mom," he said, "sorry. But that's what rules are for. We set up rules like: 'no joking about treating you like Tina Tiny. No making you bark like a dog. No joking about making you bark like a dog...." She laughed at that, and soon she was coming up with a list of (much more sensible) rules of her own. He inwardly cringed at "no nudity" but felt that overall, her rules were not too restrictive. In fact, he believed he could follow them to the letter and still basically turn her into his tiny slave or pet. Which he was beginning to suspect was what she secretly wanted.

– End part two.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Fri Nov 19, 2021 11:08 pm

Mini Vacation
Part 3 - Down The Rabbit Hole
by Xinunar

The next few days, Michael set about making preparations to give his mother the best mini experience he could. His first stop was at the book store. They had a lot of books on the subject. He settled on Minis for Dummies. He read it and watched the accompanying video that night. He bought some of the materials that the book recommended he have on hand, and a few other things that he thought of himself.

That Friday, they went to the Doctor's together. He examined her, had them both sign some papers, and give Margaret an injection. (She had mistakenly expected a second pill.)

It acted fast. About two minutes after getting the shot, Margaret began to shrink. It took less than thirty minutes after that, for her to shrink down to just nine inches tall! Michael watched her with a mixture of excitement and fear, as she shrank down into her clothes – only turning his head away when the doctor came back in the room to fish her out of her heap of clothes and gave her a final checkup.

The doctor was bemused by this. "You know," he said, "you're allowed to look. She's your mini now – at least, until she takes the antidote."

"No sir," Michael replied. "Doesn't matter what I *can* do. I promised that I wouldn't. And I don't break promises to my mother." And that was true. Drat it all!

“Michael,” the doctor said firmly. “Right now, you’re in charge of her, and you shouldn’t be letting another man handle her – even her doctor, without your supervision. You might think that’s the ‘polite’ thing to do, but if I go picking her up right now, she’ll be terrified. Or she might begin to imprint on me.

“When a new mini is in such a vulnerable state, they need someone they can trust completely. If you turn your back on her now, that sends a powerful psychological signal that she can’t be completely safe with you. I’ve read a number of journals studying this effect. Chances are good, if you do that now, she’ll come running back here tomorrow, asking for the antidote.”

Michael looked over at his mother, who was still sitting on the examining table. She had pulled part of the gown up to cover herself from the front. It looked like she was sitting up, under a huge blanket. She looked back at him with a bewildered expression. That reaction convinced Michael that the doctor was right. She was already scared and confused.

“It’s alright, Mom,” he said. “I won’t leave you.”

“Doc, what do you need me to do?” he asked.

“First, put her over there, on that scale,” said the doctor. He turned his back on them to grab a few things from the other table.

“Here you go, Mom,” said Michael.

He reached out with his left hand, bringing it around her, so that his thumb and forefinger came up under her arms. He lifted her up, and she lost her grip on the cloth she was holding.

“Michael, I’m naked!” she yelled. “We said, no naked!”

“It’s alright, Mom,” he said. “We’re at the doctor’s office, and you’re getting an examination. That’s one time it’s okay for men to see you naked. I’m just assisting the doctor.”

He set her in his hands, so that they made a chair for her, with his right hand the seat and his left, the back. His thumb was in front of her, like the restraint on a carnival ride. He felt her naked breasts rub against his thumb, as he walked the few steps to the counter. He resisted the urge to rub back. Her two-inch wide bottom rested snugly in his palm. It felt soft and warm. In some ways it was more erotic than holding a full-size bum.

He set her down in the bowl of a scale that could weigh things up to ten pounds, with point-oh-one pound precision.

“You still shouldn’t be looking at me like this,” she said, covering her breasts and privates, as well as she could, with her left arm and her right hand. “You’re my son!”

“Aw, Ma,” he said. “Think about it this way. What do you think is going to happen, when you get old, and need me to bathe you and stuff?”

Margaret sat in the bowl with one arm over her breasts and her hand covering her vagina. She frowned.

“I assume you’ll ship me off to a nursing home, like a normal son,” she said.

“Not on your life, Mom,” he said. “I’ll take care of you, until I’m so old I need someone to take care of me.”

She smiled at him then, and a subtle shift in her posture changed her from looking like the victim of some disaster, before some fireman drapes a blanket over her – to an incredibly sexy woman. Michael was astonished by the change. He couldn’t say what had changed, other than the smile.

I wish I could take a picture, he thought. Hey, why not?

He pulled out his phone.

“Michael! What are you doing?” she yelled.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” said Michael. “I’m going to send this to your phone, and then immediately delete it from mine. You can decide if you want to keep a memory of your mini vacation, or not.”

That mollified her, mostly. She was in the same pose, and she smiled again, but it wasn’t quite as sexy as it had been. Still good, though. Michael seriously doubted his mother would ever delete it.

“Let’s see what we have here,” said the doctor. “Exactly one-third pound, or as exact as this scale can measure it. Just a hair lighter than expected. Help her over to the ruler.”

Michael helped his mother out of the scale and stood her up by the ruler.

“Stand straight, Mrs. Kincaid. Don’t slouch.”

Margaret stood as tall as she could, which caused her chest to rise beautifully. She stood at attention, and forgot to cover herself with her hands. Michael took another picture, and this caused her to frantically cover herself again. He took a few shots of her panicked look.

“You promise to delete those,” she said, as sternly as she could manage.

“Yes, Mam,” he said.

The doc chuckled.

“Let’s see. Eight point eight five inches. Here, Margaret. I’ll let you measure your bust, waist and hips.”

He handed her a tiny tape measure. As she measured her bust, the doctor said to Michael: “Large-breasted women, like your mother, always love the effect minning has on their breasts. Notice, she’s got no sag at all; to her, her breasts are one-seventh as heavy as they used to be.”

“Really?” said Michael. “I thought it was all proportionate.”

“It is,” said the doc. “That’s the square-cube effect. A mini’s strength is proportional to her size squared, but her weight is proportional to her size cubed. She’s only about one fiftieth as strong as she was. But her breasts only weigh, let’s see, one three-hundred-fifty-eighth as much. So, to her, they weigh less than one seventh as much as they did two days ago. No more back aches, no more sag. What have you got there, Marg?”

“My bust is five point one eight inches,” she said, “My waist, three point five two. And my hip is, ugh, five point four two.”

“Excellent,” said Doc. “You were formerly 36-25-38. You have been reduced by a factor of seven point one. And it looks like everything has stayed proportionate. Your breasts measure slightly larger because gravity is not weighing them down.”

“Well. Not as much,” said Margaret. She hefted her breasts in her hands, admiring the effect. Then she saw Michael take another picture. She gasped and scrambled to cover herself again.

“Not as much,” said Doc, derisively. “If you were on the Space Station, they wouldn’t sag a millimeter less.”

Margaret smiled and blushed.

“Okay,” said Doc. “Last one. And this is the fun one.”

He pulled out a thermometer and used a blue marker to make an eighth-inch-wide mark, one-half inch from the tip.

“Now, Michael,” he said, “you’ll need to go to the mark, but not past it. You’ll want to see a little blue sticking out. Past that, and you really could hurt her. Best way is to let her lean over your left hand. Push it in very slowly, giving no more than one-quarter turns, back and forth. Don’t try to screw it in.”

“What?” yelled Margaret. “Is that a rectal thermometer?”

“It’s an oral thermometer, but we’ll use it rectally,” said Doc. “I don’t think you want something that is, to you, almost an inch and a half wide, stuck four inches into your mouth – at least, not without dinner first.”

“Then… I would prefer to do it myself,” said Margaret.

“That would be like trying to use a broom handle on yourself,” said Doc. He turned to Michael. “This is also a good time to give you a little basic instruction, so you know how far you can go without hurting her.”

“Doc, we’re not going to be doing stuff like that!” said Michael. Margaret nodded.

“Humor me,” said Doc. “I’ve personally had patients get hurt, seriously hurt, after swearing they weren’t going to do stuff like that. Some of my colleagues have had worse.

Michael swallowed. Then he reached out to hold Margaret in his left hand.

“Michael, nnoo!” she yelled.

“Let’s just get it over with, Ma,” he said. He brought her back closer and turned his wrist, so she was draped across his palm. His thumb was over her back, holding her gently, but firmly. She squirmed and kicked her legs.

“Here, Michael. You might need to use this,” said Doc, holding out a tongue depressor. “Here, set down the thermometer and hold out your hand.”

Michael did, and the doctor gave him a sharp swat.

“You shouldn’t ever need to hit her harder than that. If she’s being very bad, us more swats, not harder. If you ever get to forty, sixty tops, stop. Switch to non-corporal punishment.”

“Michael, don’t you dare!” yelled Margaret, craning her neck to look at him, from her awkward position.

“Okay, Mom,” said Michael, setting the stick down. “But you need to stop squirming. You know you have to have your temperature taken.”

He picked up the thermometer again, and Margaret stopped moving. She just tensed up.

“Relax, Mom,” he said.

She didn’t. He pressed the tip to her anus, and she clinched her cheeks reflexively. He held it there for almost a full minute, and she did not relax. He shifted it in his hand to free his fingers. He started stroking her backside.

“Michael, that’s very inappropriate,” she said.

“I’ll stop, as soon as you relax,” he said in a soothing voice.

It took more than I minute. By that time, she was breathing very heavy, almost moaning, but suppressing that. He stopped stroking her and pressed the thermometer again. She forced herself to relax, this time, and it slid in.

She gasped and swallowed back a moan.

“Okay,” said Doc. “That took longer than it should have, but give it a couple of minutes, for an accurate reading, and we’re done.”

Margaret looked with pride at her son, as she put on the small dress they had picked for today. The doctor noticed the adoring look the mini gave her master, when he wasn't looking. I don't think that no-nudity promise will matter very long. He thought to himself. He idly wondered if he would ever see her full-sized again.

The doctor's office provided all the legal papers, an ID card that showed Margaret was the mini of Michael Kincaid, and various reading material showing what to expect – physically and psychologically – and what to look out for.

Michael put his mother in the carrier he had bought for her. It was padded, hard plastic and hung in front of him. It was made so that she could sit up and look around or lie down and sleep. The sides were Gortex – allowing air in but not water. It could be closed and was water-tight. There was also a darkened window, that let her look out but still provided privacy. It was expensive, for what it was, but Michael considered it money well spent. Margaret had protested the cost, because she was not the type to splurge on herself and already felt guilty about the cost of this vacation.

They had planned to do a few things around town, but the shrinking had taken more out of Margaret than she expected. So, they went home for a relaxed evening. Michael made dinner – a heated pot pie, which he shared with Margaret – and they sat and watched TV and chatted for a while. After a show ended, Michael announced that he was going to get some things ready for tomorrow and Margaret could watch TV in his room for a while. He picked her up gently, and carried her up to his room.

Entering the bedroom, Margaret saw a cage, sitting on his bedside dresser. In it, was a bed, made from a shoe box and a few other items. "Michael!" She exclaimed, "what is that for?"

Michael gave a devilish smile and answered, "Why, that's for you, of course."

"But I don't need a cage!" she yelled. "Can't you just put my stuff on the dresser? Why do we need a cage?"

"First," he said, "the book recommends it. It gives you a bit of personal space, and it helps avoid accidents. Second, it helps me assert my dominance and control."

That left his mother momentarily speechless. "Don't you think you've been asserting your dominance enough?" she asked. "I notice that you never ask me, before you pick me up, and you've been making all the decisions about when we go and where we go."

"Yep," he said. "You wanted to try life as a mini, and I plan to make sure you get your money's worth. You put me in charge. Well, this is me in charge. And if you don't like it...." He paused for dramatic effect and observed his tiny mother, still sitting in his hands. Her face showed some concern, but not really fear. He was pretty sure that he was still playing this right. "Then I'll stop," he concluded. "Mom, this is your vacation, your treat, and I'm trying to make it a good one. But the whole dominance thing.... Well, I can't exactly ask your permission before I do it. If it looks like I've gone too far, if you're having a bad time – not just for a moment, but for a while – then I'll back off. But for right now, I'm sticking to my guns on the cage."

She still pouted a bit, as he opened the top of the cage and placed her inside. And she looked shocked when he latched it! But she didn't say anything about it, and it seemed to Michael that her earlier concern had given way to a kind of excitement. She still acted angry, but it seemed to be just that – an act.

Michael ignored her attitude as he showed her the things in her cage. There was a small collection of clothes: a dress that was much more formal than the one she was wearing, one set of pajamas made of a chiffon-like translucent material, two skirts and blouses, two two-piece bathing suits, two string bikinis and two orange shorts with "Hooter's" printed on them.

All the clothes were a bit large for her, but wearable. There was a spool of thread that would also serve as a small table; a needle that had been broken at about 1/4 inch and re-sharpened; she could use the almost-two-inch (to her) needle and thread to mend and adjust some of her clothes. And there were a few dishes and eating utensils, including a sharp knife, that were oversized to her – but usable.

On one wall hung a hamster bottle with fresh water in it, and under that was a cup to use as a wash basin. Another small cup was for her toilet. It had a top on it that she could lift, and it had blue water in it. There was a toothpaste cap with toothpaste in it, and another cap with shampoo. There was a sliver of soap and several toothpicks, that she could think of uses for.

Her bed/couch was a shoe box cut low on one side. Inside, and placed over the taller side, were baby washcloths – smaller and softer than regular washcloths. These formed her bedding and the back of the couch, and she could take a layer or two off, to use as towels or covers. There were also some cotton balls to use as pillows. The final item in the room amazed her. It was a TV remote, made for a mini! It was about two inches long – huge to her, but very light, and she could use it.

Everything in the cage was oversized to her. At first, she thought that Michael just couldn't get things quite small enough for her. And this was partly true. She was a very small mini; the seven-down treatment was brand new. But she also realized that this was part of her fantasy. The objects in the cage emphasized her smallness. They were oversized to her, but usable, and... homey. It was perfect.

She pretended to still be angry about the cage itself, but she was unconvincing. She thanked Michael for all the thought and consideration he had put into this, not to mention what he must have spent on her gifts. But she worked to hide the true depth of her emotion. If he was going to play the domineering captor, then she should play the pouting prisoner – at least for now.

She settled in to watch TV, while he went to get her next surprise ready. Before he left, he suggested that, if she needed him, she should turn the TV way up. "But don't do it unless you really need me – or I'll have to punish you." He said with a wink.

– End part three.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Sat Nov 20, 2021 9:00 pm

Mini Vacation Part 4 - Guilded Cage
by Xinunar

Once Michael left, Margaret began wandering around her cage, marveling at the thoughtfulness and attention to detail her son had shown. Sure, he probably got the whole setup out of the 'For Dummies' book; but still, it was considerate, thoughtful, loving.... She was a little overcome by emotion.

Coming to the back wall of the cage, she saw herself in the mirror, hanging on the wall behind the dresser - a tiny woman, in a bird cage.

"Wow," she said aloud. The woman in the bird cage, looking back at her, was beautiful! Well, no, *she* wasn't beautiful—cute, attractive, but not beautiful. But the woman in the bird cage was beautiful. The bird cage made her beautiful – like a diamond necklace, or a wedding gown... or afterglow. She wondered: if she saw that woman, looking so beautiful, standing in a bird cage on her dresser, would she ever let her go?

Stepping closer to the bars, she looked herself over more critically. It wasn't just the cage, she was prettier than before. Her sandy-brown hair seemed fuller than before, and shinier as well. She understood that light, which normally would have been absorbed by her thicker strands of hair, would simply wrap around her new gossamer tresses. Her gray eyes, always one of her most striking features, looked prettier than before – she couldn't figure out why; it was just... something.

Her smile, that was what was really making her face pretty. She had not seen that smile in a long time. It hadn't been there much, in the two years since her James had been killed in Iraq, or the two and a half since her brother George had been killed in Afghanistan. Seeing the smile fade a little, she forced those sad thoughts away. The other man in her life deserved better. With a quick and silent apology to the first two, she brought her attention back to the joy of the here and now.

Looking down, she saw her breasts swelling against the thick material of her dress. Swelling? More like floating! Glancing around to see if Michael was coming back, she lowered the straps down her arms to reveal two attentive soldiers. Wow! They looked huge! Normally, her thirty-four C's had the sag that one expects in a 36 year old mother – one who had breast-fed her son for a year (and her husband for a little longer).

Now, that sag was gone, like gravity had been turned off. She had read about this effect, which the doctor had also mentioned. The mechanics were simple enough. At 1/7th their former diameters, the muscles and connective tissues that held up her breasts were only 1/49th as strong as before – 1/7th squared. But her breasts were only 1/343rd as heavy – 1/7th cubed. Or no, the Doctor said she reduced a hair more than that, but close enough. Her breasts felt, and looked, 1/7th as heavy as they were before. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things.


Then she realized what was different about her face and eyes. That same lifting effect eliminated the tiny droop that everyone in their thirties begins to notice, giving her back some of that most elusive quality – youthfulness. She wondered if Michael had noticed any of this yet. He had been too much a gentleman to break out the magnifying glass.

Further down, she didn't see all that much difference, and didn't feel any pressing need to drop the dress further to be sure. The lifting effect was sure to be working there too, but it wouldn’t be as noticeable as on her face and breasts. But she could still lose a few pounds. Uh, make that ounces? Uh, let's see, 10 pounds times 16 ounces to the pound divided by 343…. About half an ounce would do nicely. Her aerobics instructor would be so proud of her. She was so close to her goal.

Looking around the cage again, she concentrated on the emotions that it was invoking. What was it that this reminded her of? Then she had it – her honeymoon cottage! It was that same feeling of coziness, sensuality, excitement, trepidation, anticipation…. Horniness? She needed to ask Michael to give her some more alone time.

Her feelings towards the cage had completely flipped from when she first saw it. At first, it was shock, fear and even outrage. Now, this was exactly the right thing, expected, normal even. And the fear... there was still a little of that. Cozy as the cage was, it was still a bondage implement, as much as handcuffs or silk scarves. She and James had tried both, but not often. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy it; she had feared where it would lead.

And where would this lead?

She wondered what her mother would say about her entering into an m&m relationship with her own son? "Those people are disgusting," her mother had said.

They were watching the evening news. The Supreme Court had just ruled that a master and mini relationship did not – could not – constitute incest. The program had several masters with their minis, all close family, on for their reactions.

"Wait mom," she said, "I want to hear."

In a six-three ruling, the court held that the necessities of caring for a mini – usually for the rest of his or her life – weighed heavily in its decision. Further, the dynamics of a master/mini relationship differed from the relationships of full-sized people in a number of crucial respects. First, it is almost impossible for a mini – generally weighing less than half as much as a child, often much, much less – to abuse said child. Second, a relationship with a mini does not interfere with other, normal relationships; a young man or woman with a mini has no more difficulty finding a mate than if he or she had a dog, cat or other pet....

There was more, but Margaret's mother kept interrupting.

To Margaret, that last point had been the most important. If the worst happened, and she got stuck this way, she would be fine, and so would Michael. Having a mini would not rob Michael of his future: a wife, children, family. A pet or a mini might, at times, substitute for a wife but could never replace one. And, while a live-in mother-in-law would be a strain on any marriage, a mini wouldn't. Either the mini would learn to defer to the mistress, or she would be spending a lot of time in her cage.

Of course, that also meant that if she let this little role play go too far – if they did anything that would damage a normal mother-son relationship – then she would never be able to go back to normal size. She would not risk her son's future happiness. This was a dangerous game she was playing. And it both frightened and excited her.

She thought she understood why some sky divers waited too late to pull the cord.

– End part four.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by travis365 » Sun Nov 21, 2021 9:27 am

Loved this story can't wait to re read it again :3

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Sun Nov 21, 2021 10:54 am

Mini Vacation Part 5 - Hidden Desires
by Xinunar

Michael felt guilty, as he headed down the hallway to his mother's bed room. He was going to invade her privacy, big time. He always hated it when she did that to him. But she did, sometimes – like when she dug the magazines from under his mattress. It wasn't that he was still mad about that; she had her reasons, and he respected that, mostly. Well, now he had a pretty good reason to find out what was going on with her.

Michael's excitement and fear mirrored his mothers. But while her excitement and fear were tied together – the excitement tinged with fear, the danger adding to the excitement – his were separate. To him, the idea of having his mother as his mini, even temporarily, was great! The excitement was all about how great it would be! The fear was another matter entirely. And that fear was not exciting at all. If Margaret had heard the rest of the court's ruling, she would have understood the fear her son was feeling. If Michael screwed this up, he could lose his mother. That was a fear no son should have.

So, Michael went into his mother's room to see if he could learn more about what his mother really wanted. He had planned ahead. The morning after she first told him her plans, after an evening spent reading 'Minis For Dummies' and a restless night thinking about it. He told his mother that he had to print out a report for school. And, while he was on her PC, he had installed a bit of spy ware. Now, he used the password that gave him to log on to her account.

He browsed through her history folder – very informative, some shrinking stuff, some porn. She had been busy this week, obviously very excited about her plans. Then he searched for 'shrinking' on the hard drive: 'Esther the Toy Mom', 'A Gift For Philip' , 'Claire’.... He looked in the directories where he found these, and found other files just as interesting.

He could have spent the whole evening reading the things he found on her PC. But, showing more discipline than he knew he had, he set that aside and began to search her room. It only took a few minutes to hit pay dirt. He popped a dvd in the player. Fast forward, play, fast forward, play. Switch to the next one. This wasn't the time to watch a movie. Just see what we've got.

Back in her cage, Margaret's thoughts had turned from the enormity of her situation to the enormity of... everything! The ceiling was 60 feet high! The fan was a giant windmill lying on its side. She was sitting on a table twenty feet above the floor! The family photo from two years ago looked like a billboard. She was larger than life. James was a giant! Only Michael was smaller than her – a little. But if these larger-than-life sized pictures came to life, they'd still be toys to the real-life Michael.

Picturing him, she felt a sense of Awe. Like, that's what God must have looked like when he was younger. Forty feet tall! He could sit on a two-story house like it was a bar stool. The lanky boy had not even reached his full manhood – now there was a word she had better not think about. Try not to think about a hippopotamus. No, that didn't help much either. Try to think of something else.

Looking around again, her perspective changed. It wasn't the room that was big. It was her that was tiny! Really tiny. Smaller than a kitten, just weaned from its mother. A cat could kill her. Hell, the kitten could kill her. Even a mouse would be like a wolf or rottweiler to her. Suddenly feeling very alone and very, very small, she turned on the TV and turned the volume way up.

"Mom, what is it?" Michael yelled, as he ran into the room. Turning the volume up, on the television, was their simple, pre-arranged distress signal.

Embarrassed, Margaret responded: "I was... lonely." She sat on the couch with her legs crossed and her arms clasped in front of her, in a classic timid schoolgirl pose. Sandra Dee couldn't have done it better. The effect was not lost on Michael. But even though he wanted to smile, he thought a sterner response was needed.

"Mother," he said sharply, "you can't cry wolf like that! What if it had been a burglar, or a fire, or a spider for God's sake? If you do that whenever you’re ‘lonely,’ I won’t know if it’s the real thing."

"Oh," she replied, placing her hands down at her sides. "Sorry."

"What did I say would happen if you did that without a good reason?" he asked.

"Uh...." What had he said? Her mind was still somewhere between the family photo and the godling towering over her.

"I said I'd have to punish you," he replied calmly. "Now, hike up your dress, and bend over the couch."

"Michael, no!" she yelled. "You.... I'm.... That's.... I'm not wearing panties! We agreed, no nudity!"

"As I recall," he intoned, "I tried that same argument about two years ago. It didn't work for me, either. I never got a spanking that wasn’t on my bare bottom, and neither will you. Besides, I won't be able to see anything from up here anyway. And I won't even be touching you."

With that, he held up a popsicle stick he had gotten from somewhere. Using just two fingers, held near the middle, he caused it to wave back and forth.

Watching the Groucho-style comic gesture, Margaret could tell that, if her bottom were in front of that wave, she would not be injured; but it would smart!

"Michael, no...."

"If, on the other hand," he continued, "I have to lay you across my hand, I will see you very clearly. And it will be twenty, instead of ten."


"Now, I'm going to start counting up from ten," he warned, "and every count will add a spank. And if I reach twenty, then it's over my hand."

"Oh!" she gasped.

"Eleven," he counted.

"I, I," she stammered.


"I'm doing it!" she yelled.

She began hiking up her dress, bunching it up at the small of her back, as she maneuvered into a suitable position. She placed herself over the couch in a way that gave him access, but he would have to walk around behind her to see anything more than her buttock. He didn't. From where he stood, he couldn’t see any more than if she was wearing one of her tighter bathing suits. But there was still something about knowing that her backside was bare.

He calmly reached into the cage and gave her twelve swats, as promised. They smarted! But Michael’s spanking two years ago had hurt worse. And James had never been that gentle with Margaret, either.

"OK," he said, "let's get ready for bed."

Margaret stood up and straightened her dress. "I'd like the antidote now, please," she said in a strained but steady voice.

"You can have it in the morning," he answered. He pulled out a small tablecloth, with a dark red floral pattern, and draped it over her cage.

– End part five.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Sun Nov 21, 2021 10:56 am

Thank you, Travis.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Sumguy14 » Mon Nov 22, 2021 1:55 pm

it is great to revisit this story. I'm glad you've decided to re-post it.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by McShrinker » Mon Nov 22, 2021 2:56 pm

Thanks posting this, such a great miniverse story. Always loved the world building and detail you put into it.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Mon Nov 22, 2021 9:16 pm

Mini Vacation Part 6 - Morning Mom
by Xinunar

The cage grew dark, as the cloth came down over it. Great, thought Margaret, what's next – training me to say: 'mommy want a cracker'?

Sighing with resignation, she took off her dress and began to get ready for bed. Though dark, enough light filtered through the cover that she could still see. The flickering light came from the TV, which Michael had turned back on. She attended to her toilet, used water from the hamster feeder to wash herself, used a toothpick-that had been broken and roughened at one end – as a toothbrush, and headed to bed. At her makeshift bed, she found another pleasant surprise. Underneath the top soft-terrycloth cover, was an even softer piece of silk! And there was another piece under that. She pulled down the top cover and slid between the two pieces of silk. She was touched again by her son's consideration, though still a little angry about the spanking.

As she lay still in bed, she could hear the TV more clearly. It was one of those cable after-dark movies that were little more than excuses to show girls with very little clothing. This one had a few minis in it – as such movies usually did, these days – and they, of course, would be completely naked. It was the sort of movie she wouldn't normally let him watch (though she knew he sometimes did). She thought about scolding him but decided that she didn't want to goad him into giving her another spanking.

Was that what she had done earlier – goad him, just to see if he would make good on his promise to punish her? Or had she simply overreacted to being alone in the big, big room? She honestly wasn't sure – and wasn't even sure which would be worse! More reasons that it was probably for the best that she was calling her adventure short. Still, she thought. as she drifted off to sleep, this was cozy and comfy.

The next morning, Margaret woke to the sound of rustling noises and guessed that Michael was getting dressed. Slowly, the cover was pulled off the cage, letting more light and a gentle breeze come in to the cage. The breeze caused her nipples to stiffen under the covers. Well, it might have been the breeze. She rolled onto her back and stretched, in preparation for getting up, but did not yet open her eyes.

Looking down at her, Michael took a minute to enjoy the view. The silk, the thinnest and softest he could find, covered her modesty but did nothing to hide her curves. His mother was not a model or a beauty queen, and he admitted to himself that he usually preferred the trim-athletic look. Abbs looked better in a bathing suit or... most other settings, in his opinion, but right now he was glad of his mother's more curvaceous figure.

"Morning, mom," he said, as her eyes began to open. Stepping back from the cage, he asked, "would you like to put on your bathing suit, while I go run some water in the sin... uh, draw you a bath?" He had crowded close because he wanted the first thing she saw, when she woke up, to be his gigantic face above her.

Margret startled when she first saw him. But her son’s smiling face was comforting, even at gigantic proportions. Coming more fully awake, she lifted herself up a little, and saw him across the room in his tee shirt and swim trunks. "That sounds like a good idea," she said. "If you'll go do that, I'll be ready by the time you get back."

As Michael headed toward the bath room, Margaret got out of bed and quickly put on one of the Barbie-sized bikinis Michael had provided her. The bottoms were a little tight on her, but the top was much too large. They must be making Barbie a bit bustier than I remember, she thought. Taking the top back off, she tied a knot in the back and managed to just get it back on before Michael reentered the room.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Just a minute," she answered, and went over to straighten the bed. Michael reached an enormous hand in to help her. Then he gently wrapped his thumb and forefinger around her waist and let her sit on his pinkie, as he carried her to the bath. He held his middle two fingers out, away from her body, and Margaret marveled at how he supported her entire weight, effortlessly, with just his pinkie. One-third of a pound, she reminded herself. Of course, he can hold that much with his… pinkie.

The sink was full of water and bubbles. In one of the side dishes was a dollop of liquid soap and in the other was a one-inch square cloth, cut from a baby washcloth. Michael lowered his mother into the water. Standing at the bottom, the water came up to her chest, and the bubbles tickled her chin. But Michael had placed a large rounded stone in the sink, which she could sit on and still have her head above the bubbles, just barely.

“You’ve got plenty of bubbles, for modesty,” said Michal. “So, I can rinse off your bathing suit and have it dry when you’re ready to get out.”

He held out his hand. Margaret hesitated, but then slipped the suit off and handed it to him. Michael rinsed it in the other sink and hung the two pieces on the handles to dry. Then he went to take his own shower. He made a little twirling motion for her to turn away, while he slipped his trunks off, then he stepped into the shower. It had a semi-frosted glass door – giving Michael just enough modesty that Margaret couldn’t object. She had, after all, been known to step into the bathroom to grab a few things, while Michael was in the shower.

Relaxing in the warm water, Margaret found herself in a fugue, as she watched her son shower. The stone in the sink was placed so that she faced the shower, when she sat down; and standing, she would bump her shin, if she faced away from it. She could tell he was posing a bit for her, but she didn't really mind. She remembered her earlier resolve to be re-enlarged this morning, but decided that she would just go with the flow – for now.

Michael quickly finished his shower and stepped out, still dripping, wrapped in a towel. He laid another towel on the floor by the sink to stand on. He finished drying her bathing suit with a blow drier, then turned to her and said, "Here, mom, let me help."

Margaret tried weakly to object, but he reminded her that it was her week to be pampered. He lathered his hands with soap and began rubbing and squeezing her body – cleaning her and massaging her with his bare hands. He would squeeze and rub her in a manner that reminded her of how James, her late husband, used to wash his own privates. His hand wrapped around her whole body like James’ would around his large cock.

In fact, Michael had gotten the idea of how to wash her from washing himself, a few minutes ago – and from Minis for Dummies, which said that micro minis are very flexible, but that you should not squeeze them any harder than you would squeeze your own testicles – and do not squeeze the neck at all! It also said, when massaging your mini, to pay close attention and make sure he or she is responding well to the ministrations. His mother seemed to be responding very well indeed! In fact, she seemed almost overcome with pleasure. She made only occasional grunts of protest, when the edge of his finger rubbed against the underside of her breasts.

“Don’t touch my nipples,” she said.

Michael complied, for the most part. He didn’t feel her most intimate areas – nipples, vagina or anus – with the tips of his fingers. But as he stroked her, up and down, with his hand wrapped around her body, he did brush against her pubes, as well as her nipples, briefly. He tried to walk the line between giving her a massage that was sensual, without being too sexual.

Being much more flexible than a full-sized person, Margaret was able to get the most indescribable pleasure from something that would have been excruciating to a normal woman – possibly even breaking bones or doing other internal damage. Instead, the pleasure was literally orgasmic and only stopped when she lay limp and exhausted in his hands. Then he lowered her back into the relaxing water. He washed her hair and rinsed her off with slightly cooler water. That helped bring her back to full wakefulness.

Michael let out the water and shielded Margaret from his view with a wash cloth. Then he patted her dry with a soft cloth. He didn’t mention, and she didn’t notice that he had a nice view of her backside, in the mirror. The bottom of the mirror was about level with Margaret’s head, so she didn’t realize that if gave Michael such a good view, from his higher position.

He let her put her bathing suit back on before he lifted her out of the sink and laid her on the countertop. While she lay there, recovering, he lightly brushed her body with a powder puff. He rolled her on to her stomach, to do the same to her back, and even pulled her bikini bottoms down a little to cover her bottom – then quickly pulled them back up, before she could object.

When she finally rolled herself back over and sat up, he asked: "Would you like an omelet?"

– End part six.
Last edited by Xinunar on Mon Nov 22, 2021 9:19 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Mon Nov 22, 2021 9:17 pm

Thank you.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Tue Nov 23, 2021 8:18 pm

Mini Vacation Part 7 - Little Chef

Margaret was an excellent cook. Michael wasn't. Omelets were among the few things he could cook. He set her down on the counter and began getting out ingredients, bowels and utensils. Margaret stood and fidgeted and began to look glum. "What's the matter, mom?" Michael asked.

"I am totally useless," she answered simply. "I can't cook. I can't clean. I couldn't possibly take care of you, if you were sick. I know you agreed to pamper me this week, and you're a real trouper, and I love you for it. But... I'm not sure if I could even go a week like this. I mean... I've really enjoyed being your mini – uh, a mini. But... I can't stop being your mother!" Margaret had tears in her eyes.

Michael was taken aback by this sudden turn of her emotions and didn't know what to say. He thought he should try to reassure her. "It's OK, mom," he said, with uncertainty apparent in his own voice. "I mean, you're going to be OK. I mean... this is just a vacation! I'm going to pamper you for a week, and then we'll go back to normal."

He paused for a moment, then concluded, "you're not my mini, mom. You're my mom." He tried to say that with simple, reassuring conviction. He hoped his disappointment didn't show too much. He really didn't want this to end too soon. He didn't even think that he wanted it to end, ever! But he also understood his mother's point, and he didn't want to make her sad.

Michael was only 15, but he was an intelligent, analytical young man. Now he thought hard how to salvage this situation. He needed more time to figure out how to handle this. He decided that the best thing to do, right now, was to simply stay busy. "Here mom," he said, "help me finish making the omelets."

"Help, how?" she shouted.

"Well, I'll do the cooking," he replied, thinking furiously. "And you can…." Suddenly inspiration struck. "You can be Little Chef!"


"Sure mom," he said, smiling as he reached down for her. "I don't know how to cook. You're going to have to show me." He placed his mother on top of his head. She loved to cook, and 'Ratatouille' was one of her favorite recent movies. She tried to object, but he ignored her. He wrapped some hair around her legs and showed her how to wrap it around her arms for a good grip.

"Michael," she yelled, "this is silly!"

"I know," he answered, laughing, "that's what makes it fun!"

Margaret could not help pulling on his hair to keep her balance, and Michael began to lurch about the kitchen, imitating the apprentice chef in the movie. He held his arms akimbo, like a marionette, but they were also ready to grab her, if she started slipping. At first, Margaret only pulled his hair to keep her balance, but soon she gave a few tugs just to see if he would respond. He did, of course.

"OK," he said, "let’s get cooking."

She tried a few more times to object, but every time she did, he began lurching around the room again. This was a bit frightening to Margaret, and soon she realized that the best way to get him to calm down was to put him to work.

They made breakfast, with Michael continuing to play dumb. He pulled little gags, like using a karate chop on the pepper, when Margaret told him to chop one, and saying, "Hello cheese!" when she told him to grate the cheese. "Grate, not greet," she corrected, "grate." "I guess it's a good thing I didn't tell you to 'cut the cheese'."

"You know mom," Michael began, as he chopped some bell peppers and onions. "I think you're doing more for me, right now, than if you just cooked it yourself. You know what they say: 'cook a man an omelet, and he'll be full for a day. Teach a man to make omelets, and he'll get as fat as a pig.'"

She laughed at that, and he continued: "But seriously, you're over thinking this whole vacation thing. Just relax, and let me take care of you for a week. But don't relax too much, or you'll fall in the frying pan." Margaret jerked at that, pulling his hair. "Ow!" he said.

"So, what do you have planned for today?" Margaret asked.

"Mini Park, of course," he answered. "It's supposed to be a great day outside!"

Mini Park was not its real name. It was actually Morris Park, named after the family that had donated the land to the city. The city had renovated it with an 'Alice in Wonderland' theme a few years ago – back when miniaturization was first discovered – before the mini pill was available to the public. Later, a mini support group raised money to make it even more mini-friendly. Now it was a popular hangout for minis and people with pet minis, to see and be seen.

One of its biggest attractions was a water park, sized for minis. This being the first Saturday of the year to really be warm enough for swimming, the park was more crowded than either Margaret or Michael had ever seen it. There were literally dozens of minis in the park.

Margaret gaped at the biggest freak show she had ever seen, and felt very self-conscious. She was one of the freaks now – for now, at least. At least she wasn't naked, she thought. Most of the minis were. The women, that is. Most of the male minis at least wore shorts or swim trunks; a few wore loin clothes. But the women outnumbered the men by three or four to one.

And the way the minis were acting! Many were being led on leashes. Others were performing tricks: jumping through hoops, chasing balls, contorting themselves.... At least, most of it was not too lewd. The city frowned on that, and there were a couple of police who Margaret could see patrolling the park. Still, some of the behavior pushed the limits of public decency. Margaret was staring open-mouthed at a twelve-inch girl, standing on her hands, with her head at her pelvis and her legs pointing straight out behind her. She might have been begging Michael to take her home, if she weren't so mesmerized by the sights.

Michael was also having a hard time not staring at the nude minis – especially the pretty ones. Not all minis were, of course – pretty, that is – but it seemed like only the pretty ones were at the park that day. The lifting effect that ‘low gravity’ had on women’s breasts had a lot to do with it, and was also a big reason so many sw’s went naked, or at least topless. Going topless would probably be more popular with full-scales, if it weren’t for a thing called sag. For minis, there was no such thing as sag.

He tried to tune them out and look for something more... normal, or maybe just less intimidating. Something he could look at with his mother. He spotted a young girl playing in a sand box, with a middle-aged man sitting in a lounge chair beside her. It looked like a perfectly normal scene at a park or beach – except that the man was only about one foot tall. That might be someone his mother could meet. Michael headed over to have a go at making sand castles.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Wed Nov 24, 2021 11:18 pm

Mini Vacation Part 8 - Daddy Doll

"Here you go, Magpie," Michael said, placing Margaret down in the sand. "Would you like me to make you a sand castle?"

Magpie? Where had that come from? Even her mother never called her Magpie – not since she was little. She turned around to complain about his using the diminutive form of her name, and found herself facing his shin. She looked up, and up, and up. Little? She was teenie tiny! She hadn't thought about it before, but this was actually the first time she had been on the ground or floor since being shrunk.

She wanted to look defiantly into his eyes, but had only gotten as far up as his upper thighs. She suddenly realized where she was looking, with his loose-fitting shorts hanging open above her. She looked away with a blush. Well, he won that round.

"Hey, newbie!" called the middle-aged man, walking up to her. The distinguished-looking man reminded her of Mark Hamilton or Ricardo Montalbon. Handsome, very dark, with a neatly-trimmed beard and a touch of gray at the temples. His voice sounded a deep tenor to her; she wondered how it sounded to Michael.

He was a sixther. From her carrying case at Michael's chest, he had appeared about 1 foot tall. As he came up next to her, he looked seven! If she were not already so dumbstruck by her glimpse of the Jolly Beige Giant, she certainly would be now. I’m one-seventh scale; he’s only one foot tall, he’s only one foot tall.

"Huh?" was the only thing she could say. She did manage to reach her hand up to shake his.

"Newbie? Right? Recently minned?"

"Oh," she answered, getting up to speed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Actually," he replied, "yes. New carrier, clothes...." He was too polite to say ugly, ill-fitting clothes. "That unmistakable deer-in-the-headlights look." They both laughed a little at that.

"Gordon Bronson," he introduced himself, "sixth scale, two years."

"Oh, uh, Margaret Kincaide," she replied, "one seventh, one day – almost. And this is my son, Michael."

"Oh! Very newbie! Michael, pleased to meet you." He said that, craning his neck and nodding up at Michael, then cocking his head in a way that showed he was talking to them both, "You two starting a new life, or just trying it on for size?"

"No, I'm just taking a little vacation," Margaret quickly answered. "Very little," she said with a laugh.

"Ooh, be careful," he warned. "I was just taking a 'little' vacation too."

Michael sat down behind Margaret, to better join the conversation. He noticed that the little girl still seemed intent with her castle-building but was occasionally looking their way. "Did you just... decide to stay – small, that is?" he asked.

"Not exactly," Gordon answered. "I got stuck."

"Oh wait," Margaret interjected, "you're the Gordon Bronson? Bronson, Wambaugh and Lowe?"

"Now it's just Wambaugh and Lowe," he said simply.

"I'm sorry," Margaret said, "I know your little vacation has cost you a lot. If you don't mind my asking, are you OK? How are you adjusting?"

"I'm fine," he said, in resignation. "Really. My wife... my ex-wife – that's her, over there – I know she still loves me. But it's not the love of a woman to a man anymore. My daughter takes care of me.... I’m okay. But this is not the life I would have chosen. Are you ready for that?" He looked at Margaret sternly, playing the wise mentor.

Margaret was not sure how to answer.

"Is that your sister's mini?" the young girl asked. She had come over to join them.

"Hi, sweetie," said Gordon. "Michael and Margaret Kincaide, this is Janie Bronson, my pride and joy." He beamed up at her, his voice and manner saying that he really meant it. And they all went through a round of hellos.

"Why do you think she's my sister's?" Michael asked.

"Guys never dress up their minis in doll clothes!" she giggled. "An mostly they're bigger."

"Oh, I see," Michael replied. "Well, she's really my mother's mini," he smiled. "And she's my mother."

"Oh," she said, thinking she understood, "she's your step mother's mini."

"No," Michael corrected, "she's my mother, and she's my mother's mini. She's kind of her own mini."

Margaret smiled at this. She had not seen a good place to step into the conversation and speak for herself; and besides, it was considered rude for a mini to interrupt. She was glad that her son had acknowledged her status, both as his mother and as her own person.

But Janie just laughed.

"Silly," she said. "She can't be her own mini."

"Actually," Gordon interjected, "she's right. When Margaret became a mini, someone automatically became her owner. If she doesn't have some other owner, then you're it, if only because you're the one taking care of her." He looked with pride at his daughter.

"I surrender," Michael said. "That'll teach me to try to argue with a family of lawyers. I guess she is my mini, for now. But she'll be back to full size in a few days. And anyway, mostly, she's my mom."

"That's what my mom and daddy said," Janie replied sadly, "but then he just got smaller! An now, mostly he's my mini." She looked down at her father with a look of disappointment. Then she noticed something. "Daddiee," she said in a singsong voice. "Are you thirsty?"

"No, mommy," he answered. His voice had changed too, and he sounded like a toddler – a contrite toddler. "I'm OK."

"Daddy," she said sternly, "you know you have to drink something when you start to get red! Now, you come here!" Gordon Bronson quickly scurried over to his daughter, who scooped him up and went over to her mother. She was sitting at a nearby bench, chatting with another woman. There was no question which one was her mother. Janie looked for all the world like a mini version of her. Her mother was a trim, very attractive, African-American woman, who appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She seemed to fit the stereotype of the kind of trophy wife a high-powered lawyer like Mr. Bronson would have. But there was also a kindness to the look she gave her daughter – and her former husband, that did not fit the stereotype of the trophy ex-wife.

That reminded them that minis dehydrate much more quickly than big people. Margaret had seven times the surface-area-to-volume ratio that Michael had. Michael fished a small bottle of water out of his pack and held it down for Margaret to drink. They had bought some travel bottles, which people normally fill with shampoo, conditioner and lotions, and filled them with water. To Margaret it was like a two-liter bottle, but it was manageable.

She discovered that she was much thirstier than she had realized. Decades of experience told her and Mr Bronson that they could go so many minutes, on a day like this one, without needing more water. That kind of experience took years to unlearn.

As Margaret was drinking, they got a bit of a shock. Janie came back over to them carrying Gordon – cradled in her arms like an infant! And he was sucking on a small baby bottle! For just a moment, he gave them a look that showed how embarrassed he was. Then he went back to looking contentedly up at his daughter. When he finished, she lifted him over her shoulder and patted his back, getting a burp. Then she set him down and went back to her play.

Margaret had been so distracted by the spectacle that she had not finished her own drink. Going back to it, she noticed how lifting her head up to suck at the small hole of a squirt bottle – with her hands held up to grasp it – was very similar to Gordon's nursing. But still, it wasn't the same!

"Such is the life of a mini," said Gordon, "especially to a young girl. They have a natural instinct to mother. And it’s impossible to tell a five or six-year-old girl: take care of him, like a baby; love him, like a baby; be careful, he's fragile, like a baby. Oh, but don't treat him like a baby."

He paused a moment and added: "Young boys and older masters will relate to their minis differently – in some ways worse, in other ways better."

Michael and Margaret looked at him, digesting what he had said. He could see that these were things they, especially she, needed to hear. So, he continued: "Michael, I see that you're doing a fine job of taking care of Margaret this week. She's your mother, not your mini. And maybe, if she got stuck, like me, you could do that for the rest of her life. But truthfully, I doubt it. There are only so many ways that humans are wired, for that kind of long-term care giving. Their charge is either their employer, their lover, their baby or their pet.

That's the reason loving children put their parents in nursing homes; duty and even love can only go so far. And even if love and duty are strong enough to override your core programming, I guarantee that you would be looking at a lifetime of resentment, unhappiness, and at best a love-hate relationship.

That's why the law puts people like you and me, Margaret, into the charge of people like Michael or Janie – making us, essentially, their property. They have to take care of us, for the rest of our lives; and they have to be able to find their own path, their own motivation, to do that. The best the law can do is give us the chance to go to one of the reservations and/or petition for a new owner, if we're abused or really unhappy."

They were all quiet for a minute, and then Margaret spoke: "Thank you, Mr. Bronson – Gordon. You've given me a lot to think about. And I know that was very personal for you. But do you mind if I ask you another personal question? Your daughter mentioned that after you became a mini, you got even smaller. And I remember the news article saying that you had become a halfling. As a halfling, you could have still related to your wife, as a lover. Why did you get even smaller?"

Gordon looked at her for a few moments. This was getting very personal. But he had developed a quick liking to the Kincaides, and he found this talk purging, cathartic.

"Yes," he said, "we could and did stay lovers, with me as a halfling. Of course, it was an adjustment, but Janis felt so guilty about what happened.... She had begged me for a month to do it with her. She's a petite woman, and I was 6'3, and she just wanted to try a little role reversal She bribed me with the best sex of my – if I may say, rather adventurous – life.

When we realized that I was stuck that size, she went all-out to please me. It was as if she had become my mini! There were only two problems: we were neglecting our daughter, and we were neglecting our finances. Janie took a nasty fall, trying to make herself some cereal. Then we discovered that 'indefinite hiatus' means no insurance. So, Janis went back to work, and I became a stay-at-home dad. Our role-reversal was complete."

"But is that so bad?" Margaret asked.

"It was a big adjustment," he said, "and a blow to my ego. But Janis and I were adjusting OK. The problem was Janie. She was having separation anxiety from her mother but was also afraid of losing me; I had changed so much. She had frequent nightmares. She would wet the bed every night, except when she slept with us – always on my side. She wasn't just acting out; she was a wreck.

It helped, when I played with her. But it seemed the only game she wanted to play was, ‘You be the daddy and I'll be the mommy'. Then one day, a jerk at a dinner party mentioned that Janie was almost exactly the same size to me then, as her mother had been before. Janie beamed at that, and rushed over to hang on me the way she'd seen her mother do a hundred times before. She was wearing a dress that was a copy of her mother's, and you might have noticed how much alike they look. Then the Jerk's bitch of a wife joked how we could really play house together, if we got a big doll house. And, since I'm a mini, it would even be legal!"

Margaret and Michael were completely silent. They could hardly breathe.

"Yeah," said Gordon, "that's pretty much how everyone else reacted. Then I went ballistic. I had a lot of pent-up frustration, stress, anger..., and that bitch had no right to say something like that, in my house, in front of my daughter. I started screaming at the top of my lungs. And I punched her – right in the crotch. That wasn't premeditated, by the way, I wanted to punch her face; I just couldn't reach it. My fist sank in, up to my elbow. Who goes commando to a dinner party? The dinner turned into a brawl, and I think the bitch's husband would have killed me if friends hadn't intervened. Later, she tried to charge me with rape, but I know some good lawyers.

The worst part was how this affected Janie. We started taking her to specialists, who all agreed she was suffering from a kind of PTSD. Four different specialists, with very different backgrounds, all said the same thing: playing house with her was the best thing for her. And in a way, that bitch had been right. As two of them said, 'Wherever she wants to take that play, you should just go with it. Don't worry about it. You cannot get her pregnant. At your size, you would have to really try to hurt her. And at her age, if she goes there at all, she will consider it play, not sex. And like the 'lady' said, you are a mini, it is legal.'

Driving home from that second one, Janis said, 'There's really only one choice. You've got to go smaller.'

And I did.

Now Janie is able to play with me, on her own terms. Wherever she takes that, Janis... we can deal with it. We explained to her that I was going to get smaller, so that I could play with her better. She didn't really understand that; she thought I could play with her just fine as a halfling. But we were able to convince her that I was doing this for her, and that I wouldn't keep on shrinking."

Janie came up, about then: "watcha doin?"

"Your father was just telling us what a good job you do, taking care of him," Michael answered. "Do you always take care of him?"

"Mostly," she said. "At school, they got a day care for the minis. And sometimes he sleeps with mama and Big Mike. That's my step-dad." She looked down at Gordon and said, "Daddiee!"

Margaret again noticed the change in Gordon. She realized this was a kind of code, or even trigger. For Janie and Gordon, daddy meant baby.

"Yes, mommy."

"Do you have a stinkie?"

"Yes, mommy."

"Come on, we gotta go change you," she said, taking him by the hand and leading him back to the bench.

– End part eight.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Thu Nov 25, 2021 3:32 pm

Mini Vacation Part 9 - Saw Her Standing There

"That was... different," said Margaret. They watched for a moment, as the small girl led her mini father over to the bench to ‘change’ him. Then Michael turned away, carrying Margaret with him.

"He had some points," said Michael.

"Well," said Margaret, "I don't think you'll ever treat me like that! I can't see you making me suck a bottle or changing my diapers – at least, not until I'm old and incontinent. He is allowing her to infantilize him because she seems to need it. Personally, I think he’s going overboard. I wonder how much of that is due to his ex wanting to have another lover? And besides, Michael, there's only a one in forty-three chance that the antidote won't work. I really wish you'd stop acting like I'm doomed to life as a mini. It's making me nervous!"

"Sorry, mom."

“It’s safest to wait a few days before taking the antidote, anyway, so it doesn't do any good to worry about it now," she said. "Oh, and Magpie? Please, Michael, anything but Magpie! It's.... It's like what Janie was doing with her father. It's making me feel like a little girl."

"I thought that was part of the whole mini thing?" he said. "Anyway, it's not like I'm making you wear a diaper or drink from a baby bottle. It's just a little... pet name."

She gave him a pained look, so he said, "OK, I won't call you that - much."

"Thank you."

"Just while you're little," he said with a smile.

Suddenly, Michael spotted a familiar figure, though it was far enough away that he couldn't be sure.

"That looks like Jackson Miller!" he said and began to walk in that direction.


"Stephanie Miller's little brother," he answered.

A few dozen yards away, a young boy, probably still in middle school, was standing in the queue for 'The Gullet' – a water slide that was for minis only. He was a small, skinny boy, with almost-white blond hair. He was handsome, to the point of being pretty, but it wasn't the kind of handsome girls that age were attracted to. It lacked the roughness that they usually wanted, and it made him look even younger than he was. At the back of the queue, he reached into his shorts and pulled out a tiny girl, who he placed in line for the ride.

"Ohmygod," Michael exclaimed, pausing in his stride, "that's Stephanie! Come on, mom. Let's go say hi."

"Wait, Michael!" Margaret yelled, with an urgency that made him stop short. "She might not want to see you."

Michael started to protest, but Margaret continued: "Have you seen her, since it happened?"

"No," he admitted, "they moved away right after."

"Listen," she said, "I know you want to see her, but I also know you wouldn't want to hurt her. She might be totally mortified, if you see her like this. I just got a glimpse of her, and I'm pretty sure she's naked. Yes, I know that makes you want to see her even more. But trust me on this. Family is one thing, strangers another, but old friends – the boy that used to look up to her – that could be really humiliating."

"So, what do I do?" he asked.

She thought a moment before answering. She knew how much he missed Stephanie.

"Try this," she said. "Walk around to where Jackson is between you and her. Give a casual hello, and then move on – if you don't get a very positive response. Give Steph a chance to pretend that you didn't see each other, if that's what she wants."

Getting minned at a party was somewhat like being the victim of a mad shooter. It was terrible, and it was frightening to think that it could happen to you, but it was also very rare. Most people did not even know anyone it had happened to. But it had happened to Stephanie Miller.

A year and a half ago, she was dating a boy named Mike Stevens, the school's star quarterback. He got a bit drunk/stoned at a party and complained to a friend, one Derrick Jones, that she was not putting out. Derrick had gotten ahold of some mini pills and bet that Mike couldn’t slip her one, before he did. Mike decided it was easy money; he simply crushed up the halfie and put it in her drink. But clever Derrick pulled a fast one; he managed to put a second one in the same drink!

His defense, at trial, was that he was sure she would just spit it out. Crushed mini pills taste terrible, on purpose. Two in the same drink should have been undrinkable. But it was Stephanie's first drinking party – her first rum and Coke. She bravely chugged the whole thing.

Mixing minis is dangerous! The effect is not linear. It’s unpredictable and often deadly. Stephanie spent six weeks in the hospital, where they had to use even more of the mini enzyme to even out her reduction. Some internal organs had shrunk more than others! She came out suicidally depressed, and eight and a half inches tall. She was listed in Guinness, as the world’s smallest teenager.

There was no chance of reversal. Stephanie was a permanent eighther, one of just a few in the world. Her parents withdrew her from school and moved away. Michael heard they moved to Baltimore, where there’s a big mini colony. The two boys had each gotten five years in a mini detention center, at one-fifth scale. Fifth scale is generally reversible – for up to two years.

Stephanie Miller shared her name with a liberal news pundit, and her looks with a conservative one – Ann Coulter (minus the horns and cloven hooves). Her hair was not quite as blond, or nearly as curly, as her brother's. Her blond hair, fair skin and lithe figure where like Miss Coulter's. Their faces weren't all that similar. She had a nose a bit too large for her face, teeth too large for her mouth, kind of like Julia Roberts, and blue eyes that Michael thought were the prettiest he'd ever seen.

She was a year older than Michael was; he never stood a chance. They were friends, mostly because their parents were in a bridge club together. Stephanie was also that rarest of rareties: a pretty and popular girl, who liked to play Dungeons and Dragons. She had been a regular with Michael's gaming group, and the group had not been the same since she left.

Michael and the whole gang had sent her cards, letters and presents. He had even talked to her on the phone a few times. But this was the first time he had seen her since before the incident.

"Jackson?" he said, acting surprised. "Hi!"

It took Jackson a moment to recognize the older boy. They were more than two years apart, and Jackson had only rarely joined in with the gaming group. That was only when the game was at his house, and even those sessions were usually on nights when he was at a friend's or something. Stephanie was close to her brother, considering the almost four-years age difference, but the games were definitely PG-13 (or higher), and he was only eleven at the time.

After an awkward moment, where he tried to place the older boy, he said, "Oh, hi Michael!"

"Michael!" came a high-pitched squeal. Stephanie stepped from behind her brother and waved her hands above her head. "Michael, over here!"

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Sat Nov 27, 2021 6:28 pm

Mini Vacation Part 10 - The Girl On The Leash

This is one of my favorite chapters.

The tiny girl looked even more beautiful than Michael remembered, and her smile was so bright that it even distracted him (at least for the moment) from her nudity. She and his mother were standing on a stump-shaped picnic table. Above their heads was a fiberglass umbrella, made to look like a giant mushroom growing out of the table. Surrounding it were four smaller mushrooms, for use as stools.

With the two little pixies standing on the stump, the scene looked like something out of an illustrated fantasy story. Stephanie really enhanced that look, because she was wearing a golden honey-colored lotion, complete with tiny gold flecks. Michael thought it might even be real gold; such a small amount wouldn't cost much. But in fact, it was a biodegradable product.

Other than the lotion, the only thing Stephanie was wearing was a silver collar. He might have called it a necklace, were it not for the tiny chain attached to it. The other end of the chain was attached to a bracelet that Jackson wore on his right wrist. Michael marveled at the intricate detail of the chain. Then he caught himself. What was he doing examining a chain, when Stephanie was standing right there? His eyes followed the chain back to the golden girl – and seemed to slide over her, back to his mother. He couldn’t look at Stephanie. If he did, he would stare, and he loved her too much to stare.

Margaret looked plain and motherly, next to Stephanie. It wasn't that Stephanie made her look ugly (though the bathing suit she was wearing did look even worse than before), she just made her look... normal. And the two did look mostly normal, standing next to each other – if you looked close and ignored the scale. There was a slightly greater height difference between them than there had been two years ago – but it was the same as it had been a year or so before that. So, it basically just looked like younger Stephanie, chatting with his mom at a beach—bathing suits optional.

Michael had known Stephanie, been friends with her, since he was eleven. This was hardly the first time he'd seen her chatting with his mother. But it was the first time he'd seen her nude. Now, he wanted to join them in the conversation, but he was having a hard time even looking at Stephanie. He just didn't know where to put his eyes! It was like trying to have a conversation with the sun!

If he wasn't looking down at her, if she wasn’t so small, he could just look at her eyes – like he used to. Not that he ever had a nude Stephanie to deal with before, but he had developed some tricks to cope with her 'distractiveness,' which she had plenty of, no matter what she wore. But now, that just didn't seem possible. His eyes kept wandering, and he was afraid that they would stop where they shouldn't, and she would catch him staring. It was silly; he'd seen plenty of nude women (or at least pictures of them, that were bigger than she was), and lots of nude minis.

But this was Stephanie!

"Michael. Michael!" She yelled to get his attention. "It's OK," she said, "you can look." She paused for a moment. "But try not to drool. I just washed my hair."

She turned back to his mother, but she gave him a sly look out of the corner of her eye, and a soft giggle. Margaret and Jackson giggled too. Michael blushed.

"Is that Pixie Dust?" asked Margaret.

"No, it's Golden You, 70."

"Seventy?" she said. "But you're so tan!"

"You know what they say: The sun is for fun. The can is for tan," she recited. "Seriously Mrs. Kincaide, minis burn easily! Don't try to tan in the sun. Just get a strong spf and pick your color at Mini Mart."

Jackson began to fidget. He was getting bored listening to the girl-talk. Stephanie noticed. "Jackson," she said, "would you like to go play for a while?"

"You sure, Steph?" he asked, looking a little suspiciously at Michael.

"Jackson," she said, "don't be silly. It's Michael and Mrs. Kincaide!" Not only had she and Michael been friends for years, but their parents were fairly close, as well. Jackson looked uncertain a moment longer, seemed to consider giving the leash to Michael, then finally unhooked it from Stephanie. He pulled out his phone and hit record.

“Do you agree not to harm her, not to do anything she does not agree to, to call me immediately, if she requests it, not to leave the park and to return her to me upon my request and no later than five today?” he asked. “On penalty of assault and mini theft?”

Michael mulled that a moment and said, “Uh, sure. You know I won’t hurt her, and I’ll get her back to you safe.”

"Back here in an hour?" he asked Stephanie.

"One hour," she confirmed. Then he ran off towards one of the larger water slides.

Stephanie had a look that the others couldn't quite place. Pride and endearment, but also something else. "Stephanie," Michael began, "how've you been? How's Baltimore? What have you been doing? Do you still do any gaming? How... are you alright?"

"Sure," she said, "I'm fine."

"It's just…," Michael started. He was having a hard time. He knew this was not the kind of conversation you're supposed to have with someone else's mini. But he was growing increasingly upset and was having a hard time not showing it. "It's just, that's not the way I thought Jackson would treat you!"

"Oh, really?" she retorted. "Did you really see how he treated me, or were you too busy looking at my boobs and the pretty chain?"

"Well," he responded, more upset than before and completely confused by her reaction. "I can't help looking at your boobs! They're... they're right there! And that chain looked pretty, but it also looked dangerous! What if he made a sudden move? And yes, I saw, I saw how he treated you. I saw him fish you out of his pants!" He said, in a scandalized whisper.

"He's never made a sudden move with me on the leash," she replied calmly, "and if he did, the clasp would break before it choked me. It's an anti-theft device, you jerk. And as for the pants.... You know what? Just take me over there to him. He's over at The Big Dunker. Just…." She felt Mrs. Kincaide's hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off.

"Stephanie," she whispered, "he's missed you."

She looked at Mrs. Kincaide and then back at Michael. Then she realized that she had not really looked at him before. Just as he had a hard time looking at her, she had a hard time looking at him. Her nudity – no, her mininess – embarrassed her more than she let on. He had been one of her best friends – her best guy friend, though she would have reacted similarly to a few of the other guys in the old group.

But now she did look at him, and saw something that she did not see in the faces of other guys – guys who thought she would be better off with a nice boy her own age, than as her little brother's plaything. What she saw was not just concern, it was fear! It was the same look Jackson had given her in the hospital.

"I'm sorry, Michael," she said. "Would you like to sit down and let me tell you about things? Please?"

She sat herself down in a lotus position, letting her feet and hands cover her vagina. The position was still sensual, but not quite so distracting. Margaret sat across from her, making a triangle with Michael. Her bathing suit, that ugly thing, made her modesty less an issue. Michael sat with his elbows on the table and his head cupped in his hands.

"I tried to kill myself in the hospital," she began simply. "That was the night after they first told me that there wouldn't be any antidote. I guess they were expecting it, because they came in quick: wrapped me up, strapped me down, and put me under. When I came to, I was pretty buzzed. My mother was there, crying. But when she saw I was awake, she stopped and said to me, coldly, 'don't you think you should say goodbye to your brother, before you do that again?' She’s a master of the guilt trip and really knows how to push my buttons. But she was right. It would have destroyed Jackson, scarred him for the rest of his life.

'I'm sorry, mamma,' I said.

They weaned me off the hard stuff and put me on plain-old anti-depressants, over the next week or so. I guess the anti-depressants worked, because I didn't think too much about killing myself, after I got home. But in a way it was like, why bother? Like I was already dead and just sitting in limbo, watching the world on some giant TV.

Mom and dad and Jackson all tried to cheer me up, and I know you guys called. Thank you, but I hate to tell you, but that didn't help either. And then they started talking about how they were going to get all these things to make my life easier: ramps, and tiny electronics and even a tiny elevator; and they'd already spent a couple of thousand on my wardrobe! And all I could think was, 'you finally got that mini you've been wanting.'

Yeah, that was ironic. They told me and Jack that they wanted a mini of their own, just a few months before. But they were having a hard time finding just the right one. You know, mom and dad have money, but they didn't want to get someone who was just doing it because she was desperate for money. They either wanted someone who really liked being a mini, or an 'accidental'.”

Of course, we're the most sought-after kind, you know. It's classic rescue fantasy. That's why every two-bit whore – excuse me, 'quarter-scale worker' – will tell you about how her ex-boyfriend slipped her a mini, and won't you please help poor defenseless me?” Without standing, she stiffened her arms, cocked her head and posed coquettishly.

When they told us about their plans, they didn't know I was about to have a little accident of my own. They just figured we were old enough to know that mommy and daddy were a little bit kinky. Like, I didn't know that mom was more lesbian than bi, since I was nine! And dad must be a little weird, cause he’s totally in love with a lesbian dom. But wanting their own mini? That was kinky. Still, I was fine with it.

Until it was me. And then it was like, everything they did was just perfect for their little kink. Don't get me wrong. They weren't thinking about that. They absolutely did not want me for that. They were just thinking about me, about trying to help me. It's just... in the state I was in, they could do no right.”

One day, dad sees me moping, and he just taps me lightly on the head and says 'hey, pumpkin.' And I grabbed all the sarcasm I could and said, 'oh daddy, could I sit in your lap – or better yet, your hand – and be your perfect little pumpkin? And you could get me a real pumpkin shell, and you can keep me very well! Will you please, master, I mean daddy?'

That's when I discovered that anger could cut through the haze, break the TV screen, and bring me back into the world.

–End Part 10

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Sun Nov 28, 2021 8:42 pm

Mini Vacation Part 1 - A wee break

They had been talking a little over an hour, when Jackson came back with two friends in tow.

"Hey Steph," he called, "you remember Peter and Eric? Oh, and these are Michael and Mrs. Kincaide."

Stephanie did not remember the boys, but she dutifully stood up and walked over to a spot on the table that she had noticed earlier. The mushroom umbrella, over the table, had small plastic-covered holes in it – to simulate the spots on a toad stool. One of them had an almost-clear plastic, through which a brilliant sunbeam shined down on the table. Stephanie stepped into the middle of the glowing circle, facing the boys, and gave a deep curtsy. "Eric, Peter," she said, in a formal courtly-sounding voice, enunciating like Liza Dolittle, "it is good to see you."

The four boys (counting Michael) all oohed and aahed at the golden girl, standing in the sunbeam, glowing against the darker background. Margaret felt a little upstaged, but was too impressed to be jealous. Besides, she felt a certain almost-motherly pride in the smaller girl. Even several passers-by stopped to look at the tiny golden fey.

"Wow," said Eric, "Jamie Paterson's got a mini, but she's not near as pretty as your sister!"

"Yeah," said Peter, not to be outdone, "if my sister was that pretty, I'd make her my mini too!"

Everyone looked at him disapprovingly.

"Well, not on purpose!" he said, defensively.

Everyone laughed, and Stephanie said, "That's OK, Peter. I'll take it as a compliment. Jackson, are you ready?"

"Me and the guys want to go over to the Tilt A Pool," he answered. "You OK, for a while?"

"How about we meet back here in two hours?" she asked. "Mind if Michael takes me over to the restroom? We'll come right back."

Jackson looked surprised. He looked at Michael, then down at the carrying case, hung around his neck. "In that?" he asked. Michael nodded; the case could easily fit Stephanie and Margaret. "OK. Be careful!" He said that very pointedly at Michael, then ran off with his friends.

"Wow," said Stephanie, "that was easier than I expected. Here, give me a lift."

Michael thought it was awkward before, not knowing where to look, but decided that had been a piece of cake, compared to lifting her! Stephanie made it even harder (yes, that's a double-entendre), by pretending to be ticklish at the slightest touch. His mother, by contrast, let him scoop her up, like she was getting on a ski lift. Then she crooked her finger at him, to have him bring her up to his face. She kissed him on the cheek and said, "I couldn't let Steph have all the fun."

The unisex restroom had stalls of all sizes. Some were even smaller than anyone had yet been shrunk. And they all had doors – unnecessary by modern mini culture, but Margaret was glad.

Michael stood guard, as the girls went, but then had a problem deciding what to do with them while he did his own business. Finally, he took them with him and hung the carrying case on the coat hanger. Standing side by side in the case, the two women dutifully turned to face the wall.

"Margaret," Stephanie said, "you two promised no nudity this week... but I didn't!" She turned and started making faces at an embarrassed Michael.

"Hey! I didn't watch you in the bathroom!" he said, as he covered himself.

In answer, Stephanie stuck out her tongue at him.

Margaret could see what Stephanie was doing. "Steph," she admonished, "that's hardly proper mini behavior. You do know, since your brother left you with him, you're his mini right now."

Stephanie gasped in mock alarm. Then she looked back at Michael, and her expression changed to wonder. Realizing that she was not going to see anything, she decided to simply pretend to. "Oh, Margaret," she gasped, "it's so beautiful! You do good work."

Michael blushed, but he was very tempted to let her see. He was a little bigger than average, after all, and to Stephanie, he would be enormous! But he decided not to – not with his mother right there!

They stopped for popsicles on the way back to the picnic area. The girl's were free.

"I might have use for this later," said Michael, holding up the popsicle stick, menacingly.

Stephanie stared in over-acted terror.

"Finish your tale Shaharazad, or your tail will be mine!"

– -End part 11.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Thu Dec 02, 2021 11:02 pm

Mini Vacation Part 12 – The Big Shrink

Dr. Janice Wiseman watched the tiny, 8 1/2" tall, girl step out of her carrying case to stand on the desk. The girl looked up at her with affected disinterest. Dr. Thurmond had referred this patient to her, and she took her on, as a special favor to him. She could tell right away that this one was going to be trouble. Reading her file, she liked the girl already. It didn't help to like a patient--especially ones you're going to see in a lot of pain.

The girl was wearing an outfit that would be fashionable on a normal-sized teenager. In fact, she would look like a well-dressed, perfectly normal teenager, if there was nothing in the background, to give a sense of scale. Which meant she was very unusual-looking for a mini. Minis – when clothed at all – usually wore very thin, soft fabric, such as silk. Or they wore normal fabric, that looked thick and stiff on them. A subtle fabric that looked like denim, in miniature, was difficult to make. The tiny stitch work, even more so. The tiny girl's outfit cost about four times as much as the one it was copying. The doctor wondered if she knew that it was made by minis in sweatshops in China.

The doctor extended her index finger in greeting and said, "Hello. I'm Dr. Wiseman – or Janice, and you're Stephanie Miller? Or do you prefer Steph?"

"Stephanie is fine," she said, looking disdainfully at the proffered finger. "I'd shake your hand, but I can't."

Janice withdrew her hand and indicated a miniature couch, sitting on the desk, where Stephanie could sit or lie down. It was sixth scale, but the girl should be able to manage. Janice reminded herself that she needed to get a smaller one. The mini pills seemed to get stronger every day. She sat back down and leaned back in her own chair.

"But," she said, "your mother, your brother, and most women call you Steph. Is that right?"

"You already know that," said Stephanie. "Enjoying the irony?"

"I'm sorry," said Janice, "I knew that your mother and brother called you Steph. I didn't know of any irony there."

"Mom's a big-time feminist," she answered. "She never liked the diminutive "ee" sound on the end of Stephanie. Get it? Diminutive."

Ouch. Janice had read Dr. Thurmond's notes carefully, but had missed the significance of the nickname. She had hoped to get the girl to open up a bit with small talk, but now she decided to get straight to business. "So, Stephanie," she said, "I understand that you are thinking about joining a mini commune, or moving to a reservation. May I ask why?"

"Why?" Stephanie asked. "Hello? I'm right here. All eight and a half inches of me. I'm standing on your desk! I'm not across the room. I'm not your 4:30 cross-dresser. I'm your 3:00 mini. I'm a mini! And I'm not just thinking about it; I'm here so you can help place me in a commune or reservation."

"No, Stephanie," said Janice. "I'm not here just to help you pick a commune – which I highly recommend over a reservation – I'm here to determine if you really need to go to one, and if you're ready to. Now, before we get into another back and forth: fewer than 20% of minis in America live in mini towns. Very few of them are children – or teenagers. I've never met one who had a family he or she could go back to. And I've interviewed almost all of the children, in a half-dozen towns. So, let me rephrase the question: Why do you want to leave your family?"

Stephanie was startled by the doctor's directness. It was not a question she wanted to answer. But after a long pause, she decided there was no avoiding it. "They want a mini,” she said. “And I don't want it to be me."

"So..." said Janice, "have your parents been coming on to you? Are they treating you like a 'standard' mini? Do they hurt you or humiliate you?"

"God!" she exclaimed. "How can you not get it? You're supposed to be some kind of mini expert! I'm a mini! Whatever way she treats me, she's treating me like a mini. I'm my mom – and dad's – mini! It doesn't matter if they put a collar on me and keep me naked or let me wear whatever I want; I'm still their mini! No. They'd never hurt me. Yes. It's humiliating! No matter what they do, it's humiliating! Get it?"

"Yes, Stephanie," said Janice, "I think I do. But I don't think that's the whole story. You're humiliated just by being a mini; I get that. No matter how your family treats you, you're still the family mini. And that cannot be helped. But Stephanie, that will not change if you go to a commune. You'll still be a mini. And Stephanie... you're a very small mini. You're one of the smallest! Pfizer has developed a 1/7th pill, but it will be at least a year before it's approved – if ever. And you're even smaller than that!

“At a mini commune, you'll still be a mini. To you, a halfling is over twenty feet tall! If the humiliation is simply from being a mini, then you must know – That. Cannot. Be changed. The best we can do is help you come to terms with it. But if your fear is of being a plaything – especially a sexual plaything – then you also need to know – that is likely to happen at a commune. It's even more likely at a reservation. But from everything I've seen, and heard, and read," she said, holding up Dr. Thurmond's notes, "it's not happening at home!"

"It will," Stephanie said, "eventually."

"What makes you say that?" asked Janice.

"Your books," said Stephanie, pointing to a bookcase. "You!"

"’There is a reason that Stephen Hawking dates his nurse,’" she recited. "’And I believe it is closely related to the reason he has lived much longer than almost any other victim of advanced arterial lateral sclerosis. Simply put, it is infinitely preferable to be sex toy, than it is to be a parasite. Totally dependent on his or her care-givers, the mini – or disabled person – desires to repay....’"

Great, thought Janice, the girl had googled her before the appointment. Good memory too.

Janice walked over to the bookcase. "Which of these have you read?" she asked.

"Most of those," Stephanie replied. "You Say You Got Minned, What To Expect When You're a Mini, Honey: The Kids’ Shrunk!, The Minimizer's Handbook.... The hospital gave me those first two; friends sent the others – along with flowers and balloons."

Janice shook her head. "That's like handing a young child a pack of condoms, and saying: 'see ya.' Your friends didn't know any better, but the hospital should have. Stephanie, every case is unique. If you read all those, you must know that most people in your predicament are boys!"

"The typical victim of involuntary miniaturization is a male athlete, between the ages of 15 and 24," Stephanie recited.

"Right," said Janice, "and boys... well, most boys, wouldn't be quite as upset at the idea of being their mother's playthings, as they would let on." Then she whispered: "they never really want to leave the womb!"

"And as a mini, they don't have to," Stephanie finished.

They both giggled at that.

"Stephanie, I'm a psychiatrist, not a fortune teller," said Janice. "I cannot predict the future, but...."

"I can," said Stephanie.

"Oh? Tell me."

"Mom's going to take care of me," said Stephanie, in a morose and certain voice, "Dad too, but mostly mom. She's going to dote on me, and buy me things, and take me shopping. She might even buy me some expensive contraption, to let me drive! But she'll still have to go with me – unless she can get me one of those fork-lift suits like Sigourney Weaver had in 'Aliens'.

“And I'll start to cheer up, because that's what people do. And then I'll start thinking about all the things she's given up for me – like Schelly and Mittens. They were our schnoodle and our cat. And I didn't even get to say goodby to them; they were gone, when I got home from the hospital.

“And all the grandchildren I was going to give her. Gone now. Yeah, I know; Jackson can give her some. But that depends on who he marries. Besides, it's different, when it's your daughter in law carrying them. Mom and I used to talk about it, all the time. We even had names picked out.

“And I don't think she'll take a lesbian lover, because... well, it's complicated. But mostly because that would be rude to me and dad. And she'll never get that mini she always wanted – since before they even had minis! And dad and me will be her whole world. And she loves us both, but neither of us will be giving her what she wants. Dad because he can't, and me because I don't want tooo!"

Stephanie began to cry, but she continued, through the sobs: "And then, and then I'll hate myself for making her so unhappy, so I'll start finding ways to make her happy... a little, at first, because... because if all the sudden I start acting like a mini, she'll bring me back here, to see what's wrong! So, I'll ease into it. And I'll even spy on her computer, to see what she really likes. And after a while, I'll be the perfect mini. The perfect mini – for her."

Stephanie paused, and Janice thought about what she said. Yes, things could unfold very much like that, given the girl's background. Stephanie was the perfect daughter: good grades, nursed her brother through a very bad illness, still a virgin, she had only ever had one drink – and look where that got her! She was the perfect daughter in the perfect Mormon family, excepting her mother's mostly-repressed lesbianism. It was strange that the Mormons frowned so, on lesbians and gays – in the full-sized community – but didn't mind with minis. Man's (and woman's) ability to rationalize never ceased to amaze. Taking a lesbian lover would be a sin, having an incestuous relationship, a bigger sin. Stephanie becoming the perfect mini – perfectly fine.

Dr. Wiseman cupped the girl's back in her hand, and gently stroked her head and rubbed her shoulders with her thumb.

"Please don't pick me up," the girl sobbed softly.

"I won't."

"I want to join a commune!"

"Alright," said Janice. "Let's find you a spot."

She gave the girl a tissue. Even Kleenex for minis was expensive; the regular stuff was like cardboard to them. And she got out some brochures.

"These are some of the most popular communes," she started. "My personal favorite – full disclosure here, I'm a patron and sit on the advisory committee – is Fantasia, in Orlando. It was founded by the Society For Creative Anachronisms. They have a medieval-fantasy theme, and they really do it up big! They have their own naming convention: half-scales are called elves, third-scales: dwarves, quarter-scales: halflings or hobbits, and micro minis are either fairies, pixies or sprites – depending on whether they wear wings, body paint, or just go natural. Oh, and there are also sylphs – micro minis who where clothes and no wings; I almost forgot because they’re so rare.

Some of the fairies even have working battery-powered wings. There was a big fight about that in the rules committee; but they're just so much fun, the purists never stood a chance. Some other fairies fly using big decorative balloons, that look like hot-air balloons. And others just have little ornamental wings that aren’t functional.

Clothing is optional for all minis – as it is at most mini towns – but the larger minis usually wear period costumes, while the micros usually go nude, or wear body paint. Let me tell you: the micro groups are all going to be vying for you! You're one of the smallest minis on record. You're even a quarter-inch shorter than Queen Niceven, self-appointed queen of the micros.... What?"

"You sure sound excited about something you were trying to talk me out of."

"This is second best, Stephanie," Janice replied. "Best would be: stay home, with the family that loves you; visit Fantasia, and maybe move there in a few years. No? Alright, let me tell you the best part, and then I'll stop. The best part is the children! Thousands visit there every year. And you should see the smiles on their faces! Stephanie, the most common cause of depression in minis is the feeling of uselessness. Well, you're not useless if you're making thousands of children smile!"

"It sounds nice, but..." Stephanie paused, "I'm not ready for it. I just want to be alone for a while. I'd be going from one high-pressure family to another. I can just see it now: I'd be all sulking around, and everyone there would be pressuring me to be happy, smile, strap on some wings or become a nudist. Really, I could become a nudist – as long as Jackson's not visiting. It's the being happy part that I'm not ready for."

"At least you're honest," said Janice. "Until you're ready to be happy, you won't be happy anywhere you go. You know – you can be unhappy at home, as easily as in a mini town – and a lot safer."

"Yeah, but..." Stephanie paused, uncertain how to say what she meant. "But at home I won't let myself be happy. At a mini town, I'll try to be – soon, just not right now."

"Well," said Janice, "if you don't want Fantasia, you probably won't like Fairie, in Anaheim. New Eden is in South Carolina; Jackson would just have to get used to it, because clothing is not an option. King's Town, outside Birmingham is mostly, but not exclusively, African American. The Minimalists, in Montana, are a rugged survivalist group. You'd have to own, and learn to use, a gun. Yes, they make one small enough for you to, but it will seem like a bazooka! New Sparta is men only; Themyscira is women only. (They're only a few miles apart, and they have frequent mixers.) I understand your family is Mormon; God's Country is in Utah. It's three girls for every boy."

"We're modern Mormons," Stephanie objected. "Not fundamentalists!"

Janice chuckled. "The Little Town of Bethlehem is sponsored by the Interfaith League...."

"Those all sound like theme parks. What about Micro City, here in Baltimore?" asked Stephanie.

"That's a reservation," Janice replied, scrunching her nose.

"What's the difference?"

"There are legal distinctions," Janice explained. "The reservations are all government facilities. You'd become a ward of the state. The communes are private, usually not-for-profit corporate entities. And they do usually have some kind of theme. But the big difference is that the reservations are open to anyone meeting the height requirements. Communes are somewhat discriminating; Fantasia has a two-year waiting list!"

"What?" asked Stephanie. "Why'd you hype it so much if I can't get in?"

"Sweetie," she smiled, "there are some advantages to being one of the world's smallest minis."

"What's wrong with Micro City?" asked Stephanie. "The reason my parents moved here is all the mini facilities in Baltimore: the hospital, the university... you! Isn't Micro City for micro minis like me?"

"Yes," said Janice, "Micro City is for micro minis exactly like you. That's the problem. It's full of involuntaries and accidentals, too emotionally damaged to go anywhere else. Did I mention what a small mini you are? The maximum height for Micro City is 18 inches, and most of the residents are nearly that. To you, 18 inches would be...."

"Twelve feet," said Stephanie. "I did the math earlier."

"Compared to your 5'8," Janice emphasized. "They're also mostly men, and a lot of them, probably most of them, have a mini fetish themselves. Most minis aren't victims per say; they were playing and had a bad reaction – got stuck, as they call it. You'd be very popular in Micro City, but it wouldn't be the same as in Fantasia. I would fear for you there Stephanie."

The two women stared at each other for a few moments.

"I know someone there," Janice finally said, "a patient of mine named Bruce. Bruce Johnson. He used to be the top high school fullback in Maryland. Then a rival's father got clever with a mini pill. He's only 1 foot now, but he's still a fine athlete. I'll place you there, if you'll agree – and if he'll agree – for him to be your protector."

"I don't want a boyfriend!"

"Pretend boyfriend. That will basically be a cover," said Janice, "to get the others to leave you alone. I'll explain things to him. Don't worry; he won't be expecting sexual favors. And I won't place you there without a protector."

"What's this Bruce guy like?"

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Sat Dec 11, 2021 6:20 pm

Mini Vacation Part 13 – Let. Me. Take. You. To... Mini Town!

Dr. Wiseman gave Stephanie some additional reading material, which she probably hoped would scare Stephanie out of her decision. And it almost did. Mini reservations were not happy places, and Micro City was probably the worst. Most of its residents were like Stephanie: accidents, or victims of foul play or, like Stephanie, both. Few of them ever chose to be so small. Most of them were only short-term residents, waiting for adoption or placement with a commune. And almost all of them would choose to be somewhere else, if they could – except Stephanie.

There were not very many micros, in the first place. The 1/6th pill had only been available to the general public for a little over a year; the 1/5th, two years. And most people wisely stuck with the much safer half-scale, third-scale or quarter-scale drugs – or even more wisely, stayed big. Even the quarter-scale pill seldom gave a full 3/4 reduction, so most quarters and quartettes were a little over 18" tall.

But, while micros were only a small portion of the total mini population, they were a larger portion of the victim population. If you want to shrink your enemy, you probably want him or her as small as possible. Half the population of Micro Town were such victims. The next most populous group were former convicts – victims, in a sense, of the criminal justice system. But the plight of the micros was not simply that they were victims, smaller than they ever imagined. Their biggest problem was that no one wanted them. Getting minned, for large segments of the American population, held the same kind of stigma that getting raped held in Pakistan. There, the unfortunate rape victim would often be killed by her own family to "restore the family's honor." Here, such killings were very rare, so give the Americans credit for that. More often, the unfortunate mini was simply dumped at the nearest reservation.

Imagine a proud, hyper-competitive father, the kind that fills the mantle with his son’s trophies and screams at the little-league coach for not putting him up to bat enough. Imagine that the son goes on to excel at a prestigious and competitive sport. Scholarships, wealth, fame and glory are strewn before him like rose petals before a king. And the father's entire world becomes basking in the pride of raising such a son. It's a pride that any man would feel. The pride of a father, who’s son has made him proud. But for some men, it is a shallow pride – not a pride in the man that the son has become, but only pride in the athlete that the father has created.

Bruce Johnson's father was such a man. One day, he was on top of the world. His son's team was going to the final playoff for the state championship – as the overwhelming favorite to win. And there was no doubt who would be the mvp. Then, the day before the game, someone slipped Bruce a mini.

One has to wait a full two days, after taking a one-sixth pill, to take the antidote – or the shock can be deadly. In an almost unprecedented move, the game was delayed a full week. Bruce took the antidote three days later, and nothing happened. Bruce was a mini.

If he had lived in the mountains of Pakistan, Bruce's father would probably have drowned or smothered the tiny man-doll that mocked his beautiful son. But, while people are the same everywhere, laws and the enforcement of them are not. Bruce's parents left him at the hospital. The hospital, his school, and Bruce's agent all received calls offering adoption – from friends, fans and even national figures. But Bruce was not ready for that, and after a long evaluation by Dr. Wiseman, he was placed in Micro City.

Stephanie knew what to expect, at least in appearance, when she met Bruce. He was a dark and somewhat stocky, 19-year-old African American. He wouldn't be particularly handsome if it weren't for his muscles. Still, Stephanie felt a bit star-struck, meeting him. She was a football fan, and Bruce had been great. Dr. Wiseman would not tell her much about him (other than that she trusted him) due to doctor-patient confidentiality. So, she had read as much as she could about him – about his sports career, as well as about the incident. She knew that, before shrinking, he had been six foot even – short for a fullback, but what he lacked in height he made up for in girth and ability.

Now, standing in her apartment, he appeared to Stephanie to be almost eight foot tall! And that girth (which did not seem to include an ounce of fat) made him look totally awesome! It was strange that, in some ways, he was more imposing than a normal-sized person. Her father appeared forty-six feet tall to her now, but she only knew that by doing the math. She couldn't estimate it, just by looking at him. Looking at normal-sized people, from a distance, they looked... normal. Perfectly in proportion to the objects around them. Close up, her father's face would fill her field of vision, like it was being projected on an I-max screen. (She shuddered whenever she thought about what that must be like for minis who couldn't completely trust the people around them.) But here, Bruce Johnson did not look like a projection. He looked like a mountain of a man, standing almost eight feet tall – not an I-max projection, flesh and blood and Lord, what muscles!

"Hi," he said, "I'm Bruce Johnson. I'm here to show you around the town."

His voice sounded strange at first, before her brain adjusted. Then she realized that the strangeness was just... a normal voice. She had grown so accustomed to the booming of giants, that a normal voice sounded strange to her now. His was not even particularly deep. He had probably been a tenor.

"Hi, I'm Stephanie Miller," she answered, shaking his hand. "Let me just get my purse."

"Are you wearing sun screen?" he asked, as they walked down the street.


"Wear sun screen."

"Oh," she giggled. "Thank you, Mary Schmich. Yes, I'm wearing sun screen. My doctor warned me. And so did Dr. Wiseman, and my mother, and my father... and my little brother. You're lucky, being so dark."

"I got a bad burn my first day here," he said. "Black skin blocks the sun better than white, but then divide by six. You tried standing in front of a flashlight yet?"

"Uh, no."

"Looks kind'a like an X-ray."

She thought about that for a moment and wasn't sure if she wanted to see it. Jackson would – if she told him about it. She looked over at Bruce and noticed the serious expression on his face. He had made several quips, but almost never smiled. Bruce was a man who recognized the humor of his situation, but found no mirth in it.

The visitor's section of Micro City was a row of town houses on a quiet street. The town houses – or apartments, as she thought of them – opened to Visitor's Row on one side. On the other side, they opened into normal-sized apartments, like the one her parents were in now. Coming off of Visitor's Row, they stepped onto Main Street, which was filled with the kinds of shops one would find in any city – markets, restaurants, book store, video store, barber shop.... It looked pretty-much normal, kind of dirty and seedy-looking, but normal – except, a lot of things were oversized and made of odd materials. It had a bit of the same look to it that the doll house she stayed in at home (at her parent's house, she corrected) had, but not entirely. It appeared that parts of it were made by big people, for minis, and other parts were made by minis, for minis. There were even a few things made by minis for big people. She saw a broach that her mother might like.

“That broach is lovely,” she said.

“For you, mam, just $55,” said the man behind the counter. He was obviously a silver smith. He had been working on another piece, when he saw her come up. He had a hungry look about him, like selling this broach for $55 would make his week. It was obviously worth more.

“Can you hold it here, until I come back?” she pulled out wallet. She had a few hundred in Mini-town credits, on her, and her father had deposited more in her account.

“Don’t flash that around, Steph,” said Bruce.

She started to object that it was just a few hundred, but stopped herself, when she realized how that would sound. She paid the man, and Bruce helped arrange for one of the city police to meet them later – to guard them, while they took it back to her room.

“So, I gather not many people here can afford that?” she said, softly, when they were back outside.

“You gather right,” he said.

“It’s not like I’m rich,” she whispered. “I mean, my parents are both doctors, so… upper middle. And they just gave me a little to help me get settled in. I take it, not many people here have a situation like mine?”

“Lots of people have folks with money,” he said. “A few of them are minis, and a few of them can get money from their folks. None of them are here. Just you.”

“Then why do they have things like that for sale here?” she asked.

“Some got ‘boyfriends’ or ‘girlfriends’ on the outside. Not ready to adopt, but willing to spend some money on their part-time pets,” he said. “Not a bad idea for the pet to spend a little back.”

“You don’t have to make it sound like you’re putting boyfriend and girlfriend in quotes,” she said. “Or call them pets. We’re not pets. We’re living here because we don’t want to be pets.”

“Some of us,” he admitted. “But if you don’t want to be a pet, you don’t date a big.”

She didn’t say anything to that, just took in the sights. The whole place was a weird mix of mostly-normal and very strange. She felt like Alice in Wonderland.

Then there were the people. They got to a more crowded section, away from Visitor’s Row, and Stephanie hung back at the corner for a few minutes, taking it all in, before heading out where she would encounter these strange people up close. The people walking on the street (a few were riding bicycles) were all different sizes. It reminded her of Whoville in 'The Grinch'. The smallest person she saw was a woman only a bit taller than herself – maybe ten inches (or about 6'6 to her 5'7, as she still liked to translate things back to her relative size). But even people as 'small' as Bruce were the exception, not the rule. Most people on the street were between 15" to 18". (Almost ten to twelve feet tall!)

"Want a burger?" Bruce asked.

– End part 13

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Jeric » Mon Dec 13, 2021 7:28 pm

After years of trying to hunt down this masterpiece again and I finally found it … thanks Xinuar!

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Mon Dec 13, 2021 8:09 pm

Jeric wrote:
Mon Dec 13, 2021 7:28 pm
After years of trying to hunt down this masterpiece again and I finally found it … thanks Xinuar!
Thank you. That's kind praise. I am doing a little touch up before reposting, so there's (a lot) more to come.

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14 Goodbye Sandra Dee

Post by Xinunar » Mon Dec 20, 2021 4:59 am

Micro City was not the happiest place to be, at any time, but it was especially bad at the holidays. Stephanie was prepared for that, but her plan was to get settled in, and then come back home for a few days at Christmas. Stephanie was proud of her plan. She knew that if she stayed home until after Christmas, she wouldn't enjoy Christmas at all. It would be just another day at home, with people giving her more presents to try to cheer her up. And she would bring everyone else down too. This way, Christmas would be a special break from her new routine. Still, the days leading up to Christmas were depressing. There was just no joy in Mudville. That, in what was supposed to be the joyful season, was really depressing.

Like in normal cities, most of the jobs in Micro City provided services to the other residents. But money did come in from the outside. Many of the residents had insurance policies, or support from families (Stephanie didn't actually need to work), friends or charities. Some minis had jobs outside Micro City, where they would either telecommute or commute. There was a special bus for them. (Yes, technically it was a minivan.) But there were also some external-facing businesses. There was the Goodwill store, a garage and a fix-it shop; and there was the placement bureau, where people would hire minis for short-term jobs in the outside world. These were often for entertainment positions: clowns, strippers, bartenders.... But sometimes they were for jobs needing someone who could fit in a tight space: such as a heating vent, sewer line, or electrical conduit.

Stephanie was offered a job, by Jim at The Greasy Spoon, on her first day. But Bruce warned her away: "You don't know pinch, 'til you been pinched by an eleven-foot man."

Jim had a hard time keeping help. His problem was that he did not want to hire anyone taller than himself. Jim was only 14 inches (or 8'6, as Stephanie liked to think in relative terms). He was a pentet or fifther, but the pill had shrunk him 81%, instead of 80%. Most Micro City residents were Quartettes, and they averaged fifteen to eighteen inches. Even the women averaged 16 inches. Jim didn’t even like serving women who looked so tall, he absolutely would not hire one.

It took her a full week to find a job – as a grease monkey at the garage. She was excited about it and quickly learned the ropes and settled into a routine. Bruce would walk her to and from work every day. (He insisted, and after seeing the looks from some of the thirders on the streets, she didn't argue.) And he often, but did not always, hung out with her in the evenings.

A few events conspired to cut Stephanie's stay in Micro City short. The first was simply watching 'Rudolf The Red-Nosed Reindeer' a couple of days before Christmas. King Moonraker's words struck a nerve: "Unlike toys, living creatures cannot hide themselves away on an island."

"Yeah," said Stephanie, "but what about toy people, like us?"

Bruce looked up at her, from where he reclined, low against one arm of the couch, but he didn't say anything.

Stephanie sat in the middle of the couch – about as close as she could without being too forward. She wondered why he made no move to close the short gap between them. Surely, he wasn't trying to make her throw herself at him! ‘Maybe he just doesn’t care for blonds,’ she thought. But she laughed that off as too improbable. She concluded that he thought she was too young and too vulnerable.

She went to her parent's house early on Christmas Eve, to spend Christmas with the family. She asked Bruce to come, but he wouldn't. Christmas was nice, and Stephanie patted herself on the back for her plan's success. Her parents bought her a bicycle for Micro City and a small electric car to tool around their house and yard. Built for a six-pack, it was still small enough for her to drive. It was pretty safe. It was enclosed, so if she went outside, she wouldn’t have to worry about birds or most other animals. It had roll bars, and it would not start until she was buckled. That was a good thing, because as soon as it did, it lurched forward, hit a bump in the rug and flipped over in a vertical 360—finally stopping when it hit a counter.

The entire family screamed in terror, but when they rushed up to Stephanie, she was laughing hysterically. What looked like a 60 mph crash was actually only 10 miles per hour. And the energy impacting on Stephanie was only 1/18,000th what a full-sized person would receive from a 60 mph crash (E = mv(2)). Still, she adjusted the accelerator's sensitivity. For one day, at least, she was not a mini; she was just a girl at home for Christmas.

Back at work the following Monday, she got the word that one of her co-workers, a quarter-scale girl named Judy, had committed suicide. She had not known Judy well; she was a loner who had only been in Micro City for a couple of months. "It's mostly the newbies take the easy road," Bruce said later. "We got the highest rate in the country, but it's mostly newbies. Don't worry Stephie. You got people. She didn't have people."

“I went through my newbie phase at the hospital,” said Stephanie.

A few days later Stephanie almost became a statistic herself. Working inside a car's engine compartment, she found the loose connection that seemed to be the cause of its electrical troubles. But when she fixed the connection, the car immediately cranked. It turned out that the owner had mis-wired another section, trying some do-it-yourself repair. The vibration almost made her fall into a running fan belt! When they got her out, she was shaken but also exhilarated.

"It'd have taken a big person hours to find that," she said smiling. "They'd have had to take the whole engine out!"

"Yeah," said James, her supervisor. "Still, this place couldn't stay open without the subsidies. Most times, it’s cheaper just to have the big guys at the big auto shops open the whole thing up, than have us muck around in there."

That took the wind out of her sails. Stephanie was risking her life to do something that wasn't worth doing, make-work for the minis, propped up by government handouts. She resolved to look for a new line of work.

On New Year’s Eve, there was a party at one of Bruce's friend's place. Stephanie was invited. Bruce tried to discourage her from going, warning her that these parties got pretty wild. But Stephanie was intrigued and thought that she really needed a party to cheer her up – after the week she'd had.

"Besides," she said, "I really need to start mingling more. One of the main reasons I came here was that I was becoming a hermit at my parent's house."

"Wear a bathing suit, under your coat," he warned. "George likes to keep the heat way up at these things – tryin' to get folks naked." Stephanie thought it was odd that most people did not go naked very often, in Micro City, when minis would almost never wear clothes anywhere else. But when she thought about it, most clothing rules made little sense. Don’t wear white after Labor Day? What was that all about?

The party started out normally enough, but George's ploy (if you could call it that – everyone knew) worked. Soon everyone was either nude or down to their skivies. At one point, a girl started pole-dancing on one of two poles that George had in his main room. Stephanie watched her with a critical eye. She had never seen a pole dance before, but she thought it looked a bit like a cross between gymnastics and cheering, two things she did know about – though she had failed to make the cut for the high-school cheer squad.

One of the guys, a ten-foot skinny fellow named Mike, noticed Stephanie watching. He started making a few innocuous comments and asking Stephanie's opinion. Another, much larger guy, named Louie, joined their conversation, and both men worked to draw out more comments from the tiny girl. Then they steered away from getting her opinion – and towards getting her to show how it was done. Stephanie saw through them easily enough but decided that she was game. After all, it was just like gymnastics and cheer.

She looked over at Bruce, who gave her a disapproving look but didn't object. He figured that she wasn't too drunk to know what she was doing, and he was her friend and protector – not her keeper. She went over to the second pole and started syncing her moves to those of the other girl, who was only about a head taller than her (maybe 6 foot, to Stephanie's five three). Stephanie kept her shorts and halter top on, but otherwise matched the other's sensuality, move for move. Soon Stephanie began adding a few moves of her own—moves that she'd learned in gym class and now adapted to the vertical pole, and to the more sexual atmosphere. Her gym teacher would never have had her do these moves quite like this! That thought made her giggle. She smiled over at the other girl, and the other girl smiled back, though not as warmly.

Stephanie noticed several people were making out, while ostensibly watching her dance. A few moves later, and she was hanging upside down – feeling somewhat pleased that the moves were coming so easily – when she noticed that the make out sessions were becoming less discrete. The party was quickly progressing into a full-scale (OK, sixth to quarter-scale) orgy. She decided to rejoin Bruce. Besides, it was almost midnight, and she didn't want someone else sliding up next to him, while she wasn't looking. She managed a near-perfect two-point dismount, gave a quick bow and headed back over to Bruce.

"Hey!" said Louie, stepping in front of her, "whatcha doin? You ain't just gonna leave Lucy hangin' there?"

In fact, Lucy was indeed hanging, somewhat awkwardly, upside down. She wasn't able to make it look quite as effortless as Stephanie had – not as sexy either. Despite, or perhaps because of her nudity (and she wasn't bad looking), she didn't look as cute as Stephanie, in her Daisy Duke outfit. Now, all eyes were on Stephanie and Louie, and Lucy was literally left hanging. She glared at the smaller girl.

"Oh," said Stephanie, "sorry. But I've got to go stake my claim to a certain football player, before some other girl grabs him, for the midnight kiss." She did feel badly that the other girl's show was now ruined, but thought that it was really Louie's fault, for making a scene, not hers.

Bruce was making his way up to her, but several guys were getting in his way – on purpose, though they worked to make it look accidental.

"Uh uh, Stephie," said Louie, "you just finish your show, and you gonna get all the kiss'n you can handle. Why, you ain't even lost your top yet!"

"Leave her alone, Louie," said Bruce, who had come up beside her.

"You gon' make me, Mr. Sixth-back?" taunted Louie. "You think you gon' bring yo little ho here, to show up Lucy? She jus gonna tease us up, and then just leave Lucy to take care of us, like she some kind'a virgin cheerleader—and Lucy some skanky ho?"

Stephanie's face reddened. She saw that the other girl was really angry—at her! Louie's words were hitting close to home. She really was a virgin cheerleader (sort of), and the other girl... well, she wouldn't have been surprised if Lucy had joined in the orgy. But it wasn't like Louie made it sound. Stephanie hadn't even meant to upstage the other girl, not really. And she sure didn't mean to abandon her. It had been at Louie’s insistence that she’d joined the other girl – temporarily.

"Stop it. Lou," said Bruce. "Nobody callin' Lucy a ho. And Stephie's here with me."

Bruce's slight emphasis on 'nobody' made Stephanie realize exactly what Louie was doing. Pretending to be Lucy's white knight, he was actually degrading her! He was the only one who had called Lucy names; and it was he, not Stephanie, who had interrupted her dance, and made Lucy look bad in the first place. What a jerk. And what was his point anyway? Did he think Lucy was going to lose so much self-esteem she'd go running to the man who took it from her? Or Stephanie would feel guilty enough to give him the show he wanted, and maybe join in the orgy? As she thought about it, she realized either or both of those results were probably possibilities in his mind. Well, she'd just disabuse him of that idea!

But, looking back at the jerk, she suddenly remembered how big he was! Being constantly surrounded by giants, she sometimes forgot that they were – giants, at least to her and even to Bruce. Louie must weigh ten times as much as her and more than twice as much as Bruce! The others all looked content to just watch. How were they going to get out of this?

"You think you're better'n me, boy?" said Louie. "Mr. big shot quarterback. You think she better than Lucy?"

"No, Louie," said Bruce, "I don't think I'm better than you. I don't think I'm better than anybody. But you know what? I do think Stephie's better. I think she's better'n all of us! And now, I'm going to walk her home."

"Thank you, George!" he called. "Thanks for the party!"

As he reached for Stephanie, Louie punched him in the back of the head – hard!

Bruce was ready for that, even expecting it. The physics of fighting, mini a mini, were a bit different than for big people. Just as Stephanie's accident in the electric car looked much worse than it was – her bones were weaker by a factor of hundreds, but the impact was weaker by a factor of thousands – the same was true of Louie's punch. Bruce was actually *glad* of the sucker punch. It left him free to hit below the belt.

If he had hit Louie on the top of the head, the way Louie had him, Louie would have barely felt it. But hitting the right spot, with skill and some power, had Louie doubled over in pain. Still, that wouldn't really hurt him. For a mini, wrestling worked better than punching. With Louie doubled over, it only took a moment to put his neck in a vice grip, that Bruce held until Louie passed out.

"You ready to go, Stephie?" he asked.

"Just a minute," Stephanie answered. "Lucy, I'm sorry if I spoiled the dance. Want us to do one more number before we call it a night?"

"Nah," said Lucy, appreciating the gesture, but not quite ready to be friends. "I think I'll go see what George is doing."

Bruce showed Stephanie to her door. When it opened, she pulled him in and jumped up to wrap herself around him before the door was even closed. Quickly, she pulled her top off, while holding herself at a forty-five-degree angle, with her legs wrapped around his chest.

"This just because I rescued you?" he asked. between kisses.

"Well," said Stephanie, "I admit that was hot. But I've been wanting to do this since I first met you, probably since I first read about you! Hope it doesn't spoil my good-girl image, but I'm a football groupie! Besides, I decided a week ago: I'm losing my virginity New Year's Eve!"

Bruce was a bit shocked by that. He decided she was probably lying about the football groupie part. He never heard of a football groupie, as hot as Stephanie, keeping it this long.

Stephanie continued to climb on his body, using it much the same way she had the pole earlier. But she had to get off him completely to finish undressing him.

"Did you like my routine, earlier?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said honestly. "You were great!"

"Like to see a little more?" she teased. "I held back a few moves, for a more discriminating audience."

She moved over to an open door and began to climb on it the way she had the pole. She couldn't wrap herself around it, but she could grip it with her hands or legs on each side. Soon she had worked her way to the top and hung upside down, with one leg hooked over the top of the door and the other pointing gracefully up toward the ceiling. One hand gripped the edge of the door and the other beckoned seductively to Bruce. She had chosen a small closet door, which put her head right where she wanted it for the tall man.

They made love through most of the night. Stephanie was a virgin, but she did not have an intact hymen. She was glad, because she thought that if she did, she probably would have passed out; and she didn't want the night to end so early. As it was, the pain was... painful. But also exquisite. Later, they snuggled on her bed.

"Why didn't you take one of the offers?" she asked.


"The Minimalists, Fantasia, Fairie, New Eden... they all wanted you."

"Yeah..." he said. "I don't eat meat. I don't wear tights – unless it's a football uniform. I don't do naked, less I'm makin' love." He kissed her.

"You don't eat meat?"

"My little rebellion 'ganst the old man."

"You got an offer of adoption from Angelina Jolie!" she said. "I know microphobes who'd become minis to be adopted by her! And she's a big mini's rights advocate. You know she'd treat you right."

"Microphones? Why'd she wanna adopt microphones?" He smiled and continued: "Nah. She got Brad; I'd feel guilty takin' her from him."

"Come back with me," she said.

Bruce shook his head.

"Marry me. Please," she pleaded. "My parents will love you! You'll be their son in law, not their mini, I swear!"

"You'll be their daughter, with me or not."

"I don't know," she said, "I'm afraid I won't be strong enough without you."

"You don't need me, Stephie."

She had always hated to be called Stephie, and now she knew she always would – from anyone but him.

"But why?" she asked.

He was quiet for a minute, then he spoke: "You saw what I did to Louie."

"You were my hero!"

"He's smaller than a toddler. Smaller than a infant!" he waited a moment for that to sink in. "This is the only place I can be a man."

The next day, her parents and brother came to get her. She gave Bruce a tearful goodby and kissed him long and hard in front of them. Normally, that would have made him mad. A white girl kissing her black boyfriend like that, in front of her parents, is more a show of rebellion than affection. But he knew she didn't mean it like that, so he kissed her back, more chastely.

Dr. Miller kneeled down and took Bruce's hand in his thumb and two fingers. "Thank you for taking care of her," he said, sincerely.

The other Dr. Miller got all the way down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

Jackson copied his father. Then Bruce looked him in the eyes: "Now it's your turn. And you better take care of her."

Jackson nodded.

Bruce left through the small door that led back into Stephanie's now-vacant apartment.

Stephanie looked at the closed door for a moment, gave a sigh, then turned and yelled, "Daddy!" She ran up to him, and he reached down to give her a small hug. But that was not what she had in mind. She jumped into his hand, grabbed on to his thumb and craned her neck up for a kiss.

Looking over at Jackson, Dr. Miller lifted her to his lips. Then Stephanie gestured frantically at her mother, for her to join them in a little three-way kiss and hug session. He mother did, and then her father handed her to Jackson, who took her gingerly. She motioned for him to also lift her up, and she kissed him on the cheek.

"Stephanie," her father said, in that serious tone all fathers seem to perfect. "There's something we need to talk about. There are certain rules regarding minis that you might find strange and even difficult to accept." Stephanie stiffened at this, but he continued. "But these rules are for your protection. One of them is that it is illegal for anyone else to even touch a mini – except in emergencies – without her... master's permission. Now, Jackson has given us blanket permission for casual contact. But we're really not supposed to pick you up, without his say so."


"You gave me to Jackson???"

– End part 14.

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Tiny_Significance » Thu Dec 23, 2021 2:50 am

Ooo this is the moment I've been waiting for hehe
Just those last few lines alone were so good...

I can't wait to see how this explanation from her parents goes, and I can't wait to see how her master Jackson introduces her to her new life. >:)
I bet it's going to be so fun to see how their relationship twists and warps into what it is today. She'll probably go in kicking and squeaking at first, but then come out the other side as the happy, submissive little pet that she was when we were introduced to her.

In any case, loving this story so far! Keep up the great work!

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Re: Mini Vacation

Post by Xinunar » Thu Dec 23, 2021 4:57 am

Tiny_Significance wrote:
Thu Dec 23, 2021 2:50 am
I bet it's going to be so fun to see how their relationship twists and warps into what it is today.
I hope you're not too disappointed. It was originally posted on Minimizer's site, which had pretty strict rules regarding teens.

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