You slowly wake up, the steady <i>whap whap whap </i> of helicopter blades stirring you from a rather pleasant dream of finally bitch-slapping your idiot landlord. 

Then you get the question into your head: 'Why do I hear helicopter blades?'

"Good," an older man sitting in a black leather seat says emotionlessly, "you're awake."

"Where am I?" the question comes slowly to you, as if your thoughts are wading through thick mud.

"On a helicopter, dumbass." His tone is cold. "Over the Pacific Ocean, heading towards Regis, the private island belonging to the Carrier family."

"Why?" you ask.

The man shrugs. "I'm at as much of a loss as you, madam. However, considering that the latest decree from the current family head was that Mistresses Caroline, Cassandra, and Catherine had to share one attendant, I suppose that you are someone all three of them agree on."

"Attendant?" you repeat dumbly.

The man laughs. "Oh, just a combination between a secretary, butler, and concubine. You are taking longer to shake off the tranquilizers than anyone I've ever retrieved."

You bolt up, instantly alert. You remember that you had heard a noise outside your apartment, and when you went out to investigate you were attacked by a man with a tranquilizer pistol. "You-"

He puts his hands up. "I didn't shoot you. I carried you into the helicopter, and I will drop you off at the manor."

"People will wonder where I am, " you threaten.

The man shakes his head. "The men at Research will have made sure that you have no close family or friends, and the Finance department will have paid off anyone else who might care. The Carriers never get caught for a reason."

You are caught in shock. You simply do not know how to respond. Before you can even fully take this all in, the man roughly shoves you out of the helicopter. 

You scream, expecting a terrible fall, but it was only a short drop. You're bruised and dirty, but otherwise okay. You look up, and the helicopter is already far out of reach, and you're fenced in. The only way to progress is into the manor you were told about before. 

The place is stunning. It toes the line between classic style and modern sensibility, and has four obvious stories. You go to knock on the door, but it opens at your approach. 

The cozy living room is surprising, but not nearly as much as the three women who occupy it. By the news stories, you expected them to be a terrible trio of stuck-up stick figures, but they were beyond great-looking people. 

The first of the three sisters you notice simply because of the noise- she is running on a treadmill on its highest setting, a 15 pound dumbell in each hand. She's very tall, a veritable statuesque stunner, an amazon in her own right- judging by your own height, you peg hers around 6'3". Her B-cup breasts don't get much movement in, thanks to what has to be some super-design sports bra, but as that's all she has on top, you get an eyeful of her flat, toned stomach- with "girl abs", as some would put it. Despite the fact that you must have been staring at her for ten minutes, she still doesn't even glance in your direction, her icy blue eyes focused on the heart rate monitor on the treadmill. You just barely notice her brown pixie-cut hair and the fact that both of her ears are pierced with simple ruby studs.

Second to catch your attention is the raven-haired sister, who is poring over sheet music and tentatively testing each note on a Squier Stratocaster in her lap. Her violet eyes meet yours for a second, and she gives you a wink before returning to the music. She lazily pulls her shoulder-length hair out of her face, which gives you a look at her left forearm and the tattoo (of a python wrapped sinuously around an orchid the same color as her eyes) etched into it. She accidentally drops the sheet music, exposing her Rammstein T-shirt (over C-cup breasts) to your view. Even though her lounging has taken over an entire recliner, she still manages to look tiny. You vaguely guess that she's 5'1".

The third and final sister to catch your eye is pretending to read a small volume of a manga you don't recognize, but you can see the tiny glances she's making in your direction. Her amber eyes and firey red hair compete for attention on her face, which make it easy to miss her little button nose, from which a pair of high-fashion glasses hang. Of course, you can't fool yourself into believing that you don't notice the utterly massive DDs gracing her chest, stretching the shirt's image of the Nintendo logo to near its breaking point. While her presence in the room is tiny, considering her scrunched position on a couch that could fit the complete cast of your average sitcom, she herself is just barely shorter than you at 5'8".

It's the redhead who finally addresses you, brushing her waist-length waves away from her face. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow. Not that I mind . . ."

Little Miss Guitar snorts. "Yeah, right. Now you have to practice restraint. You know Candace's rule- we're not allowed to make any sexual demands until tomorrow."

The redhead pouts. "12:01 counts as tomorrow. That's only three hours away."

The brunette acknowledges your existence and sets down her dumbbells on the handrails. "You're shaven, right? I don't like feeling any hair on me that isn't from your head- and even then."

You begin blushing like mad, but before you can respond, Guitar Girl comes to your rescue. "Hey, we have to share one person. We gave Cassie what she wanted by picking up a girl, you were the one who said we needed to get one who you didn't have to lean down too far to make out with, I say she can be a little laid back. That includes having a bit of carpet."

You clear your throat, catching their attention before they can argue further. "I can't even tell who's who."

The redhead steps back in slight shock. "I'm sorry, you're right! Um, okay, I'm Cassandra, the one with the guitar is Catherine, and the one on the treadmill is Caroline. And we're the Carrier sisters!"

Caroline blinks. "Yeah, and because this private island is its own country, we make the laws here. So don't piss us off, because the closest thing we have to prison is Cathy's bondage kink."

Catherine goes red. "Sh-shut up! I don't have a-"

"Anyway, " Cassandra continues, "because Candace is off running the company, we won't ask for you to do the boring secretary stuff- although I may ask you to wear a costume that looks like a secretary's outfit. Mostly, you'll follow us around, bring us food when we're too lazy to go to the kitchen, and be ready to have sex on demand."

"Now, before you go asking the obvious question, " Catherine butts in, "we're half-sisters that were born on the same day. Dad knew how to party, if the security tapes are anything to go by."

Caroline abruptly shut off the treadmill and leapt off of it with a gymnast's strength and an acrobat's balance. "Time for bed." With that, she opened a small section of wall you hadn't noticed was a door, revealing a long staircase. "Come," she apparently speaks to you as if you were a dog.

At the top of the staircase is a long triple hallway. Caroline heads left, Catherine heads right, and Cassandra just keeps walking. "Now remember, " Catherine calls, "until midnight, if one of us asks for sex, you still have a right to say no. After midnight, you're fair game. Get some sleep."

"But where-" your question is cut off by a swivel chair appearing under you. It extends slightly, making itself a somewhat comfortable chair-bed. You decide to take Catherine's advice- after all, you don't know how long it will be until your next opportunity to. Just as you decide this, a golden dust swirls around you, making sleep come easily. 

---------

When you wake up,  it obviously isn't much later. You wonder first why the carpet has been replaced by thick standing ropes, then why the hallways seem taller and longer.

You scream at realizing you've been shrunk.

You need help. This is a decision that comes without hesitation. The question of the hour is who to turn to. 

You decide that it would be best to put your trust in Caroline- for all her frigidity, you reason she’s probably more responsible than clumsy Catherine and geeky Cassandra. You make your way down the long hallway to the left, noting even at this distance that Caroline’s door is already slightly ajar.

From how large the carpet appears to be, you hazard a guess at thinking you’re 5 inches tall. If you somehow guessed wrong, there wouldn’t be much you’d be able to do to defend yourself at this size.

As you ever-so-slowly get closer to Caroline’s door, you can hear tiny grunts of exertion.

‘Well, at least she’s not sleeping,’ you think to yourself. Caroline’s definitely large enough to kill you in her sleep, and for the life of you you can’t think of a way to wake a titan.

As you slide into the small gap created by Caroline leaving the door open, you are treated to a spectacle. Caroline has yet to change out of the sports bra and short shorts you saw her wearing in the living room, and she’s set up an exercise mat so she can do sit-ups without getting sweat all over the carpet.

You realize that she isn’t merely making sounds- she’s whispering count to herself. “47 . . . 48 . . . 49 . . . 50 . . . 51 . . .”

You tear your eyes away from that sight to take in Caroline’s room. The place is rather Spartan, but you can definitely tell that she’s proud of her achievements. An entire wall is dedicated to various medals and trophies. Her interests seem to be focused on athletics, but she has a wide range even there- she’s apparently been a linebacker for a girl’s football team, has held literally every position on a Title soccer team, and that’s not even covering the rugby, track, lacrosse, jai alai, basketball, water polo, and apparently she refused an invitation to be part of the summer Olympics.

After gawking at that wall, you begin to realize that, besides her bed, trophies, and exercise equipment, she doesn’t keep much in here. You question where she even keeps her clothes.

You’re caught off-guard by a quick, somewhat loud grunt of “75!” Caroline grabs a bottle of water you didn’t see and takes a quick drink. She fully sits up to look at her watch, and you begin to get a little frightened- even in this position, Caroline is utterly monolithic.

“Damn,” she curses under her breath. “Only 9:30. Why isn’t time passing?” She lies back, and the shockwaves of less than half her weight suddenly hitting the floor is enough force to send you flat on your back. You get up, groaning quietly in pain- you’re not exactly sure you want Caroline’s attention at this point.

You sigh, realizing that without help, you’re going to get utterly crushed.

As you go to make a loud noise to draw attention to yourself, Caroline goes back to her sit-ups.

‘With how seriously she takes her exercise, I might be dead if I interrupt her. But, if I don’t, she might kill me accidentally,’ you think to yourself. You note this last part as you notice the sweat-soaked blue exercise mat sliding in your direction.

Decisions, decisions . . .

You think to yourself how Cassandra would probably help you out the most, as she was the nicest to you earlier- Caroline’s raw size and Catherine’s clumsiness scare you just a little bit. You run straight ahead, taking notice of the peculiar fact that Cassandra’s door is open for you to enter.

From how large the carpet appears to be, you hazard a guess at thinking you’re 5 inches tall. If you somehow guessed wrong, there wouldn’t be much you’d be able to do to defend yourself at this size.

As you draw near, you can’t help but notice some odd squeaking sounds. After you convince yourself that a family as wealthy as the Carriers wouldn’t have mice, you barrel forward.

After getting into the door, your jaw drops. From your current vantage point, Cassandra appears titanic. She’s sitting in a swiveling wheeled chair, like you would see in an office, her eyes glued to a computer screen. She’s biting her lip, watching whatever it is she’s looking at with rapt interest.

‘At least she isn’t sleeping’, you think to yourself. At your size, a sleeping Cassandra would be a deadly mountain that moved. Treacherous terrain, indeed.

Looking around the room, you first notice all kinds of artwork hanging on the walls- from Renaissance-style paintings to scientific sketches to obvious fanart of various series. All by Cassandra, apparently- every last piece of art in the room has her name signed in the bottom left corner. You have to forcefully pull your eyes away from a particularly interesting piece- while the characters pictured in it are from something you don’t recognize, you can’t help but wonder if the sexual position pictured therein is physically possible.

Against another wall is a bookshelf that would be of impressive size even if you were your original height. Every available shelf is stuffed to the brim with books of every description, from manga volumes to novels to a text on game theory. You note with embarrassment that you haven’t read more than six of the books on Cassandra’s shelf, and half of those were required reading back in high school.

Cassandra’s bed draws your eye, as well- the bed itself has plushies of enough anime and videogame characters that a single voice actor is probably represented at least six times. A small wooden chest at the foot has a charging dock for Cassandra’s phone and three different handheld game systems.

Offhandedly, you wonder when Cassandra actually reads her books, given everything else.

Cassandra begins speaking, which forces your attention back on her. “C’mon, c’mon, just freaking kiss! Your faces are half an inch away from each other! SHE’S. RIGHT. THERE. Stop teasing meee!”

You smile to yourself. You’ve had similar moments watching shows. You shake your head. ‘Now’s not the time. I need to get her attention,’ you think to yourself.

But, given how deep Cassandra’s obsessions run, you wonder if it would be wise to get her attention immediately. After all, her show has to end sometime, and you can always catch her attention later. Then again, there is always the imminent danger of something going wrong . . .

You reason that Catherine would probably be the wisest choice, as Caroline’s an amazon who already doesn’t like you, and Cassandra’s geekiness, while harmless at normal size, could be disastrous while tiny. You make a right turn, heading down the hall to Catherine’s room. For reasons you can’t justify to yourself, her door is already slightly ajar.

From how large the carpet appears to be, you hazard a guess at thinking you’re 5 inches tall. If you somehow guessed wrong, there wouldn’t be much you’d be able to do to defend yourself at this size.

The closer you get to Catherine’s room, you hear a keyboard playing Beethoven’s fourth symphony. ‘Good thing she’s awake,’ you think to yourself. If she had been sleeping, you doubt your capacity to wake her up would have been anywhere near enough.

Once though the door, you can see Catherine laying spread out on her bed, a keyboard in her lap. She’s playing very well, not missing a single note or even exact note timing. While you thought her small earlier, she’s now utterly massive compared to you, to the point where you gulp at the thought of being snuffed out under her tapping foot.

As you take in the room, you notice musical memorabilia littering the floor- album covers, a notebook filled with artist signatures (you’re seriously questioning how she got Kurt Cobain’s), and band T-shirts making the carpet invisible.

Next to enter your notice is an entire wall dedicated to musical instruments of nearly every type- you notice three different guitars, a set of bongos, a flute, a baritone saxophone, a trumpet, a violin, and even a Theremin on the wall hooks, as well as the empty pair of hooks where you can tell the keyboard would rest.

All of the other walls are taken up by posters of various artists, from Aerosmith to ZZ Top. There’s even a photo she took of herself with Eminem.

The music abruptly changes, and your eye is drawn back to Catherine. It takes you a second to notice it, but the new song is the theme from “The Simpsons”, and she’s happily swaying her head in time with the song. You even find yourself smiling- her bright grin is absolutely infectious.

You go to attempt to make your presence known, but stop yourself. Didn’t Caroline say something about Catherine having a bondage kink? At your current size, something like that would be almost certainly fatal. Then again, considering where you are, if you don’t make yourself known soon, there’s a very good chance that Catherine may just crush you underfoot when she goes to put back her keyboard. With how messy the floor is, she might not even notice the bloodstain afterwards.

You’ve put yourself between a rock and a hard place. If you don’t get her attention, you have a good chance of dying, but even if you do she might still kill you because she feels entitled to your body.

What to do just seems to be the question of the day . . .

You decide you need to get Caroline's attention, pronto.

"Hey! Caroline!" you call. "Down here!"

"Wha?" She sits up rapidly, her bare foot coming down absurdly quickly just inches in front of you.

If I had waited a second later, I'd be a stain on the bottom of her foot, you think.

"Over here, Caroline!" you call out.

"Great," she mumbles grumpily to herself. "I've lost it. I'm so deprived I'm hearing her call out to me. Just gotta power through two and a half hours, Caroline. You can do this."

"No!"you call out as loudly as you can. "I'M RIGHT HERE! OY! CAROLINE!"

Finally, the brunette's gaze falls upon you, a bewildered look on her face. "What in blue blazes . . . ?" She pulls her feet back a little, slightly hesitant to touch you.

"It's me!" you call out. "Your . . . um . . . I think I was called an 'attendant'?"

She narrows her icy blue eyes at you, appraising you in a manner that looks too much like a lustful gaze for your liking right now. "Why are you here?"

You gesture down to yourself, making a point to stand by her left foot, which now stands taller than you do. "Why in hell do you think I'm here? I need help, Caroline! Please, if you get me back to normal, I'll do anything- please please please!"

A tiny smirk appears on her face. "Well, I am liking the begging. It's a great feeling to have someone completely . . ." she shifts her foot to one side- a position leaving you staring at the sole, "under" she continues, raising the massive wall of flesh so it is hanging ominously over you, "my control," she finishes, lowering her foot so close to your face now that if you hadn't tilted your head back to look at it, it would be touching your head.

You give a gulp of fear, and get to your knees. "Please Caroline, I'm begging you. Help me get back to normal."

The titan removes her foot from your vicinity, slamming it down beside her- her face plastered with a sheepish grin. "I would if I knew how. After all, I can't exactly fuck a five-inch-tall girl- it might be closer to masturbating at that point. I didn't do any of this, but maybe one of my sisters did. Do you think we should ask one of them to reverse this?"

You deliberate this thought process- Caroline is willing to help, and one of her sisters might be at fault. Could it be geeky Cassandra? She appears intelligent enough to do something like this. Maybe the sexual sadist Catherine wanted to make you into a perfect sub for her domineering fantasies. Perhaps this might be more of Candace simply torturing her younger sisters for the hell of it. Maybe Caroline's lying to you, and she did have a hand in this.

Could it be some remnant from when Carter Carrier used to run the place?

Maybe it was none of these things- you can't be sure for certain.

But then you come to the million-dollar question- which theory do you tell Caroline?

You have no idea what might go wrong if you wait- it is imperative to get Cassandra's attention NOW.

However, this is clearly easier said than done- she's wearing headphones, so you can't call out to her, she's watching something, so it's unlikely she'll see you, and she's sitting near-vertically in that office chair of hers, and you're not even sure that you can reach her downward tipped toes at this point.

You guess that there's only one way to find out- to test it.

You make a mad dash for the nerdy redhead's feet, your only real lifeline to her. If you can't reach evn them, you can basically forget your chances of survival, let alone a return to normalcy.

She makes several idle comments about what it is she's watching, but you tune those out so you can focus on what you believe is important now- getting her attention. Had you been paying attention, you would have waited just a while longer.

Cassandra's car-sized tootsies make several sweeping passes over your head, as she is kicking the swiveling chair back and forth to express her excitement with the plot. Eventually, however, Cassandra settles down enough for you to reach up and try to touch her hanging toes. Just a tickle to get her attention should be enough, in case you can't reach higher. If you can't even manage that . . . 

You failed to take one thing into account, however- Cassandra's fangirling ship becoming ascended to canon. Just as you reach high enough to provide the slightest brushing on Cassandra's dangling toe, just as you finally feel safe in the belief that you'll get back to normal size, she lets out a sound so loud it immobilizes you. It was a high-pitched scream, one that the Internet knows all too well in its smaller variety- Cassandra Carrier had just unknowingly weaponized a squee.

The second sonic squee is no stronger or weaker than the last, but this time it is accompanied by excited, extremely rapid miniature stomps, which pulverize your five-inch body into paste amost immediately.

"Eee!" she squeaks joyfully, fist-pumping all over the place. "They kissed, they kissed, I called it, I'm gonna rub it in the faces of those jerks from the forums! They can all go kiss my ass!" In her excitement, her glasses bounce off the edge of her nose and onto the desk. As she stands to do a victory dance, your remains are smeared, leaving nothing left that could be recognized as a person- you've merely joined the filth on a geeky twentysomehing's feet.

The worst part, you think as your consciousness drifts away into nonbeing, is that she doesn't notice or care that she killed me. I'm dead and all that matters is the fanservice.

And thus, your life is snuffed out by a pair of soft feet, with your murderess none the wiser. When she goes to check on you for a sexual request two hours later, she panics at you being gone, and gets herself beaten up by Caroline for insinuating that she was hiding you somewhere. Cassandra's morining shower rids the world of evidence you were ever a iving person. While the girls searc for you for a day, in the end none of them care enough to want to send out search parties. Within a week, you get replaced.

However, she did get the opportunity to tell off an entire forum for calling her absolutely favorite ship crack. Cassandra got to do the impossible and win an argument on the Internet,

BAD END

Retry? http://giantessworld.net/viewstory.php?sid=4569&chapter=1

It's decided- you'll get Catherine's attention immediately. Better to make your presence known now than to let things go wrong later.

"Hey!" you cry out, desperately trying to get the raven-haired girl to notice you. "Down here, Catherine!"

She narrows here eyes in suspicion. "Hello? Who's there!?"

You begin to jump up and down and wave. "It's me, your attendant! Look down!"

Catherine's eyes eventually pass over you, and they widen from shock. "Oh my god. Look at you. What happened?"

"I don't know," you reply truthfully. "One moment, I'm trying to go to sleep, the next I'm naked and cold on the floor, doing my best impression of a doll! Please, Catherine, help me!"

She nods, and takes her keyboard off of her lap. "Right, right. What can I do?"

"Well, can you pick me up? It's kinda hard yelling loud enough for you to hear me," you respond.

"Yeah. Okay, alright." She gets off of her bed, each of her feet swinging down beside you. she stands for a moment, giving you a glimpse of her as nothing less than a staggering monolith, a sexy titan. When she kneels down to your level, you can't help but feel scared, and this is only excerbated when she reaches out and wraps you in a fist. In an instant, she's standing again, with your eyes being held level with hers. The violet orbs pierce your soul, and you feel as if you've already been raped a dozen times in that glare.

She grins seductively. "You weren't kidding when you said you were cold. I can feel those nips of yours poking into my finger." She wiggles her index finger over your breasts to prove her point.

"I- I'm sorry," you stutter, out of fear and shame.

"Naw," she says, her grin widening, "it's cool. So, why'd you come to me? I'm curious."

"Well," you begin, "I- I- I just felt that you were the most trustworthy person here, and that you'd help me get back to normal."

"Aw," she says, her condescending tone making you feel more than a little uncomfortable, "that's really sweet of you to say, especially after Caroline broke my secret kink to you. But I won't do anything for free."

Something about those words terrifies you. "W- w- what do you w- w- want as payment?"

Her grin took on a demented edge. "Well, at your current size- about 5 inches long-I'd say you make a perfectly good dildo, wouldn't you?"

You don't know what to do. You're scared and you're overwhelmed and you're a little aroused, the combination shutting you up entirely.

If Catherine cares about how terrified you are, she doesn't show it. "In fact, I'll make you a deal. You can either be my most interesting sex toy ever, or you can be my little bitch. Either way, I'm doing you a favor- Caroline would straight-up murder you if she took a turn with you like this, and Cassie can never seem to finish what she starts, if you catch my drift. With just me, you're getting off just as much as I am."

You look down at her unfastened jeans, and you can catch the slightest hint of wetness in her crotch. She's entirely serious about making you hers, one way or another.

What to do? You have no idea if you can survive Catherine's vginal muscles, and your prospects as her little slave aren't that much better.

You suppose you could try to escape and try again with another sister, but there was simply too much that could go wrong- was it worth it?

What to do?

Your mind has been made up- you'll wait for Caroline to finish her exercises. After all, what's the worst that could happen?

Besides, this gives you more time to watch the brunette beauty in action.

Caroline is a moving column of lean muscle, thin rivulets of sweat traveling down her body as if they were rivers on the landscape of a woman before you. You find yourself staring at the sexy titaness before you, gladly putting off your own return to normal for the opportunity to watch this workout.

All the while, you keep hearing a slight, nearly inaudible noise, synchronized with Caroline's movements- chff. You don't recognize it at first, but it becomes clearer over time.

"18!" Chff. Caroline looks even bigger to you

"19!" Chff. At first, you think you might be shrinking even more.

"20!" Chff. And, to be honest, that doesn't seem too bad.

"21!" Chff. After all, if you're small enough, you might be able to sneak onto her body without her noticing.

It becomes clear that the sound is the exercise mat sliding on the carpet, and that Caroline, slowly but surely, is moving toward you- maybe she'll notice you before her exercises are done! Yeah, she might be a little mad (after all, she's probably smart enough to know you find her good-looking, and she might think you did this to peep on her), but it'll be better than having to wait several hours for her to finish.

Then, the unexpected happens.

"Urgh!" she grunts angrily. "Why does this stupid thing keep moving?"

With those words, she shifts her leg to get herself back into position, first slamming one foot on the floor not too far away from you . . . then the other- directly on top of you.

The pain is absurd, and your cry is quickly cut off due to a deficiency of air in your lungs. That single stomp didn't snuff you out, and so you're conscious for her adjusting herself- an action which comprises of her pushing herself backwards using her feet. Caroline, for what it's worth, apparently only vaguely recognizes that her foot is now wetter than it should be.

"Damnit, Cass . . . probably came into my room again and spilled her drink," Caroline complains, drowning out your initial scream while she tamps your lungs shut beneath her foot.

Your consciousness drifts away, lulled into its eternal rest by Caroline's steady count.

"22! . . . 23! . . . 24! . . . 25! . . . 26!"

By the end of the night, when Caroline attempts to sneak out of her room and let out some of her pent-up sexual frustrations on you, all she finds is her sisters with the exact same idea. The three of them spend about an hour accusing each other of having taken you, knowing you wouldn't be dumb enough to leave. By this point, you're nothing but a vague, sticky splotch on Caroline's sole, which she blames Cassandra's love of fruity drinks for. Despite the redhead's protests, Caroline gives her a swift punch for it.

The worst part, however, is that it is Caroline who calls in your replacement not a week later. The brunette forgot your existence after a few more days, sadly enough.

BAD END

Retry? http://giantessworld.net/viewstory.php?sid=4569&chapter=1

It's decided- you'll wait Cassandra out.

Your decision was actually made intelligently, for three reasons: first, she's watching a show, so she's not likely to look in your direction; second, she has headphones in, so she wouldn't hear you even if you yelled at the top of your tiny lungs; third, with how excited she is, she's kicking herself from side to side in her swivel chair, which would make attempting to reach her a fool's errand.

So, you decide to wait Cassandra out. It's not easy, seeing as she's pretty much your only hope of returning to normal, and she's absorbed in some show.

You decide to pass the time by listening to her various comments and trying to piece together exactly what she's seeing.

"It's really freaking obvious she's into you, just go for it! COME ON! She's basically telegraphing 'take me now' to your stupid face, can you be any more oblivious?" Cassandra says, apparently talking to one of the characters. She settles down, though, with a bit of a frown on her face. "You missed your damned chance, she's gone forever now."

With that, her entire body locks up, laser-focusing on the events at hand. "If you loved her, you should've told her so before she had to leave and fight friggin' hell demons. Stupid sexy blue-haired moron."

You grin, watching her enjoy herself. If nothing else, her reactions are about as entertaining as any show you've ever watched.

You're caught off-guard by a small gasp. "Wait, she hasn't left yet? She heard that?! Holy . . ."

Suddenly, a massive sound, far louder than anything you've experienced to this point. A loud, high-pitched sound that is known colloquially as a "squee".

Holy hell, that's ridiculously loud, you thought.

The sound even repeated itself. Cassandra kicked at the floor, squealing in glee. "They kissed, they kissed, I called it, I'm gonna rub it in the faces of those jerks from the forums! They can all go kiss my ass!"

She yanked the headphones from her ears, allowed her glasses to slide from her nose, and leaped from her seat, jumping all over the place and giving a few fist-pumps. "Yes! Yes! I called it, I called it, I called it, I ship it, and hells yeah I approve!"

You see your opportunity. "Cassandra! I'm down here!" you call, leaping and waving your arms.

"Yea-heah! I- hunh?" She looked around. "Cathy? That you?"

You give another call. "Cassandra! I'm right here!"

Cassandra's eyes finally find you. "No way . . ." she picks up her glasses from where they fell by her desk, and puts them on to see you better. She leys as flat as she can on the floor, although her massive breasts leave her about an inch above you, even compressed."You're so adorable!" she squeaks.

"Th-thank you," you stutter, taking in her massive face, "but I'd rather be . . . y'know . . . human-sized."

She nods. "Right, right. How did this happen to you? Maybe I can help undo whatever did this."

You shrug. "Hell if I know. One moment, I'm lying back in a chair, next thing I know I'm naked and doll-sized on the carpet!"

Cassandra frowns. "Well, I guess I can't just leave you like that." She puts a hand to her chin. "Would you be fine dressing up in doll clothes or something?"

"I think there are more pressing issues!" you yell angrily. "Specifically, making me as tall as I should be!"

She backs up, a scared look on her face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just thought you would want some clothes! You look pretty cold, shivering and everything! I wanted to help!"

She looks as as if she were about to cry, and you sigh. "Look, I'm sorry. Can you get me back to normal, please?"

"I don't know how," she whimpers. "This goes against conventional science! I have no clue what could have done this, and I can't think of any way to fix you!" She looks at the floor. "I'm sorry. I should be the smart one, I should know what to do, and all that I can think about is how cute you look and how much I want to keep you."

You are caught off-guard. You wonder how to approach this.

You've come to a decision- you'll wait for Catherine to finish playing music first. It doesn't hurt that she's really good.

After she finishes playing the theme from The Simpsons, Catherine starts on another piece- specifically, "If You Seek Amy". You can barely remember that there was a double meaning to the song, but you can't remember precisely what.

She then starts on a long string of love and lust songs, some of which you don't recognize, some of which you recognize all too well, some you actually enjoy and sing along to, like "You're Beautiful", "A.D.I.D.A.S.", "Every Breath You Take", and, for some bizarre reason, "Animals".

Of course, she finally finishes up, and sighs. "Damn. Not even 11:30. Fuck, how the hell does a girl kill time?" She slides off her bed, standing quickly.

You're shell-shocked by just how huge she is. Her long legs stretch high over you, and her keyboard conceals everything past her breasts from view- but, considering their relative size to you, you probably wouldn't have been able to see her face even if she wasn't carrying it. What you're worried about, however, is her unfastened jeans, which display that she's already gotten herself 'in the mood", so to speak.

Suddenly, she raises a foot, and you cry out as it comes over you far too quickly for you to even move away. "Catherine," you try to call, "I'm down here! Please, don't-"

"Huh?" she stops, her foot holding you down, but surprisingly not crushing you into paste. "What?"

You take advantage of the fact that you're still alive to struggle against her foot and try to tip her off to your location.

Catherine slides her foot forward, moving her foot off of you. She carries her keyboard to the wall hooks you noticed earlier, then turns around and looks at you. "Well, hello . . ." she murmurs seductively, striding over with a smile on her face. "What have we here?"

"Hey, Catherine!" you yell. "Can you help me get back to n-"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" she asks bluntly, her eyes roaming over your naked form, giving you a strong urge to cover yourself.

"W- what?" you ask nervously.

"You must think I'm stupid," she says, not stopping with what you'd definitely be able to call sexual harassment were this a normal workplace, "if you think I'm gonna do anything for you with you perving on me."

"I- what?" you ask, confused.

Catherine's eyes narrow. "Don't play stupid. Things will be much, much easier for you that way."

"Okay . . ." you say, still confused. "So what's gonna happen now?"

"Well," she murmurs, going back to her more seductive tone, "since it doesn't look like you've gotten off yet, I guess I can go easy on you," she says, smirking, "but only for this first time. I catch you at it again, and you'll have to be . . . punished," she finishes with an aroused sigh.

You sweat a little at this- she's a sadist, and she's got you. You realize just how fucking screwed you are.

"I think it's only fair that you please me, since I apparently pleased you," she says with a wink.

You realize all too well what's going on, and consign yourself to your fate.