The  Game

I watch him run for a while. His tiny form is slowly retreating away from me, at a crawling pace, although I can well see his tiny legs move like crazy. He looks like a little bug scurrying on the wooden floor, between my feet. He’s really going for it, and not really taking the time to look up my skirt. I smile, as he bumps in the flesh of my extended thumb, and falls flat on his back. I see him extend minuscule arms in my direction as my fingers come closer to him. I have to concentrate. The slightest movement could crush him to a pulp.

 Very slowly I stand up and bring him up to my face. I manage to just catch his legs, and try to hold as gently as I can. Of course, he’s not too happy. I guess the pressure must still be pretty unpleasant. And he hangs upside down of course. I see him flail his arms. He’s probably screaming abuse at me, I bring him closer. Now that’s better, I can  clearly make out his face, contorted with fear and rage. It’s so weird. No matter how often I see this, I’m always amazed by the incredible effect of the Breem’s power. This looks like a tiny insect, hardly the size of my nail, yet it is a breathing, thinking, and probably swearing human being. I stay a minute or two watching him writhe, till his arms just go limp. He just stays there looking at me (probably just a tiny part of me) with an open mouth.

I push with my feet the heap of clothes he has emerged from (it took him nearly twenty minutes, he must have gone lost under there). And depositing the little shape in the palm of my hand I walked to the kitchen. I’m pretty hungry, having spent most of the day waiting for him in my car, and I think this is calling for a celebration. The house is quiet, well lit, and would be nearly tidy, but for the first signs of male territoriality that are beginning to show already. Clara has been gone for a week and already empty saucepans and beer bottles are filling the sink and the counter . Tsss, tsss I mentally utter to myself, as I grab a bottle lying on the floor. The little prick was way too used to her toiling around the house.

I open a cupboard and, finding a blue plastic bowl, drop Jeff into it. He slides along the curved side to the bottom. I lay the bowl on the table. I have doubt about the fridge but go for a peek anyway.  I grab some cheddar cheese and a tomato, cut myself some slices of a reasonably fresh cucumber. The little guy in the bowl cannot see any of this but he sure can hear the noise and the feel the vibrations of the table. I decide to drop the tomato slices into the bowl. Jeff jumps frantically aside to avoid the large red slices falling towards him. He succeeds, but get caught in the juices. I bring my face closer and amuse myself at his struggle against the sticky liquid that surrounds him.

“Jeff, you and I have had our differences. You do not like me much, and you know it’s reciprocal. But lets’ bygones be bygones, I say,  and let’s share a little snack together for a change”.
 I see his upturned face staring at me ( at my left eye I think). I smile encouragingly at the little prisoner and offer my little finger as an alternative to his little pond of tomato juice. After a second of hesitation, I can feel his body climbing up on my flesh.  I let him off on the smooth white surface of the table, next to what must seem to him a large brown rock. To me, it’s just a bun on which I start setting the cheese, the cucumber and a slice of tomato.

Jeff is running again, this time toward the edge of the table. Is he catching on with what’s going on? Has he decided to choose his own fate? I chuckle as I drag him back towards me with the threatening metallic wall of my spoon. I spread some mayonnaise (diet type, I have a slim figure and intend to keep it that way. Clara, who shares my concerns and vanity, thankfully only has “light” stuff in her fridge) on my improvised sandwich. Jeff is now trying to go around the various circles of cucumber lying in his path to … freedom? With a flicker of the spoon, I send a little blob of mayo flying in his direction. I am better than I thought and it actually hits him, sending him sprawling on the table, half covered with the yellow stuff. When he tries to stand up, he struggles against the stickiness.

Elbows on the table, and my chin in my hands, I enjoy the diminutive show below me. Brave little man. Full of stamina. No wonder Clara was no match to his big hammy fists. When the spoon scoops him up from the table, there’s hardly anything he can do, though. I see him try to look over the edge. As I bring his little aircraft in a hovering stance over the bun, he turns round , looks at me with horror in his eyes. And when I start inclining the shiny raft  I watch him trying to prevent the fatal slip onto the mayo-covered ingredients. Not that he succeeds of course. He lands without a sound on top of my sandwich, and immediately starts fighting against the mayo to move away. This time I think I actually hear something from his little mouth.

It does becomes clearer as I bring the sandwich to my eyes. The squinting makes me dizzy , but it’s worth the effort to see Jeff’s face as he blabbers something to me, his arms extended, in a begging pause. Man, that must really sting his stinky macho pride to beg to me, his nemesis.  I answer his prayers by passing a whale of a tongue over my lips with a hungry sound. I open seductively a very large mouth and take a slow deliberate bite out of the bun. (I have very good teeth, the dentist tells me, I’m sure Jeff can appreciate that.) I can feel Jeff’s body brushing against my upper lip, as I tear away the bite. Ouch, it was a close one for my little buddy here.

I munch slowly, taking the time to playfully push my prey with my little finger, back to the centre of the sandwich, where it’s nice and moist, on top of a cucumber slice. I bring the bun right under my jaw, close to my neck and swallow noisily. When I look at it again, a small lump of mayo is moving towards the edge...

I bite again. This time I can feel his writhing body squirm right under my lip. I must have missed him by a millimetre. I enjoy pressing him into the bread, wondering fleetingly what noise he hears when I tear away from the bun. I have to make sure he’s still on board the bun, before I start chewing and swallowing. He is, but obviously, there isn’t much space left for him to run now. I open really really wide. And slowly start engulfing the remaining part of the bun into my mouth. This time the squeaking is really audible, as it starts echoing against my palate. I wonder at the view he gets just now, gazing in horror at my messy tongue, and the hungry uvula guarding my throat. I very carefully start to close my mouth. The squeaking gets slightly louder.

I have this pang suddenly. I violently want to feel him going my throat. But I fight the sudden urge (and, yes , sudden arousal, I must say) and, opening up, I go fishing for the lump in my mouth. When I deposit it on the table and  bring my face closer (some of my hair actual touch it, yuk), I stare in surprise: Jeff’s not there. Holding all movements, I pass a tentative tongue around in my mouth. With relief, I feel him in there, stuck to the top of my palate. I carefully fish him with the tip of the tongue and then lick him onto a finger. I look at the trembling little guy in the tip of my index, stuck to it with saliva and visibly shaken by his experience. Damn, I got really close to swallow  the little prick.

“Jeff, you did not seriously think I would eat you, did you now? Come on, I would never do such a thing. I’m not a cannibal. And besides, I have better things to do with my stomach lining.” I ease him off my index onto the table with the tip of the spoon. He just crumples on the floor, sobbing.
“Relax, Jeff, be a man,  it was just a tease. I won’t eat you, of course not, I promise not to ...”

Jeff is turning his face up towards me….

“… but I know someone who might, though.”

The Game Part III

I peep inside and just have time to step back when the bullets come crashing into the wall behind me, sending plaster flying in a cloud of white dust. They know what’s up obviously. From the initial shouts in the room  I gather they must be two guys. They are moving slowly towards my position in the corridor. They probably do not know how I got rid of the guards at the entrance, but have decided to treat me as armed and dangerous. They’re right of course. On both accounts.

 The Breem is just about getting the proper hue when I dump it on the ground through the open door, like a hand grenade. From the scramble inside, I guess they fear grenades. Then, two heavy objects fall on the floor accompanied by a rustle of falling clothes and the room goes quiet. I sneak in, attentive to the noises coming now from the corridor at the other side of the room. Behind the desk I find a heap of clothes. Another one behind the sofa. But ducking there did not help the goodfellas.

I grab the pants of the first one. A light thing glides down a leg and drops on the floor, next to a gun that now dwarves him like a black metallic truck. I grab the gun , and quickly steps on the little guy with the tip of my shoe. Before he disappears under, I had the vision of my toenail catching up with him, and blotting him out. OK, the other one now. As I turn round, I see a little shape rushing towards the sofa. I drop to my knees, just as it enters the underside. I have to put my head to the floor to catch the sight of the naked man running terrified towards the hazardous safety of the shadows.

To him, I must be like a huge Godzilla monster peering at him, extending a massive claw. I grab him gently between two fingers. I have a quick look at his tiny face, before I drop him into my cleavage. That should keep him warm and that’s more than he deserves.
Gun in one hand, Breem in the other, I walk carefully towards the next corridor . Running steps echo above me. The house is filled with shouts.

……………………

When I reach Lawrence’office, my pockets full of diminutive gangsters, I call him. I hear the surprise in his voice, mixed with some relief. “Nadine, is that you?” and then the suspicion: “Who are you with?” “Hold your fire” he whispers to some hunchback near him. “Come in. Very slowly.”
I push the door opened, my heart beating hard in my chest. If they decide to shoot anyway, I’m a goner. In my hand the Breem is getting warm.

Lawrence is crouching behind a heavy wooden desk. I guess more than I see a man standing behind the door, along the wall. When he sees me, a perplex look crawls over Lawrence’s face. He starts standing up, revealing the gun in his hand. “What the f…” he begins. The Breem’s flash pervades the entire room. The guns fall heavily on the floor, one in front, the one behind me, and also it seems a third one behind the large leather chair on the left.

I collect the man next to the wall. His tiny body wriggles pleasantly against my half-closed palm. I let him join the others in my breast pocket, which is bulging a bit now. The man behind the chair is already out of his clothes. The Breem did not finish the job too well. The little guy is about three inches, twice taller than the others. His face is turned toward mine, as I stand over him. (This makes me wonder if my underwear is clean enough), I grab him , spot a cigar box on the table, empty it and drop the man inside.

“Well hello, Lawrence! I hope you ‘ll pardon the intrusion, but I really needed to see you. I have an invitation for you to a party.” I doubt the little shape running now between my shoes is paying attention. I let my foot hover his little body. When he emerges from under my sole, I position my foot over him again, till he re-emerges, in a frantic run. I play this little game for a minute, till I eventually lower myself and catch him in my fingers (he squeaks a lot, seeing this mountain folding down toward him).
On the way out, I grab the cigar box.

“Freeze!!” The man who jumped in front of me is heavy, dressed in black, the hand that holds the gun is glistening with gold rings. As I stop walking, I notice the twichiness in his eyes and the drop of sweat running down his cheek. He is going to shoot, I just know it. As the bullet emerges from the barrel, it meets the green wave of the flash . I feel the sting on my face , as the minuscule projectile hits my left cheek, my ears ringing with the detonation. That was a close one, a task the Breem had taken on itself, selecting timing and target for me. I let out a sigh of relief/ fright and walks shakily to the clothes, on the floor.

I take the time to light a nervous cigarette as I watch the tiny bump progressing towards the end of the sleeve. The bastard was shooting me in the face. I watch the homunculus start his hopeless run under my shadow. The house is silent now, and I finish quietly my cigarette. Each time the man manages to avoid the falling ashes I casually drop on him. Good for him. The cigarette butt lands just in front of him, on the carpeted floor. When my foot comes over to crush it, he still manages to run ahead of it, my sole squashing the humongous ciguie and crushing the floor around it. I catch him and bring him to my eyes. He’s smaller than the rings he was wearing a moment ago.

He’s shouting something to me, but I do not listen. Craning my head back, I dangle him above my wide open mouth for a few seconds. He lands on my mouth with a wet plop. I swiftly direct him toward my throat and crane the head back again, letting things happen. The squeaking intensifies, as I feel him slowly sliding down beyond my tongue. I swallow, and the little lump disappears within my throat. One less Soprano in the world. Good thing too.

tbc

nostromo

The Game (part IV)

The Breem has been in my family for umpteenth generations now, as far as we can tell. Its origin and purposes are unknown. Witchery, occult arts and other meta-scientific practices have always been a strong suit among us, but there is no doubt that the Breem is not the creation of some forgotten ancestor. However proficient in the Art as we may be, none of us has the power to built such a thing. My best guess is that somehow we stumbled upon the Breem during a rite of summoning that went wrong (or well, that depends). It entered our world, unexpected visitor from another plane, and has apparently decided to remain with us.

It is also unclear whether it has any sort of will or intelligence. At time, it feels like a device, some gadget left behind by a visitor. At other times, it feels like a being. The fact that it activates on its own in moments of need, the fact that it seems to take decisions regarding its survival, is pretty disturbing.

My mother always thought the Breem was an artefact. Then again she was a well known physicist, whose rationality was pervading every aspect of her life, including her practice of the Dark Arts. Myself, I'm not too sure about this. I tend to believe the Breem is here for a reason, with a purpose of its own. That it is waiting for something or someone here. Is it someone from the Family, or is it some astronomical event, or another visitor from its original plane? I really couldn't say. No books, however ancient and deep-delving in the Art, reveal any hint concerning the Breem. I know one thing: the Breem's power goes far beyond the shrinking trick it pulls at my demand. I have seen much much more intriguing examples.

I can sense it near me, on the passenger seat, as a watchful presence, as I drive on the lonely highway .

A sudden tickle makes me gasp and grip the steering wheel stronger. I quickly glance down. Deep in my cleavage a tiny man is struggling to get a grip on the outer rim of my bra. I had completely forgotten about this one in my haste to take the road. Amused, I gently nudge him back down with a finger. He falls again to the bottom and my soft left breast settles on the little guy . Everything goes quiet again. A long road is ahead of us...

Clara and I had been friends for a long time, a friendship that shares memories of dolls and fake tea parties, common taste in cartoons, first emotions around puzzled little boys, bursts of laughter and intimate confidences about first dates and even rivalry around the football pitch and the hunks that populated it. A long friendship, the type that is fated to last forever, cemented in promises and even a mutual attraction that never said its name.

As a friend I had suffered to see Clara slowly become bewitched by the rough seduction of this idiot jeremiad. I had tried to discuss the point with her many times, and these arguments had brought an unusual strain on our relationship. I never understood how such a radiant person as my friend could have been reduced to the dim shadow behind such a mediocre man. I still offered my support through the first crisis brought about by the sudden change of behavior he showed after marrying Clara, when the facade of courting was replaced by his crass machismo routine. I listened carefully to Clara's blind excuses for the first hit marks on her face. I cringed at the relentless humiliation the ugly sister was inflicting to Clara, invading their marriage, their home and polluting even John's mind with her nasty innuendos about Clara's supposed unfaithfulness.

I cried with Clara when the older brother showed up in their lives, after a long absence, beguiling John in his illegal schemes, and robbing coldly Clara of her savings. I guess I stood my ground by my friend, hoping to see her through this ordeal and to reason her into divorcing the swine and his ugly family.

Then last week Clara showed up at my house, with a bloody nose and the tell-tale blackness around her eyes. For the first time I convinced my friend to stay with me that night, and when closing the bedroom door on my sleeping friend, I tool the decision I knew was inevitable.

Now that Clara had agreed to not going back home, I knew well that events would start escalating in violence and ugliness. Although I was well aware the use of the Art was forbidden to me within the realm of common life, I had decided inactive support was no longer an option. My friend was a wreck and someone was accountable for this sorry state of affairs. I had gone to the basement and opened the hidden door.

Clara is overjoyed to see me back come at last. Her black eye is much better already, and she is rested now, having spent a week out of hell. I had explained to her that I had to visit a sick relative in the country. It is essential to me that Clara has no hints whatsoever as to my recent activities, and even more so as regards to my powers. Friendship had nothing to do with it. The Art is also a school of secrecy.

I quickly go through the messages on the phone, checking the out-going calls. As expected, Clara has tried to call her husband. Without success of course. Good thing he was collected first.

While Clara prepares some tea, I observe my friend intently. The young woman is a gorgeous sight, in her pink pajamas, and white lacy top. She has the body of a model, and the face of an angel, her long blond hair falling gracefully around her shoulders. Her movements always convey a grace that has always fascinated Nadine. No wonder I had felt jealously many a times during our graduate years, when flocks of guys were trying to chat Clara up.

Clara is singing quietly in the shower when I walk at last in my bedroom. I settle my bags on the bed, open the suitcase. I set the leather pouch on the bed stand, go to my dresser and retrieve a dusty jewelry box. Putting my hands in the pockets of my coat I can feel a writhing mass of tiny bodies meeting my fingers. One by one I drop them in the box. The tiny men, nurturing their aching limbs after the fall, all turn their head towards the massive face that looks down on them. It is the last thing they see before I close the wooden top. I sigh. I had not anticipated to bring back more guests than my three targets. I'll have to find a use for them. I tuck the box under the bed and go to my own shower, my shoulders stiff with the fatigue of the long drive.

“We're going to play a game, Clara”. I watch Clara's face , as it suddenly lits up with her beautiful smile. We're having another cup of the green tea I brought back from a trip in China. Clara loves games. Any games, anything with a twist and a joke and a challenge. Our friendship is peppered with insane games we invented to compete playfully against one another. “Tonight, you are entirely at my mercy. You have have no eyes to see, only my voice to lead you. You will follow my instructions and let me guide you till you sleep. This is the price to pay to be my permanent guest.”

Clara's smile is even wider. In her eyes, a spark is born that makes my heart miss a beat. Clara has always suspected ambivalent feelings on my part for her, in spite of our infamous rivalry in the college years. I've always suspected just as much on her part. My offer is somehow bringing these hidden emotions that bit closer to the surface. Whether either of us is willing to act upon it is another matter. After all, this is only a game. She asks me what's on my mind of course, already acquiescing to my request, I know. Without a word , but with a smile of my own, I reach out and give her the silk scarf. She starts covering her eyes with the shimmery fabric.

We chat and we drink . We practice moving around the kitchen. We laugh a lot. Clara is getting used to the scarf on her eyes. We sit again and joke a bit about the situation. Her situation. A beaten wife in a horrible marriage, abused by a family of bullies. As we speak, the laughter and jesting stops, and, as I predicted, the darkness and soothing drink is bringing Clara to talk about her plight with a clarity that she had never reached before. She tells me her story in a soft emotional voice, in a long and touching monologue. I listened to her, my heart going out to her, while at the same time the hatred in me is coming back with a vengeance, obliterating the doubts I entertained during the “collecting”.

Its' dark outside now. I touch her shoulder, and leave in the the kitchen. I walk to my room. The leather pouch is there, on the bed stand. I walk to it. It's still animated by some light movements inside. I lift it, open the string, fighting the urge to crush it in my hands in anger. I take a breath, and walk back to the kitchen. Clara smiles when she hears me. “What are you up to now?” she says. “Now we start playing”.

I pull three chairs from under the kitchen table. “Clara, I'm going to make dinner. I want you to stand for a second, and then to go around the table . You will touch each chair and make up your mind which you'll sit on for the dinner.”

“This game of yours is a bit strange.” she laughs.

“Just do as I say” I retort. She stands up.

I walk to the first chair and shake very gently the leather pouch. A little body comes tumbling down on the wooden chair. I peer closer. Lawrence.

I walk to the second chair and gently grab a squeaking Jeff out of the pouch. I place him neatly in the middle of the chair.

On the third one, a shaking and sobbing Cecily now sits in confusion, looking around her, trying to get her bearings.

I give a nudge to Clara and my giggling friend starts her first pass around the chairs. She tumbles a bit against the table, her arms outstretched to guide her. She wears nothing but her panties and her light tanktop. When she touches the first chair, I lean closer to look at the dismayed tiny man staring up at the enormous legs and ass that are passing above him. He seems to hesitate, then starts running towards the edge of the chair. I nudge him back in position, winding him with a flick of my finger. Jeff is frantically trying to call Clara, his teensy arms waving at her (but the music on the radio is covering his voice nicely). When she touches his chair, he freezes too.

How strange it must be for this big bully to watch the fragile Clara pass by, an enormous body thousands of times bigger than him. I imagine his fear now, seeing the massive thighs stop for a second in front of him. A few days ago, she was his private toy to play with and abuse. Now his toy is about to crush him like an insignificant bug, and won't even notice it. He turns to me now, shouting some plea as my giant face is hovering just behind the wooden bars. I send him a pout and a wink. He seems to start walking, but then my hand is already above him and he stops, staring in shock.

Little Cecily is not faring too well either. I watch her as she stares at the passing monstrous legs. Her hands are frantically waving too as Clara touches her chair, making it rattle against the floor. This sends Cecily on her back. Clara laughter's come from high above, drowning the midget's squeaking.

Clara is going for the choice. This time she seems to stop in front of Jeff's chair. The tiny man is looking up, transfixed in fear. All he can see I guess is the tanned thighs, joining up to the impossibly high expanse of the white panties. He probably does not even see Clara's face, below the cliff of her belly and the mountains of her breasts. I feel a slight wetness happening down below myself, and the first sign of an unexpected arousal. This is odd, i was anticipating the violence of the moment, but now I'm actually getting aroused at the sight of his impotence.

Clara starts pulling the chair a bit. “Can I sit on this one?” comes her crystalline voice, shaking me from my contemplation. “Sure, if you wish”. I'm perfectly happy with that. Seeing this little bastard crushed under the ass of his girl will be quite a reward. Clara lets a giggle out. And seems to hesitate. “Now you have me wondering. Have you booby trapped those chairs, or what?” “Nothing so crude, honey. Make up you your mind now.” I reply laughingly.

“Mmmm. Okey. So I'll go for this one.” She pushes Jeff's chair back under the table. And walk to the other one. In the middle of the wooden plain, a tiny Lawrence is trying to stand up as the chair is being pulled, failing miserably. Lawrence it is then. Good choice. This guy treated everyone around him like they were cockroaches. Only fair he dies like one now. I observe him as his gaze is fixed on the massive legs that are coming now in front of the chair.

When Clara slowly starts sitting down, the shadow of her ass and thighs is already covering the chair. Lawrence is shouting something, raising, his hands towards the falling ceiling of flesh and white fabric. On both sides of his tiny frames, two vast hands have already caught the chair. Just as the panties are about to touch him, I shout “ Stop” to Clara, she shudders and starts lifting herself up. “what? What?” She turns her face towards me, the silky scarf swooshing gently. “Hold on, there's an ant here. “ I pass my hand between her ass and the chair, pretending to swat something away. That allows me to center a fugitive Lawrence back in position. There. Nice and cozy. “It's gone”, I say. Clara carefully resumes her sitting. She's suspecting foul play. I hear a last little scream as Lawrence is touched by the fabric when the glorious derrière of his sister in law is settling slowly on the chair. When she lifts her bottom up to drag the chair under her thighs, I just have time to see a red splatter under her left cheek. I stand up again, and put my arms around a giggly Clara. One down.

As I plant a kiss on Clara's soft blond hair, I send a wink to the petrified husband on the other chair.

“Now , let me cook something for you” I say.

The Game (Part V)

Clara is giggling and chatting and laughing, while I prepare some diner for us. She obediently keeps the scarf on her eyes, while I busy myself around her. I sometime glance at her her, looking at her shapely bottom resting on the chair, under which the little shape of Lawrence is being slowly ground deeper into the fabric of her white panties at every move she makes. Big guy, small stain. I wonder what his last thoughts were, as the huge ass was coming down on him, in the last seconds when he was plunged in the shadow of the looming cheek that was coming to rest on him. I hope he was suitably scared. I make Clara taste some aperitif beverages whose recipe I take out of a book much much older than us. People often miss this aspect of the Art, under the notion that witchcraft is nothing but a malevolent practice.

I make Clara try and guess the ingredients of the drinks. In front of her I have placed an overturned glass that two little shapes are busy trying to topple. I'm glad Jeff and Cecily have a grand view of Clara, their favorite victim, as well as of my preparations. I can see Jeff beating his tiny fists against the glass. But he's so small, I don't' even hear the noise . Clara had told me he had recently destroyed all the nice glasses she had gotten for her marriage. Seems to me he's going to find it hard to break this one. How fitting. It must be strange to them to see us knocking back what must seem huge volumes of liquid in our throats. I 'm sure they harbour no doubt as to my intentions at this stage.

I open the oven and put in the sea-food vol-au-vents I have prepared for us. It will take a while to get ready. I take the glass of mango juice on the counter and have sip, looking intently at the glass on the table. Clara is telling me of her dream of moving out of town now she has had the courage to flee from her home. In the glass, the two prisoners notice my stare and go suddenly quiet. I go and sit for a while with Clara while we finish our drinks. My fingernails are tapping gently on the glass at the center of the table, creating what must be a really loud din for the little inhabitants. I see Cecily putting her hands on her teensy ears. Must sound like Hell's bells.

“Right”, I say, getting up. Let's start with an appetizer, shall we?” Clara is all for it. I bring some plates on the table, some little sauce containers, and go cutting some lemon. “So what am I doing just now?” Clara is straining her ears and sniffing heavily to catch a significant sound or smell. She ears me putting some hard objects in the plates. When the first whiff of salty smell hit her nostrils, I see her smile broadening. “Oysters!! how, this is really nice of you! I love 'em” she says clapping. “Jeff would never allow me to have some. He hates it. I always had to go out and sneak in a restaurant to get some”. “I know you love them, sweetie. But wait”, I say, I snap gently at her reaching hand.” She puts a pout on her lovely lips and withdraw her hand. I lift the glass. The two little shapes start running away from me. They are not running side by side, having decided in their panic that it was a everyman-for-himself time. Talk about family cohesion.

“Which one do you want?”

“Sorry? What do you mean?” asks Clara surprised.

“Just tell me, the one on the right or the one on the left?”

“Err, the one on the left, please.” And then she smiles. It's just another game.

“Sure”.

On the left is running little Cecily. I grab her gently between two fingers, while replacing the glass over little fleeing Jeff. I let hover over the dozen oysters neatly set in the plate in front of Clara. Her little screams are drowned in the music. I don't think Clara will hear it. I drop one one oyster. The liquid on the oyster quickly surrounds her little form and she sticks to the gelatinous mass, in spite of her furious struggling. I could swear I saw the oyster quiver when touched by the little body. After all, it may have register it's out of its water, but it probably registered some food touching too. A last supper for the little fellow. Too bad it won't have time to enjoy it. A much bigger animal is licking her lips just a yard away.

“ Okey, you can tuck in, honey, the oyster sauce is on your left, and the lemon on your right if you prefer.”

“Goodie!!” says a very happy and hungry Clara.

Her fingers wander tentatively on the right , touching the lemons. She grabs one half and touching then grabbing one oyster in her plate, she starts squeezing the fruit over the little animal. When it's done , she places the lemon on the table ( she missed the plate), and lifts the oyster to her face. Ha, she's a gobbler, obviously. No fork for the little lady. She cranes her head back , stretches out her tongue and lets the oyster fall on it. She retracts her tongues, closing her vermilion lips. She gently plays around with her tongue with the oyster and swallows it effortlessly. A very sexy smile lingers on her lips. Not a chewer either. Good. I look at the tiny form in the plate, struggling on the oyster. Cecily's eyes are fixed on Clara, her tiny face registering shock as she watches the throat accept the animal, directing it to its digestive end in the young woman's stomach. A tiny yelp comes out, and her struggle seems to intensify. Clara is already reaching for her second oyster.

I slip some oysters myself in my mouth, swallowing the little things quickly (I do not care much for the taste, but i decided it courteous to follow suit with my guest). In doing so, I really feel tempted to give little Jeff a tour of my own digestive track. After all I worked hard for the collection. But then I refrain. It's a gift to my friend Clara, and I shouldn't spoil the moment. Jeff is beside himself with terror now. I can see that, as he pounds on the glass wall. Poor guy, his brother has gone flat under his sister-in-law bottom and now he's witnessing the demise of his sister who is going to follow all these nice oysters into digestive oblivion. Tsss, tsss, shouldn't have messed with my own, dear. Oh what the hell, I decide to be humane.

I grab the little guy in the glass and delicately drop him on one oyster too. As he lands on the languid mass, a huge slurps is greeting him from above , where Clara is noisily swallowing another one. I smile, no reason he shouldn't be able to have a last chat with Cecily. Cecily has seen her brother landing on th oyster next to her. She screams in his direction and he seems to hear and turn towards her. He's about to answer when a huge female hand is looming over them. It grabs another oyster. Both of them fall silent and look at the animal above being prepared for its last trip.

Suddenly Jeff start struggling hard and actually makes it to the side of the shell. I keep chatting with Clara, while bring the tip of knife in front of Jeff, gently nudging him back in position. I just have time to withdraw the knife that Clara is reaching out for Jeff's little harbour. She lifts the shell in front of her face and, with her studious look on her face, the tip of tongue slightly protruding from her closed lips, she squeezes some lemon over the oyster. I see the little man cringe when the acidic liquid touches him, as he brings his tiny hands on his eyes. Clara sets the lemon on the table and start lining the shell with her opening mouth. A panicky Jeff is now looking at the huge face of his wife(well, soon widow). He must feel like he's watching one of these huge 360° movies, his whole vision filled with the inside of a giant looming mouth, his nose full of the lemon smell and his skin washed in Clara's hot breath . Clara's nose in a few millimeters of his shaking body. I can see he's trying to reach it, both arms extended. The oyster start to slide half way out of the shell. I watch Jeff, trying to back-pedal his way up the slippery and slimy slope.

“Stop” I say.

Clara stops inserting the oyster in her mouth. “What? What's up?

“Your oyster is full of little shell debris. Let me take it and clean it .”

“Oh. Sure, thanks.”

I take the shell from her hand. Inside, the little man is staring at me.

I sit closer to Clara and pretend to busy myself with the oyster. Of course, I do no such thing and am happy to hold the shell just level with her mouth. I want Jeff to have a better view.

Clara has picked up little Cecily and her unaware raft. Jeff is trying to reach out from the shell I hold, as his sister is being covered in lemon juice. Cecily is fighting the sting of the lemon.

“Mmmmmm, they're really good, says Clara to me. Thanks a lot. It's delicious. And it's great I don't have to look at them too.” Her tongue passes briefly on her lips as she lifts Cecily in position. The little woman is now trashing wildly, as her host is slowly sliding out of the shell. I bring Jeff closer. I'm sure he has a better view now, as Cecily disappears on the tongue of his wife. I make sure he gets a good view of Clara's throat, as it quivers in the darkness, awaiting the next delightful morsel. The slurping noise must be deafening to him and Cecily. The lips close on Cecily's last scream. I bring Jeff closer, being careful not to touch Clara, and position him just below her jaw line, where Clara's slender neck start a vertiginous descent to her giant body. When Clara swallows at last, the little lump formed by the lucky duo travels under the soft skin, one inch away from Jeff , before disappearing lower in the vast body. Above Jeff, Clara is noisily slurping the juices from the empty shell. It will ease Cecily's descent, I'm sure.

“You know, that's weird, says Clara, I could have sworn the oyster let out a tiny tiny cry when I swallowed it.”

“You have a wild imagination, Clara”, I laugh.

Clara is fumbling in the plate, feeling only empty shells now. “Ow, we have finished already?”

“Yep, that will do for now, we still have have a meal to go through you know. But before I want to take a picture . It's my game after all. I want you to keep this oyster on you navel while I go and get my camera”

“On my n... you're a weird one, you know that?”,Clara says, pointing at me (in the wrong direction) with her finger, but she nods all the same and laughs and make herself more comfortable in her chair, stretching her feet under the table as I deposit the oyster and Jeff on her slanted stomach. I run to the bedroom, grab my camera (it has no battery but hey, who knows this?) and come back. Clara is now reclining in her chair when I enter the kitchen. I don't make any noise and let the two lovers get re-acquainted (how sensitive of me) . I just watch the oyster Clara is holding on her belly, as she hums a little tune, waiting for my return. I can see Jeff trying to get himself out of his predicament. A few inches from him, Cecily must be trying to do the same, deep below the soft tanned skin, resting on a foul mattress of oysters. Just below her, the first bowel motions must have started, as Cecily digestive track is coming to life, a monstrous beast awakened by this first offering. The music prevents me from hearing, but I guess Jeff is calling her now. Wonder if she could hear him.

I took the mock picture, as promised, and collect the last oyster from Clara's hand. Putting Jeff on the table, I gobble down the little animal. “Hey, there was one left in there! You fiend! That's not fair, you let me hold it for you!” laughs Clara.

The dinner is well on its way, we have some foie gras I got from a French friend, with some Sauternes wine (1992, no less). Jeff is taking part too, as I set him in my plate so he can taste some as well. But his appetite is not what it used to be, though. He keeps staring at Clara who is now meticulously drowning Cecily under her mouthful of foie gras and wine, deep in the confines of her stomach.

I'm quite happy with my vol-au-vents. But then again, it's a favorite of mine and I usually don't mess this up. We have a great meal ( the wine is excellent). I even let Jeff enjoy a drink with Clara too. It's fun to watch his tiny shape swim in there against the current as she takes small sips from her glass. We've had a bit too much and I just have time to rush forward when Clara unexpectedly declares “Bottom up!” and starts gulping down the entire glass. I grab it just in time as Jeff is being dragged under her lip. “Hold on, princess, wine is not drunk that way, you know”. Clara giggles, but lets me take the glass from her. Jeff is sitting in shock at the bottom, staring at me. I wink at him. I do have planned a reunion of the family, but all in its own good time thank you.

Ah, Desserts. My favorite. I go to the fridge and get some profiteroles out. I place the little ice-cream filled pastries on a nice plate, the one I reserve for the special dish (too bad Clara won't see it). Clara is bringing the plates to the sink. Her beautiful body is sleek and toned to perfection. I can see her belly is sightly bulging from our meal. On the table, Jeff can have a great view now of his sexy wife ( the one he used to beat up so thoroughly with great delight before fucking her). Her bottom is level with the table. I'm sure he can spot the little red stain on her underwear, where his brother is shamelessly hugging the beautiful ass of his sister-in-law And when she turns round, her hands extended to grab the table, in her slow blinded movements, he must have a thought or two for what lies beneath the looming belly that is coming closer now. (I doubt he thinks of his sister in there, smothered under our meal, and perhaps already on her way down in Clara's intestines. He's probably moaning about his own sorry fate)

When Clara is sitting again, I bring the desserts, while the chocolate is melting bubblingly in a pan.

I scout the table for Jeff. I can't find him. Damn, where is he gone? Clara is narrating again the bad moments of her relationship in this hellish family. That leaves me time to search around. Did he jump from the table? I look around. No, hes' not on the floor. I would see him I'm sure. I answer Clara absentmindedly while desperately patrolling the kitchen. It's only when I get close to Clara that I spot him. Clever little guy. He's on Clara herself, i can see him on her thigh, struggling to lift the elastic band of her panties to hide in there. He probably figures he'd be safer close to her than out there with me. Makes sense for sure. Although that maneuver is a bit desperate, I'm sure he'd have ended up smashed against her skin at some stage. Still, I have to admire the fighting spirit of the poor little bastard. I put a kiss on Clara's brow, as she seems a bit upset by her own re-telling of the marital events, while I delicately pluck the little shape from the side of her undies. I sigh, I'm tired of the game myself and it's time to bring it to an end.

I set the little man on the cold pastries. Clara is smelling the chocolate now. She passes her tongue on her lips. “Mmmmm, smells lovely.” “Will taste even better, honey” I reply.

As I pour the chocolate on the pastries, Jeff is getting washed away by the slow hot avalanche. “Let's share those, Clara”

We both start tucking in with our spoon. Clara is awkward of course at first, but she's very determined to get her ice cream. Our spoons clash at times when I interpose mine to prevent her from crushing the little struggling form. Jeff is having a hard time dodging between the round pastries. I have to rescue him once or twice from under a collapse profiterole. He must fell like he's in mountainous landscape, while an earthquake is shaking the boulders around him. He's covered in chocolate now, and frantically running (well, sludging really) in the pool of chocolate between the pastries. Our spoon fall all around him, lifting huge amount of “terrain” to our awaiting mouth. Clara is generous in her appraisal and slurps and gobbles and makes a lot of appreciative sounds. Must not be too reassuring down there. And when he hears what she has to say about him now, I am wondering whether he has any remorse or understanding about the situation. I hope this not just a senseless nightmare for him, but that somehow he does understand what he brought onto himself, and that in his panic he does connect what Clara is saying and what is happening to him. I wouldn't put it past him to be totally impervious to the concept. Anyway, the boulders are nearly gone now. And I have to nudge him with my spoon to bring him back to the center of the plate. Far above his little head Jeff can see his wife and her chocolate covered mouth leaning closer to him, as she searches for the remaining pastries. Time to consume the marriage I think.

I gently bring two fingers around the struggling man. He sticks to them immediately, his arms and legs flaying and I stand up. I open a little match box (empty) and drop him in. I come back to the table to find Clara shamelessly licking away every ounce of chocolate from the plate. “You're a pig” I say to her. “Well you feed your pigs really well, you know” she answers in a giggle, her long blond hair actually stained from the chocolate sauce. Her nose is brown too.

Listen, Clara, in front of you I am putting three matchboxes . In one of them I have put an after eight for digestion, in another I've put a M&M, and in the other one a little chocolaty thing. I want you to sniff the boxes, find out which is which and decide which one you want to finish this meal. Does that sound doable?”

“You're crazy tonite, you know. OK, lets' have a feel for them”.

“They're in front of you, honey just grab them one by one.”

Clara is touching the first one now. She shakes it a bit, then bring her nose to it. She then inserts the tip of her tongue in the box. “Ok, that's the M&M clearly she says. I can't smell a thing but it rattles like one.” She puts it back on the table.

She grabs the other box. Jeff's box. And does the same.

I'm thinking of Jeff now in there, in the dark, as he feels the box being being lifted. Clara is jostling him quite hard against the cardboard walls. Then light is entering his little universe and a huge nostril is coming just above him and trying to dislodge him in a huge aspiration. He's probably squealing quite hard now, and I have upped the music a bit for the occasion. But boy, what a sight it must be for him when the tip of Clara's tongue enters the box, wriggling, and touching his legs (or his head, I can't say), obscuring and blocking the only exit. Clara tastes her own mouth now.“Hey that must be the chocolate thingy in there , she says happily!

“Ok, now try the last one to make sure.”

She does. “yup, that an Aftereight in there, I can smell that.”

“Good, now Clara, take a minute to think, and tell me which one you want to eat. A minute, not less.”

Ok, you weirdo, let me think.”

I guess we're coming to the end of the trip here. I have decided to let her make the last decision. I have taken onto myself to put an end to her personal nightmare in my own way. I don't regret it. And I won't mourn these losers. But I want to make sure she decides, although unknowingly, to end this charade. I owe it to her. If she doesn't end it, well, I 'll figure out something for Mister Wonderful on the table.

Must not be too cozy for him down there, waiting, like me, to know if his beautiful wife is going to gobble him up after all. The music plays while the three of us listen to it. A minute from digestion, Jeffy boy. I hope you sweat buckets.

“Okey, can I say now?

“Sure honey. Choose wisely, it's an important decision, you know.”

“Ahah sure is!” she laughs, in this beautiful crystalline laughter of hers. “I choose... I choose... I choose... tadaaa!! The chocolaty thingy!! Please please please!

I feel relieved somehow. So be it. I clearly see the matchbox start jerking at the man inside is banging against the walls, in his panic.

I take the box and gently open it. Jeff is trying to jump out of it, rushing for the exit.

“Gimmme me, gimme gimme!!” says an excited Clara.

“Take out your scarf, honey”

“Great, I was getting tired of this. She looks at me , blinks a bit, looks at the empty plates on the table,and looks at me, a spark in her beautiful eyes. Now, she stares at the box I hold in my hand with a hungry look.

“Close your eyes, put your head back, Clara ,and open wide.”

She does so, extending her tongue to the limit. “Aaaaaaaaaaa......” I wish I could look her in the eyes as I come closer, but I'm not sure I could do it then.

I take the screaming man from the box and dangle him over the wide opened mouth of his lovely wife. Her lips and tongues are still covered with chocolate smudges. As I lower Jeff, I see the many saliva strands in her mouth stretching to their limits and snapping away. Jeff's head is touching one, and it sticks to him. I lower him deep into her throat, where a hungry uvula is palpitating, the throat muscles flexing slightly. My fingers are nearly in her mouth when I drop him. Clara closes her mouth. “Don't chew it, Clara.” She looks at me quizzically, then moves the “thingy in her mouth, trying to identify it. Then she closes her eyes, swallows with a tiny gulping sound. Her eyes open. I look at her, transfixed. Jeff is gone, descending in the depths of Clara's body. I sit down.

“What was that about? It hardly tasted anything, and felt weird and soft.”

“It's called a baby oyster. It's a mollusk of some sort, and I heard the Chinese swallow those with sugar for good luck” I lie.

“Well, I sure hope it brings good luck. I haven' had too much lately” she says with a sad look. I touch her hair.

“Well as long as it does not settle on my thigh or my ass, its' fine by me” Clara says, laughing again.

“Don't worry, I say, it's just luck”.

I hear faint liquid noises from her belly. It's done then.

I get up, come closer, and finding a courage I did not know I had, I lean towards her beautiful face and plant a kiss squarely on her lips.

The end (?)

nostromo