You shiver, cowering coldly and so scared you feel like you might vomit, as you wait helplessly in the tight grip of your cousin Chloe’s fist.  Currently, you find yourself residing in her possession as she reclines on the other guest room bed in your house, the door locked tightly, keeping all others out, including any hope you have right now for a rescue.

                Finally, her grip loosens, and, gasping, you sprawl out in her hand, which she leaves palm up.  As you begin to stand up, you feel two fingers from her other hand come smashing down onto your back, forcing you flat against her palm.  A moment later, you feel her two fingers stroking up and down your lower back and legs, and over your Kleenex toga.  The pressure from her digits is so strong you doubt it would be of much use trying to stand up right now.

                “I can’t believe you’re real.  You’re actually… real… in my hands…” she gasps, continuing to stroke you roughly, completely mesmerized.

                “Chloe… Chloe… please, stop, stop,” you gasp, and she actually obliges, finally allowing you to pull yourself upright in her palm.

                “What is it, little guy?”

                “I’m not just… a little guy.  I’m your cousin.”

                “What do you mean, you’re my cousin?” she giggles.  “You’re not my cousin.  You’re a tiny little man.”

                “Right.  But… I’m… JACK.  You know me, right?” you say as innocently and gently as possible.

                She squints at you for a moment, then slowly begins curling her upper lip into a sneer.  “No, you’re not.  You’re not Jack.  You can’t be.”

                “Chloe, please, I know it’s hard to believe, but…”

                “Jack died like five years ago.  And besides, you can’t be Jack.  Jack is normal.  You’re tiny.  Like… a bird.  Or a mouse.  Or a doll…”

                “I know that, Chloe.  Please believe me.  It was an accident.  I didn’t die, I was just… made smaller… somehow, and…”

                Your words are cut off as Chloe’s fingers find their way to the hem of your Kleenex toga and begin pinching playfully at it.  She smirks coyly.  “What’s under there, little guy?”

                “Please… stop, these are my… clothes,” you answer slowly, knowing how ridiculous you sound.

                She laughs loudly, throwing her head back and letting her blonde bob cut bounce cutely before returning her gaze to you.  She stares at you so condescendingly, you assume she finds you to be the dumbest creature she’s ever laid eyes on, and your education has become her responsibility.  “These aren’t clothes, little guy.  This is a TISSUE.”

                “Right, but it’s all I’ve got, and…”

                “Tissues aren’t for clothes.  Not even for little people like you.  Tissues are for sneezing.”

                “True, but…”

                “Like THIS!” she giggles, dipping her face suddenly much closer to her hand holding you.  You collapse again, splaying once again in her palm.  Her massive nose descends quickly on you, and an instant later is being rubbed hard against your clothes.  For a moment, you come face to face with the wide bridge of her nose, and can make out all the individual pores and microscopic dabs of skin oil.  And then, she begins demonstrating her point, rubbing her nose from side to side against your tissue.  You can feel the bumping and sloping of her nostrils against your body through the fabric of the tissue, you can hear a wet snorting sound, and after a second you can feel thick moisture dampening your skin as she slabs some mucus into the fibers.  You cringe, trying to squirm away, but it’s no use as your cousin continues using your clothes to wipe her runny nose.

                This continues for a very painful thirty seconds or so, much of your chest and stomach being draped in the now thoroughly mucus-coated Kleenex, which feels heavy and disgustingly damp against your cold skin.  You shiver, but hold firm.  Gotta keep it together still.

                Chloe wipes her nose unabashedly and sniffs hard to clear out her nasal cavity at long last, then grins down at you.  “See?  That’s what they’re for.  Now…”

                “No… please, Chloe, listen, I…”

                “I think this needs to come off now.”

                “No!” you gasp as she pinches at the hem of the Kleenex and tugs.  As the material of the tissue has already been so saturated and weakened by her liquid mucus, the soft paper shreds off of your body easily, and the next instant you are laying horribly embarrassed, naked and exposed, in the somewhat moist palm of your cousin.

                “See?  Isn’t that so much better?” she snickers before raising an eyebrow.  “What did you say your name was again?”

                “It’s JACK!  I’m Jack, your cousin, JACK!”

                Chloe wrinkles her nose as if smelling something rotting.  “No.  I don’t like that.  That’s not your name.”

                “What are you talking about?  Of course it is!  Chloe, please, just stop this right now, you’ve got to LISTEN to me!” you beg, shifting your body so as to more strategically cover up your horribly exposed genitals.

                You gasp as Chloe’s fingers curl in on you, crumpling you awkwardly back into her fist.  Her fingers are quivering, and you can feel cold perspiration softening her clammy palm as she clasps you against it firmly.  The experience of cradling a tiny person in her hands is obviously a bit more than the girl’s nerves can handle adequately.

                “Your name’s not Jack anymore.  It’s…” she whispers slyly, grinning deviously at you.  “…Kenny.”

                “What?”

                “That’s right.  Your name’s Kenny, not Jack.  You know, like Barbie’s husband.  Like the doll.  And that’s the way it’s going to be.”

                “What do you mean, that’s the way it’s going to…”

                “Well, I mean, you HAVE to have a name, you know, if you’re going to be my pet.”

                “Chloe…” you croak weakly.  “I’m not just something you can… t-take…”

                “Oh, yeah?  Well, finders keepers, little mister!” she chuckles.

                “Chloe, listen to me closely.  Remember me?  Look at my face.  Please.  It’s me, Jack, I…”

                “Stop lying about your name, Kenny.  And besides, I don’t have to listen to you if I don’t want to.  You can’t do anything about it.”

                “C-C-Chloe… n-no…” you wheeze as your lungs are once again constricted by the punishing fingers of your youthful cousin.

                “Yep.  That’s right.  No more talking.  If I want you to talk, I’ll tell you, but if I don’t, you get to be quiet.  Got it?”

                You cough weakly, unable to muster the will to say anything at this moment, your chin drooping forlornly.  You can practically feel the tears welling in your eyes already.

                “Good,” coos Chloe smugly, her dimples forming radiantly in her slightly chubby cheeks.  “Don’t be sad, Kenny.  I’m a nice girl, I promise.  And I’ll take good care of you.  But you have to promise to do everything I say, or else…”

                You stare upward again from your depressed hanging head position, into the towering, angelic face of Chloe, looking so expectant and calm about the whole situation as she holds a naked twenty-two-year-old in her fist as if he was a plastic doll.  You grimace a little, and feel a tear roll down your cheek.

                “You’re going to like me, Kenny, I can tell.  You’re a good little guy.  You’re probably the best pet I’ve ever had.  Really, I’ll make sure you have everything you need.  I’ll get you some food and water from the pet store, I’ll get you a little cage, maybe even a little wheel if you want one.  I mean, I guess I’m going to have to hide you under my bed so my parents don’t see you, but mostly, I promise I won’t keep you there.  I’d rather play with you, anyway,” she states snidely, finally releasing her death grip on your body and allowing you to splay, wheezing for oxygen, back into her sweaty palm.               

                After giving you a moment to pant from the strain of being squeezed, your cousin speaks up even more perkily than before.  “Where did you come from, Kenny?”

                “My house, I told you that, I…”

                “No.  Stop lying.  You’re not Jack.  You’re Kenny.”

                “I’m not LYING, I’m…”

                “Are there more like you?” gasps Chloe, the thought occurring to her as her eyes simultaneously light up with greed and hunger.  “Do you have a tiny little family somewhere?”

                “No.”

                “Awww… no tiny little wife?”

                “No.”

                “No tiny little kids?”

                “No!”

                “Are you sure?  I’d take good care of them, too, I promise.  I’d put them in their own little cages, and I’d play with them too to make sure they’re happy.”

                “Chloe, I don’t HAVE a little family, because you ARE my family, I…”

                “I’m getting sick of your fibbing,” whispers Chloe sternly, closing her fingers back over your mouth to silence you, balling you up into her hot fist again like a crumpled piece of paper.  “And besides, I don’t like you calling me just… Chloe.  That’s stupid.  You’re my pet, you have to call me something different.”

                “Mmff… mmf… what?” you gasp, fighting to get her thickly padded fingertip off of your lips, almost angrily as you struggle for breath in her tight fist again.

                “That’s right.  From now on, you don’t just call me Chloe.  You call me…” drawls your cousin, thinking it over.  She hums for a moment in deep thought, before sighing with relief.  “You have to call me Princess Chloe.”

                “Princess… WHAT?”

                “Not Princess What, Princess Chloe.  And if I don’t hear the princess part…” she warns softly, squeezing with even more crushing pressure in her sweltering, doughy fingers.  “…I won’t want to play with you anymore.”

                “You… you w-won’t?” you gulp.  You’re not sure what it is, but somehow this simple, nonchalant statement of fact sends a fresh chill down your spine.

                “Nope,” she answers matter-of-factly, shaking her head.  “Something bad will happen to you instead.”

                “What?” you whimper, struggling uselessly against the muscular fingers gripping you.

                “I’ll show you,” she says, reaching forward closer to the end of the bed and releasing her fingers a few inches from the bed cover.  You plop down on the soft surface, just a bit beyond the ends of her idly wiggling bare toes.  Confused, you turn and stare up at her still-reclining form.  “Go ahead,” she prompts.  “Call me Chloe.”

                “C-C-C-Chloe…” you cough nervously, having a feeling this was required of you.  “But please, really, I believe you, I…”

                “Oops!  THAT’S not good!” she laughs piteously at you.  “You didn’t call me by my name.”  Smugly, she lifts her left leg high into the air, fully extending it.  She rotates her ankle a few times, and arches her foot a few times high above, wrinkling her sole, wriggling her short toes.  Then, all at once, it descends like a missile of firm muscle and doughy flesh onto your doomed body.

                Almost shrieking, you dash off to your side as fast as you can, but you already know that escape is going to be impossible.  A dark shadow casts slowly over you as you sprint.  You stare up at your cousin’s face pleadingly, seeing only a grinning, triumphant gleam in her eyes.  You blink, and the next thing you see is her gleefully squirming, juicy toes, each one larger than your head, arching themselves aggressively mere inches from your face as her foot slams roughly down onto your body.

                For a moment, you are pinned firmly to the bedspread, buried in the sheets by the heavy, cold weight of Chloe’s foot flesh.  You can feel the arch of her sole sliding sleekly over your body, until finally her toes rest on top of you.  Scrunching banefully over your cowering body, she grips you between two of her thick, supple toes, twisting you around her big toe in the process.  Your air catches in your lungs as you instinctively wrap your arms around her smooth toenail for grip support as you are lifted off the bed about two feet into the air by this method.

                “THIS is what happens when you call me the wrong name, Kenny,” explains your cousin calmly, keeping you still in the devilish grip of her squishy digits, her tender toe flesh caressing you gently, kneading you around their grip as she continues to speak.  You quiver in soreness and fear.  “Do it again, and I won’t just do this.  I’ll STOMP on you!” she chuckles warmly, clearly enchanted with the fun of such a concept, giving you an extra hard squeeze with her toes on this final word.  “I’ll put you on the floor, and I’ll tell you to run.  But you won’t get very far from me.  I’m soooooo much BIGGER than you!” she laughs victoriously, swinging her leg up and down like a roller coaster, sending you on a bumpy ride as you remain in the wicked clutches of her firm toes.  “And I’d come up behind you, and I’d raise my leg waaaaaay up over you like a big tower!  And then…” she coos, suddenly lowering her leg with a softened crash to the bedspread, pressing you back down into the sheets with her toes.  “…and then I’d SMUSH you EVERYWHERE.  Like Jell-O.  Allllll oooooover the place!” she sings, relishing the emphasis on each sickening word.

                For a few moments, Chloe wriggles her toes powerfully over you as a final reminder of her dominance, burying you in cushy, peachy foot flesh and the overpowering, wretchedly sticky stench of a girly bubble gum body wash scent practically emanating from Chloe’s pores.  At long last, the burly grasp of Chloe’s rampaging foot comes to an end, and her toes release you roughly onto the bedspread, defeated.  You fight back to a standing position and turn to watch Chloe’s leg return to its original position, resting comfortably on the bedspread.

                Now, filled with newfound fear of the sight, you nervously eye Chloe’s feet as they rest but a few short steps away from you, her soft toes curling deeply into the sheets as if reminding you of the incredible muscle behind each piggy.  She sighs, extending them upward to stretch, and you cringe to see the pink, toe-printed undersides again of each digit, fully reminded of the horrible sight of them descending on you like hungry predators.

                “So you’d better listen to me,” smirks Chloe, her green eyes glowing in that all-too-familiar way of someone completely power drunk.  Somehow, all of this reminds you of an experience you had just about five years ago, and the similarity to it all makes the tears start flowing again.  “So.  Now that you know, Kenny.  What’s my name?”

                “P-P-Pri…” you gasp, choking back a low sob at your predicament.

                “Huh?” she questions lightly.

                “Princess Chloe,” you swallow painfully, staring at the ground.

                “There.  That’s much better sounding, isn’t it, little guy?” she whispers, extending an arm.  You don’t even fight it as her fingers wrap themselves around your naked body like boa constrictors again, gripping you against her nervously damp palm and lifting you back up like a doll.

                “Yes,” you state simply.

                “Yes, what?” she asks cutely, clearly wanting the whole thing.  You sigh dejectedly.

                “Yes, Princess Chloe.”

                “Good.  Now bow to your princess,” she says, hardly able to contain her giggles.  “Right now.”

                Gulping, you oblige, dropping to your knees and laying your arms on the ground in reverence to the twelve-year-old goddess reclining before you who has apparently taken full responsibility for calling all the shots in your one-sided relationship.  Looking back up at her, you rise to your feet again.

                She beams proudly at your obedience.  “I love you so much, Kenny.  I can’t wait to show you your new home.  You’ll like it a lot, I promise.”  Gently, a pair of her fingertips extend upward and begin tickling your chest with the utmost care, her eyes focused intently on your face.  “You’re excited about it too, aren’t you, Kenny?”

                “Yes, Princess Chloe,” you practically weep.

                She nods approvingly.  “That’s right.  You’re such a good little boy for me.  I wish I had more of you…” she drawls sadly for a moment, clearly enamored with the idea of having an entire set of tiny people at her disposal to toy with and tease at her leisure.  “But it’s okay.  You’re all I need.”

                Slowly, you watch as Chloe’s legs swing out over the side of the bed as she stands back up tall on the carpeted floor with a hard smack of her feet to the ground.  “Now.  Let’s play a game together, little cutie.  I promise I’ll let you win… sometimes…” she snickers maliciously, reaching down greedily for your naked body again, scooping you up, and squeezing you tightly and lovingly in her warm, soft fist.