Carly pumped both arms like pistons as she ran, her legs already rediscovering the familiar satisfying burn of powerful motion. It had been so long since she’d had some real exercise, as she’d simply been allowing her body to pale and thin during the drought of agency in that godforsaken government facility fish tank. She assumed sprinting would prove challenging for her lungs, but it wasn’t, at least not after she got the blood pumping.
If anything, all the time she’d had in solitude, letting the emotions broil in her brain rather than in her arms and legs had allowed her to pen up the strength in reserve. Her skin even seemed to glow a little closer to its more natural golden tanned hue, though she knew this couldn’t possibly be true in the cold darkness of the bunker.
Regardless, as she settled back into a groove, bounding along and touching down to the ground on the balls of her feet, it was coming back easier than she might’ve imagined. The girl’s body loved to be fed endorphins, and as she clenched her muscles, picking up the pace, it felt a little closer to the version of herself she’d once known before Jack was ripped away from her. Almost comforting.
Though not quite, as she was currently running not toward freedom, but on the rubbery path of a miniature treadmill track as it whizzed by beneath her feet, in order to run some kind of test for whoever had imprisoned her. Carly tried to let this fact roll to the back of her mind so she could just focus on the sensation of jogging, letting her heartbeat create its own percussive pattern to march to, but it was becoming harder and harder, especially with that girl standing over her obsessively tapping away on a laptop keyboard.
At first, when the hefty metal gate had swung back open into her cramped quarters, Carly assumed Claire was returning for more ominous insinuations and cocksure tosses of her fiery locks, but as soon as the silhouette had entered the space, the shrunken twenty-year-old knew she wasn’t in nearly as intimidating a grade of company. Quieter and far more composed, the figure that tiptoed meekly toward Carly’s glass cage looked like she hardly belonged at her meager stature of five-foot-four. As the stranger stepped into the light, her short raven hair framing a doll-like face of porcelain skin and olive eyes that couldn’t even drag their gaze up from the cement floor below, Carly immediately looked upon the young woman not as the comparatively towering colossus that she was, but someone equal to her three-inch height. Perhaps even a little lower.
The effect of almost laughable insubordination continued on as the woman introduced herself as Michelle and actually gave a nervous hello to Carly, clearly lacking the apathetic social dominance of Claire, and lowered a hand into the tank, laying her palm out for the tiny blonde capture to embark of her own free will.
It occurred to Carly that if she refused to climb on, more drastic measures might be employed that involved contorting her body between the iron fingers of a clawing fist, but the mere fact that she was apparently being faced with the “good cop” of this shadowy community made it awfully hard to respect them. Fighting back a pitiful chuckle at this excuse of a person, Carly hopped aboard, clutching her rag around her body and letting her bare feet sink slightly into the plush padding that comprised Michelle’s hand. As expected, the woman chose not to clamp her passenger into a closed hand, but kept her palm level and open for comfortable riding. Good.
Carly was soon transported a mere thirty paces down the metal maze of a place. It was disappointing, as the miniscule prisoner had hoped for a broader view of this place she’d need to find her way out of eventually, but she supposed this short tour of the place’s tight architecture had been purposeful on Claire’s part to keep her from wondering too much about her options.
All Carly had gotten a glimpse of as Michelle carried her out the door and into the adjacent area were a few stacked crates stamped in bold black letters with phrases in a language she didn’t recognize. Walled in like sardines, even for someone of Michelle’s more modest height and willowy body type, it seemed like a maximum of maybe three people could pass through the tinny thoroughfare shoulder-to-shoulder. The ceiling lights nearly blinded the girl as they passed beneath them, forcing her to bow a little deeper into Michelle’s palm, so used to the void had she become in her cage during the past couple of days of gratefully solitary confinement.
Passing into the next room was just as dejecting for how little it offered in the way of usable clues. Not quite as bohemian as Carly’s living quarters in design, the square box of a room housed a variety of testing implements and was wallpapered with extension cords snaking their way up from the outlets near the floor and into the ceiling. Their surfaces were too sheer for an escape climb, even if she was in her best shape, and Carly knew it.
Still, a vacation from her cage was more than welcome. There would be time to scheme later.
Twenty minutes later, here she was, warming her body and her mind with a run on what looked comically like a toy treadmill as Michelle, apparently a handler and data collecting-monkey of some sort for Claire, furiously tapped away at her notes. Carly had been given some makeshift running shoes constructed from synthetic rubber probably molded out of a 3D printer, just to ensure she could run at her normal pace and gait. Her wrists were strapped with soft padded cuffs and hooked up to the primary console of the machine to read her vitals, but were beginning to dampen as Carly ran faster. She was enjoying herself more and more now.
Glistening with a sparkling sheen of sweat, the miniaturized girl insisted on picking up the pace after Michelle softly and professionally suggested she let her know if the treadmill was going too slow, since this test was designed to push her up to her optimal heartrate for physical exertion, and she didn’t appear to be there yet.
Carly’s chest and back were soaked with a sweet layer of perspiration, painting her entire sculpted form by now as it dripped along and splattered in minute droplets to the rushing runway of the treadmill. It made the whole process easier to utilize as the landscape for one of her dreamed fantasies that, for a year and a half, only had memory and her own two hands as material. The quicker she went, slamming her little shoes into the surface below and allowing another bead of gemlike sweat to cascade down the arch of her back, eventually she was able to fade into a pattern and focus on designing her universe how she liked it.
Once she’d settled fully into the motion, running so naturally that she could’ve done it while asleep, Carly licked her sticky, partially dehydrated lips and let physical sensation become a moldable trick of the mind. Already she could experience the feeling of a tiny lump of writhing limbs and huffed breaths so small they might have gone unnoticed by anyone who didn’t love it as much as she did. The tiny form of pliable life materialized on her inner left thigh, taped soundly to her skin so that the protesting, imagined body of her brother couldn’t escape, no matter how much he cried or screamed or lied to himself about enjoying the ride just as much as Carly savored providing it to him.
Each time her leg was thrust forward, warm and pounding with each pulse of blood through her veins, the entrapped Jack was propelled forth as well. The tensile strength of the tacky adhesive strip was tested, his frail little body squeezing away and threatening to fly off ahead of the pillar of his sister’s leg in the tangle of the tape. Just as quickly, though, Carly’s foot would meet the ground with a thunderous smash, anchoring her to the earth and allowing its partner to spring forward. At this instant, then, Jack would be snapped back, slamming into the curvature of his sister’s muscular thigh again. For a blink, he’d be coddled into the godlike flesh by the sheer impact tugging him so hard into the massive thigh it was as though the laws of motion desired for him to become one with Carly’s body, and suddenly he’d bounce back.
Still squeezed into her skin, sopping by now in her sweat that lubricated his body and made it itch like hell even though he couldn’t wrestle free enough to scratch and end the irritating torment, Jack’s journey would repeat. Carly’s other thigh would sweep by, chafing his face every so slightly against the brushing onslaught and ensuring he was pressed flat back against the inner segment of her leg, mere inches away from her now-moistening crotch just above as these images played through her mind’s eye.
Everything was over in the flash of a fraction of a second, and yet each trip was a new chance to bludgeon and beat, always ending in a warm and sweat-slogged wash with her thigh: a kiss to her skin to match every blow to his skull. The jog wasn’t even thirty minutes in and already the runner’s high was about to be rivaled by the throbbing culmination of all these thoughts between Carly’s legs. It was breathtaking, for both Carly and her projected mirage of Jack.
To help pass the time and ensure her vision was cemented above the depressingly bland surroundings, the girl would allow her eyes to wander as she continued concentrating on the concept of a shrunken sibling attached to her leg. More than once, Carly caught Michelle, who couldn’t have even reached thirty years old yet, peeking down at her charge a little longer than was probably necessary to check for progress, and always instantly returned her gaze to the computer screen when the shrunken Arton would shoot her an unabashed side-glance. Smirking out of the corner of her mouth, Carly put this little quirk out of mind for the time being.
Painfully, the run came to an end after forty minutes of blissful rush, as Michelle swatted a dial on the side of the treadmill and brought it steadying down to a crawl. Once it was over, Carly detached the cuffs from around her arms, running her hands over the swollen contours of her joyfully exerted body.
God, it felt good to be back in motion, and even better to do it with the closest approximation she could create of her favorite jogging partner tucked rightfully between her legs. Absolute heaven.
“That was good, Carly. Thank you,” Michelle said quietly, speaking the longest string of words she had yet in this whole functional series of stilted exercises. She laid a hand on the tabletop where the testing implement had been placed, tapping her fingers against the edge while Carly lowered herself off, taking a seat to catch her breath and let more gleaming trickles of sweat wind their way down her body.
The rag by now hugged the angles of her body in invitingly complimentary ways, so dark and damp had it become in Carly’s effort to perform at the top of her game, and as Michelle set back to typing, it once again couldn’t help but be noticed that the woman was sneaking glances to her subject when she was clearly trying to appear busy with the typing. Carly stifled a low chuckle that went either unheard or ignored out of what was apparently embarrassment. It was enough to make the girl believe she could just sock Michelle in the nose, knock her on her ass, and march right out of here, so weak was she making herself appear.
The next series of tests weren’t quite as engagingly gleeful for Carly to participate in. Liquid samples were required from varying orifices and deposited with a needle practically as thin as a hair into tiny cylindrical bottles the size of bowling pins to the three-inch host and placed in a row next to the treadmill for collection later.
First was a sweat sample: easy enough to provide, as Carly had just pushed herself near to her current limit given the months of inactivity and produced quite the deluge of salty excretion. Michelle’s syringe with its eyelash-thin tip poked gently over the tiny girl’s skin, collecting just a few drops of liquid from different locations. First Carly’s hair, next her arms and pits, then down to her back and legs, and finally her feet, which had probably created the most liquid as they emerged from the near-sopping printouts of running shoes in their own little haze of inflamed skin and spicy musk. Samples were gathered from each miniature wrinkled sole, and placed into the little bottles.
Next was a blood test. Carly supposed this was going to be far less painful in the long run if she just went along with things for now in order to keep Michelle’s watchful eye calmed. So, she took a seat, gripping the hem of her ragged dress and clenching her bicep to allow the hairline needle to pass into her skin. Despite cringing slightly in anticipation of the possibility of having a blood vessel ripped open, Carly found the process was relatively painless as a couple scant drops of dark crimson were sucked up into the device and squeezed back into their own bottle. Only two were filled up before this stage was completed, and Carly hardly felt lightheaded. Michelle was apparently fairly adept at the practice of handling a shrunken patient with her dangerously thin instruments. It was enough to confirm for Carly at least in part Claire’s declaration that she was by no means the first shrunken guest in these halls. In some twisted way, it was a comfort to know she wasn’t going to be accidentally butterflied in the name of science, at least not until it was done intentionally.
A tear sample seemed a little redundant to Carly after all the sweat, but who was she to argue when she had trust to earn in Michelle to make escape later easier? Taking a seat in the respectful silence of her handler for a moment and tightening her eyelids, the girl allowed herself to imagine a parade of potential emotional images. The death of her parents, the death of her friends, the veritable collapse of the planet earth. None of it was particularly affecting, and left her eyes distinctly dry. The one and only thought that could earn the few necessary tears for Michelle’s sample collection was the concept that she would never possess Jack again in her entire life.
The stool sample had already been collected after Carly’s most recent bowel movement into her tiny steel toilet, but urine had to be taken in a form untainted by the tube. Luckily, after chugging her way through a few thimblefuls of water post-run, Carly was more than willing to drain it away into a cup for this peon to take. It was easy to feel a sense of smug satisfaction to be squatting over a jar and pissing into it purely so Michelle would be kept in Claire’s favor. Again, she couldn’t help but notice a stray eye glancing her way and darting back just as soon as Carly paid her handler an unembarrassed gaze and a smile as the final sample was deposited.
Once all this was completed, Carly presumed she was going to be invited into Michelle’s hand to be taken back to her cage. And judging by the young woman’s cowering personality, she half-guessed she’d be offered a cup of tea and muffins on the ride there. However, instead a final collection unit was produced and laid before Carly, and before a word had even left either’s mouth, she knew what it was for.
“Just a discharge sample, from any kind of stimulation, Carly” Michelle said, eyeing her charge’s crotch and nodding. Her cheeks flushed with some apparent anxiety over this request. “Please.”
Blinking, Carly stared down into the open ringed mouth of the container and for a second her vision swam as she pictured herself staring down into it from far above, about to do a swan dive into it.
Everything else, including an invasion into her veins and her urethra, had been provided without complaint or rebellion, but suddenly this felt distinct. For years, Carly had been able to keep this most sacred part of herself away from everyone: never allowing a boy to slide his fingers under the waistband of her panties, let alone even get a glimpse of the immaculate entryway to her nethers. This she’d been saving purely for one soul and one soul alone in the world, and no magician or supermodel on earth could’ve persuaded her to gift it any earlier than that consummation which had failed to take place a year and a half ago in her dorm room.
And now, being asked to provide it for a complete stranger, and not merely a complete stranger but one who obviously held some degree of fear and even begrudging revere toward the self-appointed little queen, was too much. Far too much. It made Carly gag, almost to the point of vomiting up into the jar instead of cumming, but she held firm.
Not today.
Ruffling the folds of her mealy gown to appear as though she might be about to comply, thus earning Michelle’s relaxed posture in the nearby swivel chair, Carly instead lunged forward, sweeping her leg out across the surface of the table and plunging her calf along the perfectly aligned sample jars. In a tiny slosh of her collected bodily fluids and a humorously squealed gasp of surprise from Michelle, the bottles all tumbled to the ground far down below, shattering and intermingling all the blood, sweat, and tears in an unusable mix.
Defiant, the tiny terror stood with her arms crossed and a sneer etched into her lips, staring down the still-shocked and evidently trembling Michelle.
“Oops,” Carly snarled.