looking for Mr.Evilguy The Incredible Shrinking Teen
and rest of
Plaything by kate
William was boring. His scope of life didn’t extend beyond his trivial passions: video games, sci-fi, anime, spy paperbacks, cable TV and keeping on top of the latest in technology. He hadn’t slept with a woman since college and the few times he tried to get out of his house in Palm Springs were pitifully unsuccessful. Invariably he would retreat to a corner or hand around the edge of the dance floor nervously bobbing his head and shuffling a little to the whumping beat as he stared at the girls. He wanted them, the blondes, goths, trendies, asians, and glamour girls, but the haughty way they held themselves, their tight clothing- sophisticated or outrageous- and their cruel red lips held him back. Too intimidated to approach, he’d watch helplessly as they strutted, danced, and invariably disappeared with a group of chattering girlfriends or a prowling alpha male. Returning home he’d breathe a sigh of dissapointment and relief and turn on Dragnet or cartoons, trying not to berate himself for being a shameless lecher as well as an impotent coward. He was, in short, a looser.
But William was a very wealthy looser. His immaturity and countless hours frittered away in front of the computer had made him somewhat of an expert on technology and youth trends. He’d helped finance the extension of Telletubbies from the U.K. to America, invested in the import of Sailor Moon and the even more lucrative introduction of Pokemon to US children. He was on top of the latest in life enhancement, from better cell phones reception to clearer TV imaging. In his most successful venture he had brought over the Tomogachi craze from Japan. He had built up the project from the ground level; it was under his influence that the model marketed to westerners was developed (featuring a ressurectable chick to accommodate the irresponsibility of American kids). In spite of bastard rip-offs like Giga-pets, he’d made a fortune, and now enjoyed the cushy job of trying out prototypes of computer games and gadgets and predicting for the companies how to modify, if possible, their product for American consumers.
So it was no surprise to William when UPS dropped off a package the size of a milk crate plastered with cautionary stickers warning FRAGILE in both Japanese and English from Ban Dai Corporation, Tokyo. Ban Dai was high tech, but most of the stuff they’d sent him was way too weirdly Japanese to ever market in the US. As far as really Japanese products went, the manga and anime doo-dads were usually a safe bet, but William had learned that the Japanese have a very different idea of what’s fun than Americans. The only item of theirs he’d been able to push in the US was the Tomagachi, and even that was weird enough that the craze, though lucrative, did not last long. He thought back to the last product they’d sent him, almost a year ago; he vaguely remembered a small and technologically sophisticated hologram generator which produced some very lifelike but bizarre cutesy things doing… well, he’d never been able to figure out what the hell was going on. The music was way off, too; spooky but really catchy. The irksome jingle came back to him as he carefully cut open the box containing whatever it was they’d been cooking up in the year since he rejected the toy.
Inside the box, nestled in layers of foam packing, was a package full of brightly colored pills and a second packed with white pills, a small black sealed baggie and an instruction sheet along with a request for evaluation from the people at Ban Dai. He’d nearly forgotten this job in the weeks since the company had contacted him; fifteen hundred dollars for his expert opinion. William smiled smugly, satisfied with the knowledge that he’d come so far that money rolled into his bank account for playing with a new toys. He settled back to examine the products more closely.
While the business letter was written pretty fluently, the enclosed instructions were a mess of typically garbled English. He scanned them; they seemed simple enough. “OK,” William said “I am opening black baggy of SODATSU NA ON’NA NO KO with gently and put in lighted place.” He carefully opened the airtight plastic bag and took a look at SODATSU NA ON’NA NO KO.
It was an egg. Slightly larger and more round than a regular egg, the thing was spongy and white but pearly. The multicolored sheen of the opalescent surface looked tacky, and William decided it was a girl toy. Typical “chibi” and “kawaii”. He turned it around, couldn’t find any buttons or seams and, shrugging, set it on the counter under the kitchen lamp.
Nothing happened. After ten minutes of staring at the damn thing, William flipped on the TV, glancing from time to time at the soft, shiny egg.
When “Three’s Company” broke for commercial, he looked again, aware that he’d gotten too absorbed in the show to check on the egg for some time. He couldn’t see any change from his seat but he went over to check more closely anyhow. No American kid would be patient enough to sit around this long waiting for their new gadget to start working. Something must have happened by now, he thought.
And indeed it had. A small part of the egg was protruding slightly; he could actually see the distended part moving subtly. The tiny pulse in the spot intensified into a definite push from the inside. Hatching, William figured. Makes sense. He grew juvenilely impatient, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, anxious to see what the hell was going to come out.
He had predicted something ridiculously cute, befitting the girly shimmer of the egg, but nothing prepared him for the tiny figure that finally broke out from the spongy shell and crept out, gleaming wetly with the egg’s thick fluid, onto the counter to lie, heaving, in the light of the kitchen lamp. It was a girl. A tiny, naked girl- no, a woman; she had full breasts and a wisp of pubic hair that matched the dense purple hair on her head. “Jesus H. Christ,” William mumbled aloud, “how the hell did they put that together?” What was it made of? Was it- she- alive? Whatever she was, it wasn’t human; she looked exactly like an anime babe: huge eyes quivering with beads of light, shiny purple hair falling into perfect soft spikes, enormous (well, proportionally) tits, the works. He was dumbfounded. And then she spoke.
“Mika!” It was a small, high-pitched voice. What did “Mika” mean? Was that her name? Did she need something? Without taking his eyes off the little living doll, he stepped away and quickly fumbled for the instructions. Under “care” he read that, according to the shitty language of the directions, he was supposed to give it food and water, like a pet, and the instructions referred him to the bag of colored pills marked “esa na ni naru”.
On closer inspection, he realized that the brightly colored contents were not pills but some kind of solid pellet; they looked more or less like really big rainbow sprinkles. What the hell was in those things? Worry about that later, William decided, and scuttled back to the counter to feed the tiny girl, who was lying limply from the exertion of hatching. At his approach, she picked up her head and fixed him with those unnaturally huge, dilated eyes. “Mika!” she whined. He selected a blue candy-pill-thing for her and extended his hand. “Mika! Mika!” she yelped and sprang to her feet, dancing from one foot to the other and raising both arms to grab at his fingers. She snatched it eagerly and immediately started biting into it with greedy hunger.
William took out his notepad and tried to think how to record what had just happened. Under the last entry of “No change” he noted the time and recorded the amount of food given, the utterance that was, presumably, her name, and a description of her features. He searched around in his desk and finally found a ruler to check her dimensions. No tape measure, but he figured he could measure her proportions with string and then measure that. Getting her to stand still long enough to be measured was tricky, but with some coaxing she stood upright and he measured her height at 3.8 in. The string method worked pretty well, her dimensions came out to 2.5, 1.3, 2.2 inches. Outlandish for a human…. well, outlandish for an ordinary woman. He weighed her in at just over a pound, with Mika more or less cooperating. She was a little skittish, but seemed to understand that he wasn’t going to hurt her. What did she make of all this? Could she even think? William was at a loss. She whined again and he gave her another colored “esa”. He watched as the downed the second, then began to explore his messy countertop.
She sniffed around in circles before making her way over to Mike’s Dilbert mug still half full of sludgy coffee from this morning. Her fingertips just barely reached the rim, and she stepped back, cocked her head and asked “Mika?” A few more steps took her to the handle, which she shinnied up to perch on the rim of the mug, sniffing and wrinkling her all-but-invisible nose. She gave a little yelp of delight when she saw her reflection in the murky coffee, and began tilting her head and admiring herself with a satisfied insect purr. Reaching up to coyly brush her hair, Mika lost her grip and fell foreword into the mug. Plip. Michael quickly emptied girl and coffee into the sink. The girl, purple hair all muddy with coffee, was spitting and gagging at the bitter taste but seemed otherwise ok.
“You’re lucky that shit wasn’t hot, little Mika-thing,” Michael said as he rinsed her gently, wondering what he was supposed to do with her. He referred to the instructions and saw glossy pictures of plastic SODATSU NA ON’NA NO KO habitats ranging from tiny to enormous “depending on how much roaming space you want her to have,” Michael figured. Well, he wasn’t going to shell out for one of these plastic playgrounds for a test sample, he decided. Not when he still had the terrarium left behind by Basilisk, the iguana that had escaped and turned up dead under the couch three weeks later. It was three and a half feet by two and a good two and a half high, with a little lamp, fake rocks and a water dish. “Well, baby,” he told Mika, “it aint a little jap penthouse, but it’ll have to be good enough for you.”
It was not good enough for her. Mika held her tiny nose and, gesturing at the iguana crap encrusting the glass walls, yelled “Mi-KA!” at him. “Sorry, babe,” Mike said, placing the screen cover on the glass tank. He dashed off a few more observations, then watched Mika circle the terrarium, finally curling up catlike in a corner. He stared at her tiny body for a long time, watching her impossible breasts rise and fall as she breathed in and out. He couldn’t help thinking that if she weren’t a toy-pet-product and if she were life-sized…. He suddenly snapped back to reality and shook his head, aware of his slight but waxing hardness and unnerved by it. “Sweet dreams, Mika,” he whispered, and snapped off the light as he left the room.
At three am he was awakened by an insistent cry of “Mika-Mika-Mika-Mika-Mika…” He groaned, rolled over and tried to sleep through it, but she seemed to have sensed that he was awake because her cries changed in pitch; her calls became insistent, demanding. “Mmmrrrgh,” and he was out of bed, fumbling for the light switch. “Like a goddamn Tomogachi,” he thought. Like a baby.
Mika was no baby. He could see from her indignant expression when he approached her terrarium that she was all woman, and a high-mainanance one at that. She scowled at him as though he’d stood her up for a big date, and her womanly fury actually made her even more unbearably cute; her breasts bobbing as she huffed, sticking out her lower lip and tossing her head. “Heh heh heh, all riled up, huh?” “Mika,” she said coldly, her wide eyes narrowed to thick-lashed slits with derision. “What what what?” he asked, taken aback, then realized he was being rebuked by a toy, whipped by less than four inches of a girl. No fucking way. But a second glance at Mika, fuming like an incensed cat, rattled his feelings of domination, and he reached for the bag of colored food pellets, eager to get this over with.
“There, ya happy?” he asked, proffering a green one. The little vixen snatched it from his fingertips and gave him a disdainful, yet forgiving “Mika.” He tossed in a couple more in case she got hungry again, and filled the dish with water. As he was replacing it, he noticed how dirty the bowl was and, without thinking, immediately returned to the kitchen to scrub it before offering it to his demanding ward. She seemed pleased with the water dish and, after admiring herself in the reflection yet again, rinsed her face and hands, and even allowed him to very carefully stroke her hair with one fingertip. It was softer than a robin’s breast. He remained caressing her, transfixed, until she rose to her feet, stretched her lithe and voluptuous body and dismissed him with a nod. Michael returned to his room and crawled back into bed. Lying, waiting for sleep, he could still feel her smoothness against his fingertips.
Morning found Mika still curled up and dozing in the slice of sunshine that fell across her body from the chink in the blinds. Her glossy hair was rumpled. “Morning, sweet thing,” Mike said, and Mika mumbled and snuggled her head further into her folded arms, clearly determined to wake up when and only when it suited her. Smiling, Michael went through the coffee-making ritual and munched on a frosted Pop Tart, unfolding the newspaper. He forced himself to read most of the cover stories, a facsimile of adulthood he’d purposely adopted, before allowing himself to flip to the comics. Today’s Ziggy made no sense and the Family Circus, as always, turned his stomach, but he read it anyway.
“Too bad she’s too little to cook,” he thought, remembering the stacks of pancakes and those little sausage patties his mother used to churn out. The place could certainly use a woman’s touch; the house was masculine by default and sloppiness. Where worthless nostalgia like Happy Meal toys weren’t crowding the tabletops, empty beer cans, CD and DVD collectors edition boxes stood under a film of dust alongside vestiges of manliness, like the enormous lighter shaped like a tiger (Mike didn’t smoke) and expensive hunting knives that were lucky to see use if he needed to open a bag of Fritos. Movie posters took up the wallspace along with a Jimmy Hendrix, an M.C. Esher print, a blacklight spiral (throwbacks to college days he couldn’t part with) and a mounted pair of stag antlers, which he couldn’t remember acquiring. Yessir, if she were life-sized, his little woman could really make the place a little tidier, at least. Mike had never fully adjusted to independent living, and in spite of degree, career, bulging bank account and house, Mike still lived like he was a college student, slumping around while waiting for the next deadline or party. That’s another thing, he thought, becoming once again acutely and uncomfortably aware of his loneliness. I’d screw her little jap brains out if she were life sized. In a second. He glanced at the tank and was gratified to see Mika stretching and rubbing her eyes.
“Hey, you.” Mike approached the terrarium and inspected Mika. She flashed him a smile and held out her hands for another pellet. Damn, she’d finished both the extras he’d thrown in last night and still she wanted more. How long was she going to keep eating like this. He handed her a pink pellet, teasing “you’re gonna get fat if you don’t look out, sweetie.”
He did a double take. Had she gotten fatter? He examined her more closely. Nope, still trim and curved like an obscene hourglass, but she did look heavier somehow. Bigger, he realized. He mulled that over. Makes sense, he thought, the program has to have some sort of direction or, personality aside, she’d be no different from any pet like his late iguana. Go over well with girls, too- the whole mothering thing. Good design feature, he decided, and waited for her to finish the two yellows he’d fed her before attempting to measure her. When she’d finished licking her fingers, Mike lowered his hand into the tank, palm open and Mika, understanding, stepped into it. She seemed to be catching on to the ruler bit, too. She stood up straight and grinned as he checked her height. Was she aware she was growing? It would seem so; she gestured towards her expanded chest and held her head high. Well, high being 4.5 inches, but what a spurt for less than a day! Incredible, Mike thought. At least he now knew why she was eating so damn much; he’d been wondering if maybe she weren’t like on of those goldfish that just keep eating as long as you feed them, right up to the minute they go belly-up with a busted gut.
Mika strutted for a few minutes, and further explored the countertop. She gave the coffee a wide berth, and instead scrambled nimbly up a pile of empty pizza boxes and food containers, surveying the room from the top. She then leapt like a deer, diving towards and grapping ahold of, the telephone cord. She shimmied up the coils, examined the entirely uninteresting mouthpiece of the telephone, and then clambered back down to the lowest point of the loop, where she swung idly back and forth, legs braced against the wall.
Michael observed her play and added “physical coordination and activity” to his notation on her size increase. No wonder Ban Dai offered such big pens for these things, all full of ladders and wheels and swing-bars. These SODATSU NA ON’NA NO KOS were highly active and curious; he would have to teeny-girlie-proof his house, the thought, surveying all the potential dangers on the countertop and lying on the floor. Those hunting knives, the lighter, the outlets…. He checked back to make sure Mika hadn’t already gotten into trouble and was shocked to see that, still braced by her legs against the wall, she’d straddled one side of the phone cord loop and was grinding her pelvis against the plastic cord between her legs. “Jesus H. Christ!” he said, and approached his brazen pet, who continued wriggling and emitted an audible purr and short squeaks of pleasure. Mika turned her head and saw him standing beside her, mouth open, and slid him a sexy, slow smile through sultry, half-closed eyes. “Meeeeeka,” she cooed in a husky, breathless voice, and spread her slender legs wider. He could smell her desire, rising off her in waves of sweetness underscored with the thick, raw female scent of a heated animal. Christ! They could never sell such a thing to kids, Mike decided as his mind recovered from the shock. He shook his head to clear it, trying not to be overpowered by her sweet-musk sex smell, and pulled her carefully off the phone cord. A filmy smear of her wetness shone on the cord as it settled against the wall.
Mika, however, did not cease her motions, but continued to thrust her pelvis at nothing as he held her, facing away from him, by the waist. She emitted a small whine at the cessation of stimulation, and twisted her hot, moist body in Mike’s hand, so that she lay on his palm and coiled her legs around his index finger. Mike watched helplessly as she began to slowly humping his finger, nuzzling his second knuckle with her silky purple head. What was he supposed to do? He could feel the warmth and sticky dampness of her crotch, and her (proportionally) huge and perfectly round breasts bobbed with a frenetic motion that was both lewd and exquisite. His feeling of shock was being superceded with an intense fascination that was more than purely academic. Mike had never seen a woman so genuinely turned on before, so shamelessly pleasure-drunk, and his body responded, heedless of the strange nature of the source of his arousal. Unconsciously he urged her on, as her thrusts became more frantic and her huffing and gasps were punctuated by short, sharp squeaks of “Mika! Mika!”.
Before he could decide what to do, Mika’s body made a final, violent thrash against his finger, and she climaxed in a spurt of girl juice and a shriek of agonized pleasure “Miii-kaaaaa!”. She collapsed, sprawled across his palm, legs dangling, and gazed up at him through sated, half closed eyes, still panting. She giggled and chirped “Mika” softly like a naughty child. Mike set her down gently on the arm of the sofa and collapsed against the cushions, unaware that his left hand had found its way to his crotch. She slowly, mindlessly pumped her legs against the soft upholstery, and let her hands wander to her big breasts to aimlessly caress their still-stiff nipples, as her body wound down from her violent climax. Mike slumped, dazed, and wondered what to make of it all.