One day, men and women on that Earth shrank. Ever since then, some of them shrink by a process that no one can quite identify. The 'normal' humans mistrust the shrunken, who they refer to as 'sylphs,' so to control them have declared such people to be a form of Exotic Pet. They belong to whoever finds them and are less than second-class citizens. I've found his little world of little people fascinating and inspiring. So i've written a few stories that take place there. Nothing ambitious, the stories aren't connected in any way but being the same world, and aren't even arranged in anything like a chronological order. Those are in 'Land of the Sylphs.' One particular sylph in that story set seems to have taken on a life of her own. So here are Annie's chronicles. So far. ============================================================ Annie I: Amnesty (Chronological index: After Ray's graduation, before meeting Denise) ====================== Sharon arrived while I was removing the pork loins from the marinade. With no answer at the front door, she followed her nose around to the back patio in time to open the cover on the grill for me. As the loins started to sizzle, we kissed hello and she went in through the kitchen. I'm pretty sure she was aware that I watched her as she walked through the doorway, admiring the view. I heard her talking to Annie, but couldn't hear the replies, of course. She took over assembling the salad, chatting through the open window with me. "Should I set the table?" "No," I told her, "the time that takes is exactly as long as the meat should stand before carving." She muttered something about hyper-efficient engineers, but left the table alone. Five minutes on a side and the pork was done. I closed the vents to smother the coals and brought the meat inside. It stood on the butcher's block while I set plates, drinks and the high chair on the table. The smell of barbequed pork flooded the house, heightening everyone's anticipation of dinner. That's the real reason I plan a delay into the service on nights I use the grill. Never told Sharon that, of course, it would seem manipulative. Or worse, overly concerned with efficiency. Finally, we sat to dinner: Sharon against the window, me beside the pass-through, and Annie on her chair in the middle of the table. I enjoyed the comparison between the two: Annie's long black hair curling over her shoulders to Sharon's short red locks; the tight dress on Annie to the more relaxed jeans on Sharon; and of course the comparative sizes of the two. Times like this, I feel very, very lucky. Annie volunteered to say grace, for Sharon's benefit, and we started eating. The girls told me that my efforts compared favorably to professional chefs, and Sharon mentioned a place we'd been to recently. "Oh, the night of the crime-against-mankind-musical," Annie said. Everyone froze. "You didn't like that movie?" Sharon asked carefully. "I never said that," I pointed out. "It's just that with Clint Eastwood, I didn't expect musical numbers." "He sang in Paint Your Wagon," Annie contributed. "You're in enough trouble," I told her, still watching my girlfriend. "Why is she in trouble?" "She revealed something spoken in confidence. She has to be punished." The sylph in question stood, pulled her hands into her blouse, and removed her bra through a sleeve. She dropped it into my hand and I put it on the cupboard. She sat back down and we started eating again. "What was that for?" Sharon asked. "It's part of her conditioning," I explained. "As long as she's unsupported, she has a reminder that she's broken a rule. And the punishments get worse as the behavior does." Annie was in some sort of mood that night, because she offered up another comment: "And, little women without underwear get picked up more often." "ANNIE!" I said sharply. She immediately stood and reached under her skirt. I put her panties on the cupboard with her brassiere. "So, what, she's eventually going to get naked?" Sharon asked. "If she doesn't shape up," I said, eye on my sylph. NOW she was head down over her plate, concentrating on the sliver of pork I'd given her. "What did she mean, 'picked up' more often? What does her underwear have to do with…?" Sharon's eyes opened with surmise. "Do you peek up her dress when she's…?" "Peek? Honey," Annie snorted, "he raises periscope and locks on target." She glanced up from the shocked look on our guest to the narrowed brow on my face. "Well," she said, lifting the hem of her blouse, "it was worth it." "Stop," I said, holding up a hand. "What's gotten into you, tonight?" She just stared back at me. "Okay, Amnesty," I offered. Annie put down her tine and knife and started to talk. "Wait, wait, wait," Sharon said. "This is too weird. Before it gets any worse, what the hell is going on?" "I don't understand the question," I replied. "You, her, you're treating her…like, what, a slave? What's going on? Is she your friend, or what?" I'd forgotten that Sharon had been raised nearly in isolation. Her parents had homesteaded someplace in Alaska, and hadn't been exposed to any sylphs. No one they'd known well had been shrunk, on The Day or since. The few that they'd heard of or suspected of shrinking hadn't lasted long on the frontier of the wilderness. I'd been wondering of Sharon was dating me mostly to get to spend time with Annie. She wouldn't have been the first girlfriend of mine to do that. But most of them were trying to own a sylph by proxy; maybe Sharon was just trying to understand what it meant to have one. "Okay," I started slowly. "I've owned Annie for about 18 years." "Nineteen and a half," she said, holding up fingers on both hands, with one pinkie bent over. I nodded to acknowledge the correction. "Anyway, on The Day, I found her on the playground. Her high school shared a soccer field with my middle school." "Yeah, you told me," Sharon said, making a 'pick it up' gesture. "Yeah, and some time after that, sylph status was legislated, and I became her official owner, by the long-standing legal tradition of finders/keepers." She nodded again, accepting the oversimplification of the legal maneuvers of the time. "So, legally, she's my pet. And people keep pets to have fun with them. At first, it was like having a hamster that I could play tic-tac-toe with." "LIKE having a hamster?" Annie shouted. She crossed her arms and muttered. I'd kept her in a hamster cage at first. With my hamster. I don't think Thrud the Fluffinator ever figured out what she was supposed to be. And Annie had never, ever let me forget about it. "As I was saying, she's my pet. When puberty really hit, I was more interested in…" "In my tits!" I shook my head. This was not the purpose of Amnesty. Still, it was moving us along. "Pretty much," I admitted. Sharon's expression was going all glassy-eyed. "Okay, so I was a teen with total control over a tiny, beautiful woman. It's not all that surprising, trust me. Or rare." "Actually, he was kind of sweet," Annie said. "He raped you!" Sharon hissed. "Not really," my pet told her. "He gave me a choice, and time to decide. Sex with him, or he'd sell me." "That's no choice!" "You're telling me! I've heard some stories, from other sylphs. Man, the things some owners DO?" "Then it was blackmail!" "Sweetheart," Annie told her, "I am not human any more. Either he got what he wanted from the pet he owned, or he'd sell me. The fact that he even gave me a chance was more than many owners do." "That's horrible!" "If he had a dog that wouldn't stop barking, or kept peeing on the carpet, and he got rid of it, would you be scandalized?" Sharon opened her mouth, then closed it. She leaned down towards Annie. "You're just parroting his arguments. How do you really feel?" "Hey, he offered Amnesty. He's promised that I won't get in trouble, no matter what I say." They both turned to look at me. I shrugged. "It's true. It's part of our arrangement. I never lie to her. If I offer Amnesty, it's because I want her to be completely honest, too." "But how can I believe that?" Sharon insisted. "You could just be telling a lie that he won't punish you for being honest." Annie thought that one over for a second. "He beat off one night, just before you got here." "WHAT?" "Annie!" "No, really, he was all horny, but he didn't want to pressure you so he…relieved the pressure!" She made a 'voila' gesture…which, I must admit, was better than any other gesture she might have made right then. "When did…? No, no," Sharon shook her head. "I don't want to know what night this was." I held my face in my hands for a moment. "One thing's for sure, though," I mumbled through my wrists. "You have to believe she feels free to speak with candor right now." "And it worked, didn't it?" Annie asked the other woman. "You told me you felt so comfortable that night, that on the next date-" "ANNIE!" "What? What?" "Annie, I've offered you Amnesty," I pointed out. "Sharon has not." "Oh. Sorry." Sharon accepted the apology with a small nod of her head. "The non-disclosure rule works for you, too," I added. "If you ask her advice for buying a present, she isn't supposed to tell me what you're getting me. Or if you comment about dates, or our sex life." She nodded again. Annie waved to get her attention back. "So, anyway, I like it here, usually. He lets me wear clothes, usually, and he lets me pick out albums from the music club, and buys books when I ask. It's like an allowance system, really, a number of entertainment points that-" "Annie, enough of the engineer-home-management," I suggested softly. "Oh, yeah. Anyway, for what I get: room, board, clothes, some input to how I live, some choices, some privacy, I sometimes have to spread 'em wide for Master's Pleasure. It really does beat the alternative. "I'm not climbing through crawlspaces to kill vermin, I'm not living jewelry on some Eurotrash shoulder at the Riviera, I'm not breeding stock for Sylphs-B-We, and I'm not Passion-Cake dressing." Sharon's eyes flicked back and forth between us. "So," she finally asked, "do you still…do it with her?" "Yeah," I admitted. "And if you ever…married, what would you do with her?" I scratched my head. "I've known, and owned, Annie for twenty years. I've played with her for most of that. I've been playing sex games with her, in fact, longer than I've subscribed to Playboy." "You subSCRIBE!?" "Yeah," I admitted again. It was starting to look like Sharon hadn't quite shaken off her fundamentalist upbringing as much as she'd claimed. "And, I guess that if I married, anyone would have to understand, and accept, my bond with Annie." ----- In the end, she didn't feel that she could understand that relationship, much less accept it. After walking her to her car, and saying a final goodbye, I came back in to clean up. Annie was on the pass-thru, leaning against the side. As I gathered plates, I swept up her underwear and handed them over to her. She made no move to put them on, just continued to watch me. "Usually?" I asked. "And you still have Amnesty." "Yeah. Usally. For the most part. I don't know anyone that's had a twenty-year relationship they've never wanted to shoot the other." She speared the left-over pork slices and dragged them into a SaverBox while I dealt with the dirty dishes. "Why did you bring all this up tonight?" I asked. "She's a sylph-chaser," Annie explained. "And worse. She was not dating you, she was playing dolly and playing house." "So you decided to end the relationship." "No, no, sir. You talk to me, she talks to me; you were getting serious, so was she. It's just, you two weren't going in the same direction. So, I figured, some stuff needed to get out in the open, for discussion, you know?" "And it had to be tonight?" I asked, taking the platter from beside her. "Yeah, the sooner the better, right? Two more dates and she'd have had more than her toothbrush here." "No, no, I mean, this couldn't have waited until morning?" I wiped my hands and turned around, leaning against the sink. She withered a bit under my gaze. "I could have had sex one more time." "Oh," she said, a smile stretching across her face. She grabbed the hem of her blouse and lifted it up and off. "I've been bad, haven't I?" The skirt soon followed the blouse, piled where she'd dropped her underwear. Naked and unashamed, she walked over to where my hand rested on the counter. And women that have no underwear get picked up, that's a house rule. And we must observe the rules…