An unfortunate pair of Boxers
My name is Jill Tiny
chapter 14
by
copier
· original author:
bask25456
Chloe carefully hands Jill a glass of thick red liquid, tomato juice. Jill's heart pounds and she turns, staring up at Peter. He’s watching her avidly, giant eyes fixed on her with a peculiar expression on his face. It has a bit of the playfulness and hunger Mistress Chloe gets sometimes, when she been away from play for a while, but only a little: the rest is peculiar, unknowable, mysterious. Jill shivers, and almost turns to ask permission from Chloe. But Peter's deep, dark eyes draw her in, and with a deep breath, Jill closes her eyes and downs the thick liquid- which is actually quite delicious- and then she felt the world shift...
When Jill comes aware again, she feels a warm, living surface beneath her bottom, with her legs dangling over an edge. From long experience, Jill quickly realizes that she was sitting in a giant's hand, someone probably grabbed her while she was semi-conscious. The feel of it sends a strange, electric tingle through her body. Opening her eyes, she finds herself face to face with Peter:
"How are you feeling, Jill?" He asks, Jill dreamily notes the lack of a diminutive or pet name. Maybe he wants to make one up later. I hope so She hears herself give some reassuring sound, but only peripherally. The tingling feeling is rapidly growing, chills going up and down her body as she takes in her new master. She lets her eyes linger on his beautiful, adorably rumpled red hair, twin to Chloe's, his green eyes and his thin lips, always ready with a small smile, with just the tiniest hint of sadness. She cranes forward in order to look farther down, but Peter, perhaps unconsciously, interrupts her by turning his hand so she’s looking at Chloe. Jill tenses in unconscious anticipation of the wave of adoration she had felt run through her body every day for the last six months, but it doesn’t come. Looking at Chloe, Jill still feels great affection, and with her features so close to Peter's she’s obviously still quite beautiful, her height giving her the stature the goddess. Her bosom, where Jill had played so happily so many times, is still awe inspiring.
But something is missing. Jill tries to put her finger on just what, difficult with her thoughts so cloudy, scattered, repeatedly focusing on the delicious feel of Peter's skin, separated from hers by such a flimsy layer of cloth... Jill suddenly realizes: that was it. She feels no compulsion to leap towards Chloe, to receive kisses and play once more in those beautiful mountains and the valley between. Instead, she feels her body drawn in the other direction, to get closer to Peter and his powerful body so close...
Peter, oblivious to the turn of the Tiny girl’s thoughts, is addressing Chloe:
"Thanks sis. You know this means a lot to me." He absentmindedly puts his other hand on Jill's back as he keeps talking, petting her soft hair and attempting to quiet her unaccountable wriggling. Her firm little tush is grinding along his palm in a very distracting manner. His touch only seems to set her off more; she starts to really squirm around, rubbing her back against his other palm. He broke off from Chloe:
“Pet, hush.” He commands insistently, surprised at her behavior. He presses firmly on Jill’s back, forcing her to scrunch forward a little, pinning her little ass firmly in place on his palm. Jill subsides immediately, feeling suddenly ashamed: She’d made Peter angry! Peter looks back up at Chloe, in time to see the barest hint of a knowing grin disappearing from her face. He blinks: he’d lost the thread of conversation:
“”Uh, where were we?” He asks. Chloe grins:
“I was just asking if you were ready.” Peter collects himself:
“Yeah, of course. That was the deal, wasn’t it? Jill for work?” Chloe nodded. Peter shakes himself, forcing the feel of his new pet firmly from his mind: “Okay. The registration equipment’s ready, and I’ve set up a secure network with all the devices and the main database. I’ll explain the rest on-site. You were in charge of premises, transportation and labor, as well as the operation itself, right? You have a plan?” Chloe nods, all business now:
“Yup. Remember, you’re in charge of 1-3.” Jill makes no attempt to understand or follow the conversation, instead just relaxing in Peter’s firm grip, hoping desperately that he was enjoying her, and daydreaming further about what they might do when they’re alone… Suddenly, they’re moving: “I’ll meet you their, I’ll get Jill situated first.” Without bothering to wait for a response, Peter hastily walks into Tinyville. Thankfully it’s clear of residents, because he’s moving so quickly that they surely would’ve been squashed flat. He knows his sister well, and the vague hint of a troubling thought is forming in the back of his mind. Still, he has Jill.
He kneels and sets her down in an area he vaguely remembers seeing her, once, through Chloe’s open door. Looking around, squinting to inspect the names on the doors, he misses the look of disappointment on Jill’s face at losing contact with him. He spots what he’s looking for: the box-room with “JILL” on the door in colorful toy letters.
“Get inside.” He orders. Jill pouts, again unnoticed, but knows she has to obey. She listens to the sounds of Peter disconnecting the pipes to her outhouse, and the clamps that hold the house down, catching tantalizing glimpses of his bare arms out the window. She goes over and sits on the bed as Peter lifts the box into his arms and starts moving, carefully keeping it still. Jill sits thinking, barely disturbed by the alarming tilt of the room as Peter walks out of Chloe’s room. She considers the situation sadly. Doesn’t master want to play with his new toy?” she wonders, comparing his restrained behavior to Tom and his harem’s display with the cranberry juice. She shakes her head enviously: she was luckier in theory, being Peter’s pet, clearly the better of the two, but in practice… At least their master doesn’t play so hard to get she thinks.
“Doesn’t he like me?” She asks the uncaring air, giving herself a once over as Peter sets the box down on his desk. She doesn’t understand, she looked the same as she did those few times she got to do some heaving-breast cheerleading on his chest, which Jill now realizes were some of the best times in her entire life. She sighs, thinking back to those sessions and how eagerly Peter had… Her head comes up, a happy smile forming on her face. She suddenly thought of a way to get Peter’s undivided attention.
Peter turns away from Jill’s room, looking around his room. It’s fairly large, the usual teenage boy disarray, with clothes hanging off every available post, bed unmade and trash littering the floor. Thinking of how a girl would react to this kind of mess, he gets nervous and quickly makes an effort to clean up, sweeping some of the trash under the bed, straightening the desk and tossing clothes in the hamper. He doesn’t turn at the tiny creak of the door on his desk, just telling Jill to “Hold on.” and redoubling his efforts. She might be his pet, but that doesn’t mean she should live in his filth. Suddenly, he hears piping up from behind him:
“Oh master Peeetter.” She calls in in a singsong voice. He sighs, heart pumping a bit faster from his exertions and a bit bothered. He turns to deliver a reprimand to Jill for not letting him finish, but when he gets a good look at her, the rebuke dies on his lips. His eyes bulge. There Jill stands, pom-poms in hand, arms cocked saucily on her hips. She sways a little, swishing her green miniskirt. She pumps her pom-poms and begins her song:
“P-E-TER. The best master E-VER. Oh so fine, oh so fine, loves his pets all the time.” Jill’s making the song up as she goes along, and it’s quite absurd, but she notes with satisfaction that he doesn’t notice, attention wholly focused on her gloriously heaving bosom, freed from the confines of her cheerleader top and restrained only by her push-up bra, which provided little support aginst the kind of bouncing she was doing right now without help from the top she had so gleefully discarded. Satisfied that her master is, indeed, interested, very interested indeed, she quickly moves the song to the main event: spelling out his name: “P! E! T! E! R!” Each contortion of her body does very interesting things to her figure, which is beginning to shine with sweat. She ends the first round with an acrobatic roll, coming up crouched on all fours, ass waving proudly in the air.
Jill had actually thought of removing her skirt as well, and giving Peter a real show, but as she had been about to step out of it, the realization that, with the end of end of the routine, there would be a boy staring straight at her panty-clad rear, even if it was master Peter, had brought a strange feeling of reluctance over her and a heat to her cheeks, so she decided to leave them in place and perform top-less only, and certainly with her bra on. Now, however, flushed with exertion and observing, upside down, the giant, magnificent form of her master, eyes practically glued to her ass, she can’t understand any reluctance, feeling exhilarated and tingling all over. She gives her ass one last little shake, than stands:
“Round Two!” She calls over her shoulder to Peter, placing her hands under the waistband of her skirt and starting to shimmy it down, turning as she does so. Whatever reaction she’s expecting from Peter at this point, however, it most certainly is not him simultaneously tearing his eyes away and tossing whatever he’s holding right at her. She gives a little shriek as the gaping hole fills her vision for a split second before the wall of cloth hits her and everything goes dark.
Peter gave a sigh of relief, heart pounding as Jill becomes a small, wriggling lump inside whatever piece of clothing he was holding. He gives a start, however, when he realizes that it’s a pair of his dirty boxers! He reaches forward instinctively to take them off, then hesitates. Now that his mind is clearer, he starts to get an inkling of what’s going on. He utters a groan:
“Dammit Chloe, you knew I wanted to take it slow!” That knowing grin, Jill’s wriggling, and now this. He shakes his head, and notices the lump under (in, actually, he realizes) his boxers start crawling around, looking for an exit. He sighs, and picks up the boxers, holding it suspended so that Jill can’t get out:
“Pet, stay in there.” Peter’s about reached the end of his patience, so he decides to rely on the obedience training that Chloe had given all her pets. He usually preferred kindness and treats, it didn’t usually take much to make the Tinies behave, but he knew Jill would take any affection as encouragement at this point. He sits heavily down on his chair, laying the boxers across his lap, so the slit faces up on his left leg. He sees the lump that is Jill curl up into a ball, well away from that one available exit, and sets a hand on it gently, but immovably. Well aware of a painful throbbing in his crotch, with visions of Jill’s performance still dancing around in his mind (especially the P), Peter decides to give himself a little time to cool off.
With the hand not restraining Jill, he quickly gathers the necessary supplies, carefully lifting the lid of Jill’s room (the outhouse roof lifts too, the Tinies’ privacy is only as complete as their master whims), and carefully opens her closet, which is blessedly free of underwear, looking for the most modest outfit he can find, turning up a surprisingly modest long shorts and loose tee-shirt combination, almost certainly included by mistake. Certainly, he had never seen any Tiny wearing it’s like: the “normal” clothes that Chloe gave a few Tinies based on her strange whims were still extremely tight, with signifigant amounts of midriff exposed. He gently replaces the lid, and grabs the other necessary item: his own bottle of apple juice. Peter sticks his hand into his boxers, angled to create a cavern of cloth for Jill, than feels carefully around. He finds Jill, one of her feet thankfully, than brings in the apple juice:
“Pet, drink this.” He orders.
Jill comes to herself in warm, smelly darkness, with the sweet taste of apple juice still on her tongue. She’s hazy, and can barely remember what happened. She is fairly sure the warm, yielding surface below is Peter, but beyond that. She’s suddenly aware of another presence in the dark, a looming wall of flesh radiating heat. She stumbles over to it, feeling it flinch away from her touch. She persists, however, and eventually ends up leaning back against it to support her shaky body:
“Peter, wh-what’s going on?” His return answer makes her aware of the throbbing in her head. He must have heard her small outcry of pain, as he gently supports her as she sits down, than withdraws what is clearly his arm. Jill starts when the cloth starts to settle around her, but it suddenly stops, Peter clearly having pinched it enough to keep her from being trapped. The hand returns, momentarily, to deposit a bundle of clothing in her lap: all at once, Jill realizes that she had somehow lost her top, and was sitting somewhere on Peter, with nothing but a push-up bra concealing her breasts.
“Change into this, please.” Jill gladly complies with her master’s gentle words, hastily removing her skirt, looking around nervously, as if somehow Peter would suddenly somehow be able to see her in the darkness and through whatever was covering her:
“Done!” She calls up.
“ Oka, hold still. A piercing bright light suddenly appears, and Jill blinks, shielding her eyes. She feels some cloth pass down around her: when she can see again, it takes her a moment ot comprehend her situation: Jill is standing in the front slit of a pair of boxers belonging to a young boy! Remembering her first encounter with Peter that first breakfast, Jill feels heat rise in her face, blushing a deeper and deeper red. She’s breathless, so she manages to avoid her impulse to scream in embarrassment, but as she breathes rapidly through her nose she suddenly remembers the smell, THE SMELL! Jill stops thinking about it, and nearly gives in to her impulse to blindly leap out of the boxers and go somewhere else, as fast as possible.
Jill comes to her senses, however, as she feels Peter’s gaze resting on her small body, standing in his boxers. Recalling to herself that she was his pet, and that furthermore she wasn’t with Chloe now so things might have changed, she remains rooted unmoving to the spot, unwilling to look up and see what expression he has on his face. She goes hot, then cold, than a tingling passes through her body. Finally, if only because her legs were strangely tired, she gets up the courage to do something, even it is only to ask diffidently:
“Master Peter, is there some uh, reason that you want me, um, here.” She gestures vaguely around her. She gives a squeak as Peter moves his leg a bit:
“Nope. No reason at all.” Jill gives a sigh of relief, and is profoundly grateful when Peter 0ffers her a palm, stepping immediately onto it and not daring to look down, or yet at the giant boy holding her so steadily. She steps lightly onto the desk and without being prompted goes straight to the room she sees within easy reach, a safe haven, not pausing to think that Peter might not want her to go. She closes the door behind her and tosses the miniskirt onto the top she sees lying on the floor. She sits on the bed, glad to be off her feet, trying to recall what happened. Suddenly, she hears a knock on the roof:
“Come in,” She calls unwittingly, and then kicks herself. She was used to her friends knocking to come in, as Chloe never knocked before removing the roof. She’s glad Peter’s different: it gives her a chance to compose herself, crossing her legs and clasping her hands demurely. She’s fairly sure he won’t be able to tell that she’s clenching them so hard that they’re nearly white. His giant face above the house, she sees with relief, doesn’t have an expression of anger. It doesn’t even have that avid expression that makes her flush when she’s bouncing around on his desk. Instead, he’s solemn, looking down at her with concern and affection:
“are you okay?” He asks quietly. She nods, putting on a brave face:
“I’m fine Master.” She calls up, but her voice trembles. He raises an eyebrow, skeptical, and she looks away:
“I think ‘Peter’ is fine for right now.” He says quietly, “Now, are you sure you’re okay?” He waits a moment as the small figure, framed in her equally small room, collects herself:
“Well, it as a bit um, strange, suddenly being in your, um…” Peter spots the telltale flush:
“Boxers.” She nods. “You can’t remember anything?” Jill looks at him, face screwed up in thought:
“Well, it’s all kind of a blur after I drank the juice… Why? Did I do something wrong?” A horrible thought enters her mind: “Wait, you’re not angry at me for doing something, are you? Was I supposed to stay in those boxers? Please don’t be angry, I’m sure I can go back if you give me a moment…” Jill’s nearly in tears, voice taking on a pleading air. Peter intervened quickly: he carefully reached into the room, taking care not to mess up Jill’s stuff, and begins to stroke Jill’s beautiful, shoulder length blond hair. Jill relaxes immediately, resting her head on Peter’s finger, as he reassures her:
“I’m not angry with you, not one bit. It’s not your fault, and no, I don’t want you to go back into those boxers. Even I think they’re disgusting, they’ve been laying on my floor for over a week. You might have to do some embarrassing things today, I’m sorry to say, but going back in my dirty underwear is not one of them. It’s not even your fault that you were in them in the first place: It’s a bit my fault, for reacting poorly, but mostly it’s Chloe’s fault.” Jill’s eyes go wide:
“Chloe’s fault?” How?” She looks at Peter intensely, backing up a bit and sitting on the bed to get comfortable, clearly fascinated and much more at ease. When Peter goes to remove his finger, however, she grabs it and tugs it forward to her head once more. Peter complies with quiet amusement, petting her hair as he explains:
“Oh, it’s simple really. Chloe simply had a hard time letting you go. I can certainly understand why she wouldn’t want such a pretty girl get away.” He smiles at Jill and carefully lifts her chin and strokes her cheek. Jill flushes, but with pleasure rather than embarrassment. Peter’s face clouds in a moment, however, and he returns to her hair: “Well, anyway, I guess she decided to spite me. We had a deal, you see, my twin and I, that if I helped her out with this scheme of hers, which is quickly becoming reality, I would get you, for keeps and…” Jill detected a small evasion as Peter repeated: “Well, for keeps. I did the work, but apparently she valued you so much more than me… and my work.” Peter adds hastily. Jill detects definite note of pain in Peter’s voice, which makes her ache. His finger has almost completely stopped stroking, as he’s preoccupied with the story, so she carefully tugs the yielding digit along, manipulating herself and it so she’s lying with her back and head pillowed at a steep angle on his finger, legs stretched out. Peter unconsciously starts stroking her hair with her thumb.
“So, in short, Chloe gave you just a bit too much Tomato juice to drink, and it kind of made you silly. No, I won’t tell you what you did; it would only make you feel bad.” He says sternly, forestalling her question. Jill leans back down once more. “Thankfully, while Chloe seemed to get quite a few advantages from the family genes that I didn’t, I’m certainly the brains of the family.” Peter’s cheerfully brags. Jill smiled; she hadn’t heard him praise himself very often. “Well, I guess we don’t really know yet with Marcy, but that’s beside the point. Anyway,” He picks up the thread of the story for his engrossed little listener: “I’m the one who first found out about the juices, especially the apple juice.”
What Peter doesn’t tell Jill is that he did so by observing what everyone else in the family missed, how Chloe’s first pet Tiny, who had been unjuiced and quite fractious, suddenly calmed significantly when some blood from an injury she caused got into her mouth, as punishment. (She was now a very loving member of Tom’s harem.) Peter had played around with it for a while, using blood, juice for taste and some amphetamines to do the very roughest version to produce a happy and willing, even eager, pet Tiny, as well as the special apple formula to restore equilibrium if and when necessary. Knowing that would only make Jill’s Tiny head spin, or upset her, so Peter left that part out, only stating: “Well, they eventually learned how it worked themselves, but I’m not feeling very charitable towards Chloe so I’ll say that she doesn’t know nearly as much as she thinks she does. It was easy enough to fix, once I figured out what had happened.” Jill clapped eagerly, delighted in Peter’s triumph. Her affection toward Chloe was fading fast, especially whenever she recalled those first few moments standing utterly mortified with her body poking out through the hole in Peter’s dirty boxers. Peter catches the direction of her thoughts and lifts her chin, leaning in so he can look her directly in the eyes:
“Jill, I’ll say it one last time. Not. Your. Fault.” He says each word deliberately, intoning each word as if he would make her believe it through sheer pronunciation. Jill says quietly:
“Are you sure, master?” She asks, desperately wanting to believe. Peter nods:
“Very sure.” He gives her a small smile, suddenly, one that fills her with a comforting warmth, and tweaks her nose, “Now, didn’t I tell you this was a ‘master’ free conversation?” Jill nods, a smile forming on her own lips.
“Yeah, I remember.” She gives one last sigh, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her chest: “Alright. I believe you. Still, it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing a memory. If Chloe really did this just to spite you…” She scowls and clenches the blanket in her hand, “…well, let’s just say I’m not feeling ‘particularly charitable’ to her myself.” Peter gives a laugh:
“Well Jill, let’s agree to be stingy towards her together, then. Still, a bit of that anger of yours belongs to me. After all, I could’ve found a towel or something, not those horrible stinky old boxers.” Jill sits up, on the bed alarm bells ringing in her head:
“Oh no ma- Peter, please don’t blame yourself! It’s all Chloe’s fault, I certainly don’t blame you one bi-” Her impassioned words are interrupted by another quiet laugh from Peter. She looks at him in confusion, and when he stops laughing he sees a full-out smile on his face:
“Jill, my little pet, you really should learn to keep quiet when guys are thinking up lame excuses in order to give you stuff. Now, as I was saying, I think you deserve a treat, for taking it as well as you did as well as for my slightly inadequate response. Here.” Jill feels a drawer rumble open beneath her room, and Peter gently slides her on to her feet with his finger. She feels him rooting around in the drawer, a trifle more, she thinks, than is actually necessary. Feeling buoyed by the amazing conversation she’d been having, she takes a stab at some teasing of her own. Taking a deep breath, she attracts his attention with a wave:
“Hey Peter, what ever happened to this being a ‘master free conversation’?” She demands, somewhat surprised at her own boldness. For a moment her trepidation returns full force as Peter’s face is startled out of its gentle, affectionate expression, but it quickly comes back in full force, a toothy grin this time:
“Well, my insolent little Tiny, I never declared it a ‘pet’ free conversation, did I?” Despite his stern words, Jill knows he’s amused, and willing to be teased some more. She draws breath to do so when he neatly interrupts her by showing her the treat he promised, which totally drives any thought of teasing far from her mind:
“You didn’t.” She gasps, seeing the thick book clenched carefully between two fingers. He looks smug:
“I did.” He lowers the book slowly toward Jill, holding it out so she can grasp it. It’s quite large, a very thick tome almost the size of Jill’s torso, but to Jill’s eager, trembling hands it weighs nothing at all. There, emblazoned quite prominently in raised, gold letters, are the words Harry potter: The complete collection. Jill cradles the book carefully, than looks up at peter with shining eyes:
“Thank you. Thank you thank you Thank you!” She squeals. She looks at the title again, unable to believe her eyes: “How did you possibly manage to do this? I’ve never even seen a regular book my size, just boring old textbooks.”
“One should never underestimate what a reasonably smart guy with nothing but time on his hands and a whole workshop full of pretty sophisticated equipment designed for setting up a pet store for Tinies can do.” He states, enjoying the sight of her whole body practically levitating with energy. “So, I guess you like your treat then. Care to crack open the cover?”
“Like it? I LOVE it!” Without wasting any more words she pulls Peters hand insistently down to the ground with surprising force. She leans over and gives Peter a quick, loving peck on the underside of his wrist, right between the prominent wrist bones, before climbing into his hand. As she situates herself, back on Peter’s angled arm and tiny little feet resting on his fingers, legs carefully drawn up to support her book, she misses Peter’s cheeks going their own interesting shade of pink. He settles in to watch her, cheek resting on his free hand and mind wandering between the feel of the kiss, tiny but still tingling wonderfully, and the warmth of her small body cradled in his hand.
Jill cracks open the cover to the cover page, finding an inscription:
“To Jill, for the most delightful performance I’ve ever seen, followed by the best conversation I’ve ever had. The best night I’ve ever had, delivered by the most unlikely little pet I’ve ever seen. From peter.” She reads the inscription twice more, heart filled to bursting, remembering that first night she performed for Peter. The incredible anxiety beforehand and the embarrassment from her breasts, swinging so much more freely than she was used to combined to make her stumble her first time out. She had slowly gotten into the swing of things, however, with Peter’s gentle assistance, even learning to keep her mind from imagining what his eyes were following so greedily. Then, lying panting on his desk afterwards, feeling astonished at his very sincere thanks and gentle blowing which quickly cooled her overheated body. And to finish it all off, him holding a slightly one-sided conversation with her, not really expecting answers but willing to try, at least. Jill smiles, remembering with keenest detail confessing her love of the magical series and her regret at not having been able to read the last two, due to her rescue. He hadn’t laughed at her or called her a silly little Tiny, he had smiled and confessed himself that he couldn’t get enough of her long, silky hair.
Peter and Jill sit comfortably for a while, Jill oohing and awing over her book, but at last noises from outside recall Peter to his duty. He nudges Jill:
“I’m really sorry, I could hold you like this for hours, reading, but I’m afraid we’ve got a job to do. Come on, leave the book somewhere safe and let’s go. First, we’ll register to, and then we’re off to fulfill her grand scheme.” Regretfully, Jill complies, setting the book reverently down on the trunk next to her bed, and then stepping into Peter’s waiting hands. Together, master and pet set off to begin…
When Jill comes aware again, she feels a warm, living surface beneath her bottom, with her legs dangling over an edge. From long experience, Jill quickly realizes that she was sitting in a giant's hand, someone probably grabbed her while she was semi-conscious. The feel of it sends a strange, electric tingle through her body. Opening her eyes, she finds herself face to face with Peter:
"How are you feeling, Jill?" He asks, Jill dreamily notes the lack of a diminutive or pet name. Maybe he wants to make one up later. I hope so She hears herself give some reassuring sound, but only peripherally. The tingling feeling is rapidly growing, chills going up and down her body as she takes in her new master. She lets her eyes linger on his beautiful, adorably rumpled red hair, twin to Chloe's, his green eyes and his thin lips, always ready with a small smile, with just the tiniest hint of sadness. She cranes forward in order to look farther down, but Peter, perhaps unconsciously, interrupts her by turning his hand so she’s looking at Chloe. Jill tenses in unconscious anticipation of the wave of adoration she had felt run through her body every day for the last six months, but it doesn’t come. Looking at Chloe, Jill still feels great affection, and with her features so close to Peter's she’s obviously still quite beautiful, her height giving her the stature the goddess. Her bosom, where Jill had played so happily so many times, is still awe inspiring.
But something is missing. Jill tries to put her finger on just what, difficult with her thoughts so cloudy, scattered, repeatedly focusing on the delicious feel of Peter's skin, separated from hers by such a flimsy layer of cloth... Jill suddenly realizes: that was it. She feels no compulsion to leap towards Chloe, to receive kisses and play once more in those beautiful mountains and the valley between. Instead, she feels her body drawn in the other direction, to get closer to Peter and his powerful body so close...
Peter, oblivious to the turn of the Tiny girl’s thoughts, is addressing Chloe:
"Thanks sis. You know this means a lot to me." He absentmindedly puts his other hand on Jill's back as he keeps talking, petting her soft hair and attempting to quiet her unaccountable wriggling. Her firm little tush is grinding along his palm in a very distracting manner. His touch only seems to set her off more; she starts to really squirm around, rubbing her back against his other palm. He broke off from Chloe:
“Pet, hush.” He commands insistently, surprised at her behavior. He presses firmly on Jill’s back, forcing her to scrunch forward a little, pinning her little ass firmly in place on his palm. Jill subsides immediately, feeling suddenly ashamed: She’d made Peter angry! Peter looks back up at Chloe, in time to see the barest hint of a knowing grin disappearing from her face. He blinks: he’d lost the thread of conversation:
“”Uh, where were we?” He asks. Chloe grins:
“I was just asking if you were ready.” Peter collects himself:
“Yeah, of course. That was the deal, wasn’t it? Jill for work?” Chloe nodded. Peter shakes himself, forcing the feel of his new pet firmly from his mind: “Okay. The registration equipment’s ready, and I’ve set up a secure network with all the devices and the main database. I’ll explain the rest on-site. You were in charge of premises, transportation and labor, as well as the operation itself, right? You have a plan?” Chloe nods, all business now:
“Yup. Remember, you’re in charge of 1-3.” Jill makes no attempt to understand or follow the conversation, instead just relaxing in Peter’s firm grip, hoping desperately that he was enjoying her, and daydreaming further about what they might do when they’re alone… Suddenly, they’re moving: “I’ll meet you their, I’ll get Jill situated first.” Without bothering to wait for a response, Peter hastily walks into Tinyville. Thankfully it’s clear of residents, because he’s moving so quickly that they surely would’ve been squashed flat. He knows his sister well, and the vague hint of a troubling thought is forming in the back of his mind. Still, he has Jill.
He kneels and sets her down in an area he vaguely remembers seeing her, once, through Chloe’s open door. Looking around, squinting to inspect the names on the doors, he misses the look of disappointment on Jill’s face at losing contact with him. He spots what he’s looking for: the box-room with “JILL” on the door in colorful toy letters.
“Get inside.” He orders. Jill pouts, again unnoticed, but knows she has to obey. She listens to the sounds of Peter disconnecting the pipes to her outhouse, and the clamps that hold the house down, catching tantalizing glimpses of his bare arms out the window. She goes over and sits on the bed as Peter lifts the box into his arms and starts moving, carefully keeping it still. Jill sits thinking, barely disturbed by the alarming tilt of the room as Peter walks out of Chloe’s room. She considers the situation sadly. Doesn’t master want to play with his new toy?” she wonders, comparing his restrained behavior to Tom and his harem’s display with the cranberry juice. She shakes her head enviously: she was luckier in theory, being Peter’s pet, clearly the better of the two, but in practice… At least their master doesn’t play so hard to get she thinks.
“Doesn’t he like me?” She asks the uncaring air, giving herself a once over as Peter sets the box down on his desk. She doesn’t understand, she looked the same as she did those few times she got to do some heaving-breast cheerleading on his chest, which Jill now realizes were some of the best times in her entire life. She sighs, thinking back to those sessions and how eagerly Peter had… Her head comes up, a happy smile forming on her face. She suddenly thought of a way to get Peter’s undivided attention.
Peter turns away from Jill’s room, looking around his room. It’s fairly large, the usual teenage boy disarray, with clothes hanging off every available post, bed unmade and trash littering the floor. Thinking of how a girl would react to this kind of mess, he gets nervous and quickly makes an effort to clean up, sweeping some of the trash under the bed, straightening the desk and tossing clothes in the hamper. He doesn’t turn at the tiny creak of the door on his desk, just telling Jill to “Hold on.” and redoubling his efforts. She might be his pet, but that doesn’t mean she should live in his filth. Suddenly, he hears piping up from behind him:
“Oh master Peeetter.” She calls in in a singsong voice. He sighs, heart pumping a bit faster from his exertions and a bit bothered. He turns to deliver a reprimand to Jill for not letting him finish, but when he gets a good look at her, the rebuke dies on his lips. His eyes bulge. There Jill stands, pom-poms in hand, arms cocked saucily on her hips. She sways a little, swishing her green miniskirt. She pumps her pom-poms and begins her song:
“P-E-TER. The best master E-VER. Oh so fine, oh so fine, loves his pets all the time.” Jill’s making the song up as she goes along, and it’s quite absurd, but she notes with satisfaction that he doesn’t notice, attention wholly focused on her gloriously heaving bosom, freed from the confines of her cheerleader top and restrained only by her push-up bra, which provided little support aginst the kind of bouncing she was doing right now without help from the top she had so gleefully discarded. Satisfied that her master is, indeed, interested, very interested indeed, she quickly moves the song to the main event: spelling out his name: “P! E! T! E! R!” Each contortion of her body does very interesting things to her figure, which is beginning to shine with sweat. She ends the first round with an acrobatic roll, coming up crouched on all fours, ass waving proudly in the air.
Jill had actually thought of removing her skirt as well, and giving Peter a real show, but as she had been about to step out of it, the realization that, with the end of end of the routine, there would be a boy staring straight at her panty-clad rear, even if it was master Peter, had brought a strange feeling of reluctance over her and a heat to her cheeks, so she decided to leave them in place and perform top-less only, and certainly with her bra on. Now, however, flushed with exertion and observing, upside down, the giant, magnificent form of her master, eyes practically glued to her ass, she can’t understand any reluctance, feeling exhilarated and tingling all over. She gives her ass one last little shake, than stands:
“Round Two!” She calls over her shoulder to Peter, placing her hands under the waistband of her skirt and starting to shimmy it down, turning as she does so. Whatever reaction she’s expecting from Peter at this point, however, it most certainly is not him simultaneously tearing his eyes away and tossing whatever he’s holding right at her. She gives a little shriek as the gaping hole fills her vision for a split second before the wall of cloth hits her and everything goes dark.
Peter gave a sigh of relief, heart pounding as Jill becomes a small, wriggling lump inside whatever piece of clothing he was holding. He gives a start, however, when he realizes that it’s a pair of his dirty boxers! He reaches forward instinctively to take them off, then hesitates. Now that his mind is clearer, he starts to get an inkling of what’s going on. He utters a groan:
“Dammit Chloe, you knew I wanted to take it slow!” That knowing grin, Jill’s wriggling, and now this. He shakes his head, and notices the lump under (in, actually, he realizes) his boxers start crawling around, looking for an exit. He sighs, and picks up the boxers, holding it suspended so that Jill can’t get out:
“Pet, stay in there.” Peter’s about reached the end of his patience, so he decides to rely on the obedience training that Chloe had given all her pets. He usually preferred kindness and treats, it didn’t usually take much to make the Tinies behave, but he knew Jill would take any affection as encouragement at this point. He sits heavily down on his chair, laying the boxers across his lap, so the slit faces up on his left leg. He sees the lump that is Jill curl up into a ball, well away from that one available exit, and sets a hand on it gently, but immovably. Well aware of a painful throbbing in his crotch, with visions of Jill’s performance still dancing around in his mind (especially the P), Peter decides to give himself a little time to cool off.
With the hand not restraining Jill, he quickly gathers the necessary supplies, carefully lifting the lid of Jill’s room (the outhouse roof lifts too, the Tinies’ privacy is only as complete as their master whims), and carefully opens her closet, which is blessedly free of underwear, looking for the most modest outfit he can find, turning up a surprisingly modest long shorts and loose tee-shirt combination, almost certainly included by mistake. Certainly, he had never seen any Tiny wearing it’s like: the “normal” clothes that Chloe gave a few Tinies based on her strange whims were still extremely tight, with signifigant amounts of midriff exposed. He gently replaces the lid, and grabs the other necessary item: his own bottle of apple juice. Peter sticks his hand into his boxers, angled to create a cavern of cloth for Jill, than feels carefully around. He finds Jill, one of her feet thankfully, than brings in the apple juice:
“Pet, drink this.” He orders.
Jill comes to herself in warm, smelly darkness, with the sweet taste of apple juice still on her tongue. She’s hazy, and can barely remember what happened. She is fairly sure the warm, yielding surface below is Peter, but beyond that. She’s suddenly aware of another presence in the dark, a looming wall of flesh radiating heat. She stumbles over to it, feeling it flinch away from her touch. She persists, however, and eventually ends up leaning back against it to support her shaky body:
“Peter, wh-what’s going on?” His return answer makes her aware of the throbbing in her head. He must have heard her small outcry of pain, as he gently supports her as she sits down, than withdraws what is clearly his arm. Jill starts when the cloth starts to settle around her, but it suddenly stops, Peter clearly having pinched it enough to keep her from being trapped. The hand returns, momentarily, to deposit a bundle of clothing in her lap: all at once, Jill realizes that she had somehow lost her top, and was sitting somewhere on Peter, with nothing but a push-up bra concealing her breasts.
“Change into this, please.” Jill gladly complies with her master’s gentle words, hastily removing her skirt, looking around nervously, as if somehow Peter would suddenly somehow be able to see her in the darkness and through whatever was covering her:
“Done!” She calls up.
“ Oka, hold still. A piercing bright light suddenly appears, and Jill blinks, shielding her eyes. She feels some cloth pass down around her: when she can see again, it takes her a moment ot comprehend her situation: Jill is standing in the front slit of a pair of boxers belonging to a young boy! Remembering her first encounter with Peter that first breakfast, Jill feels heat rise in her face, blushing a deeper and deeper red. She’s breathless, so she manages to avoid her impulse to scream in embarrassment, but as she breathes rapidly through her nose she suddenly remembers the smell, THE SMELL! Jill stops thinking about it, and nearly gives in to her impulse to blindly leap out of the boxers and go somewhere else, as fast as possible.
Jill comes to her senses, however, as she feels Peter’s gaze resting on her small body, standing in his boxers. Recalling to herself that she was his pet, and that furthermore she wasn’t with Chloe now so things might have changed, she remains rooted unmoving to the spot, unwilling to look up and see what expression he has on his face. She goes hot, then cold, than a tingling passes through her body. Finally, if only because her legs were strangely tired, she gets up the courage to do something, even it is only to ask diffidently:
“Master Peter, is there some uh, reason that you want me, um, here.” She gestures vaguely around her. She gives a squeak as Peter moves his leg a bit:
“Nope. No reason at all.” Jill gives a sigh of relief, and is profoundly grateful when Peter 0ffers her a palm, stepping immediately onto it and not daring to look down, or yet at the giant boy holding her so steadily. She steps lightly onto the desk and without being prompted goes straight to the room she sees within easy reach, a safe haven, not pausing to think that Peter might not want her to go. She closes the door behind her and tosses the miniskirt onto the top she sees lying on the floor. She sits on the bed, glad to be off her feet, trying to recall what happened. Suddenly, she hears a knock on the roof:
“Come in,” She calls unwittingly, and then kicks herself. She was used to her friends knocking to come in, as Chloe never knocked before removing the roof. She’s glad Peter’s different: it gives her a chance to compose herself, crossing her legs and clasping her hands demurely. She’s fairly sure he won’t be able to tell that she’s clenching them so hard that they’re nearly white. His giant face above the house, she sees with relief, doesn’t have an expression of anger. It doesn’t even have that avid expression that makes her flush when she’s bouncing around on his desk. Instead, he’s solemn, looking down at her with concern and affection:
“are you okay?” He asks quietly. She nods, putting on a brave face:
“I’m fine Master.” She calls up, but her voice trembles. He raises an eyebrow, skeptical, and she looks away:
“I think ‘Peter’ is fine for right now.” He says quietly, “Now, are you sure you’re okay?” He waits a moment as the small figure, framed in her equally small room, collects herself:
“Well, it as a bit um, strange, suddenly being in your, um…” Peter spots the telltale flush:
“Boxers.” She nods. “You can’t remember anything?” Jill looks at him, face screwed up in thought:
“Well, it’s all kind of a blur after I drank the juice… Why? Did I do something wrong?” A horrible thought enters her mind: “Wait, you’re not angry at me for doing something, are you? Was I supposed to stay in those boxers? Please don’t be angry, I’m sure I can go back if you give me a moment…” Jill’s nearly in tears, voice taking on a pleading air. Peter intervened quickly: he carefully reached into the room, taking care not to mess up Jill’s stuff, and begins to stroke Jill’s beautiful, shoulder length blond hair. Jill relaxes immediately, resting her head on Peter’s finger, as he reassures her:
“I’m not angry with you, not one bit. It’s not your fault, and no, I don’t want you to go back into those boxers. Even I think they’re disgusting, they’ve been laying on my floor for over a week. You might have to do some embarrassing things today, I’m sorry to say, but going back in my dirty underwear is not one of them. It’s not even your fault that you were in them in the first place: It’s a bit my fault, for reacting poorly, but mostly it’s Chloe’s fault.” Jill’s eyes go wide:
“Chloe’s fault?” How?” She looks at Peter intensely, backing up a bit and sitting on the bed to get comfortable, clearly fascinated and much more at ease. When Peter goes to remove his finger, however, she grabs it and tugs it forward to her head once more. Peter complies with quiet amusement, petting her hair as he explains:
“Oh, it’s simple really. Chloe simply had a hard time letting you go. I can certainly understand why she wouldn’t want such a pretty girl get away.” He smiles at Jill and carefully lifts her chin and strokes her cheek. Jill flushes, but with pleasure rather than embarrassment. Peter’s face clouds in a moment, however, and he returns to her hair: “Well, anyway, I guess she decided to spite me. We had a deal, you see, my twin and I, that if I helped her out with this scheme of hers, which is quickly becoming reality, I would get you, for keeps and…” Jill detected a small evasion as Peter repeated: “Well, for keeps. I did the work, but apparently she valued you so much more than me… and my work.” Peter adds hastily. Jill detects definite note of pain in Peter’s voice, which makes her ache. His finger has almost completely stopped stroking, as he’s preoccupied with the story, so she carefully tugs the yielding digit along, manipulating herself and it so she’s lying with her back and head pillowed at a steep angle on his finger, legs stretched out. Peter unconsciously starts stroking her hair with her thumb.
“So, in short, Chloe gave you just a bit too much Tomato juice to drink, and it kind of made you silly. No, I won’t tell you what you did; it would only make you feel bad.” He says sternly, forestalling her question. Jill leans back down once more. “Thankfully, while Chloe seemed to get quite a few advantages from the family genes that I didn’t, I’m certainly the brains of the family.” Peter’s cheerfully brags. Jill smiled; she hadn’t heard him praise himself very often. “Well, I guess we don’t really know yet with Marcy, but that’s beside the point. Anyway,” He picks up the thread of the story for his engrossed little listener: “I’m the one who first found out about the juices, especially the apple juice.”
What Peter doesn’t tell Jill is that he did so by observing what everyone else in the family missed, how Chloe’s first pet Tiny, who had been unjuiced and quite fractious, suddenly calmed significantly when some blood from an injury she caused got into her mouth, as punishment. (She was now a very loving member of Tom’s harem.) Peter had played around with it for a while, using blood, juice for taste and some amphetamines to do the very roughest version to produce a happy and willing, even eager, pet Tiny, as well as the special apple formula to restore equilibrium if and when necessary. Knowing that would only make Jill’s Tiny head spin, or upset her, so Peter left that part out, only stating: “Well, they eventually learned how it worked themselves, but I’m not feeling very charitable towards Chloe so I’ll say that she doesn’t know nearly as much as she thinks she does. It was easy enough to fix, once I figured out what had happened.” Jill clapped eagerly, delighted in Peter’s triumph. Her affection toward Chloe was fading fast, especially whenever she recalled those first few moments standing utterly mortified with her body poking out through the hole in Peter’s dirty boxers. Peter catches the direction of her thoughts and lifts her chin, leaning in so he can look her directly in the eyes:
“Jill, I’ll say it one last time. Not. Your. Fault.” He says each word deliberately, intoning each word as if he would make her believe it through sheer pronunciation. Jill says quietly:
“Are you sure, master?” She asks, desperately wanting to believe. Peter nods:
“Very sure.” He gives her a small smile, suddenly, one that fills her with a comforting warmth, and tweaks her nose, “Now, didn’t I tell you this was a ‘master’ free conversation?” Jill nods, a smile forming on her own lips.
“Yeah, I remember.” She gives one last sigh, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her chest: “Alright. I believe you. Still, it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing a memory. If Chloe really did this just to spite you…” She scowls and clenches the blanket in her hand, “…well, let’s just say I’m not feeling ‘particularly charitable’ to her myself.” Peter gives a laugh:
“Well Jill, let’s agree to be stingy towards her together, then. Still, a bit of that anger of yours belongs to me. After all, I could’ve found a towel or something, not those horrible stinky old boxers.” Jill sits up, on the bed alarm bells ringing in her head:
“Oh no ma- Peter, please don’t blame yourself! It’s all Chloe’s fault, I certainly don’t blame you one bi-” Her impassioned words are interrupted by another quiet laugh from Peter. She looks at him in confusion, and when he stops laughing he sees a full-out smile on his face:
“Jill, my little pet, you really should learn to keep quiet when guys are thinking up lame excuses in order to give you stuff. Now, as I was saying, I think you deserve a treat, for taking it as well as you did as well as for my slightly inadequate response. Here.” Jill feels a drawer rumble open beneath her room, and Peter gently slides her on to her feet with his finger. She feels him rooting around in the drawer, a trifle more, she thinks, than is actually necessary. Feeling buoyed by the amazing conversation she’d been having, she takes a stab at some teasing of her own. Taking a deep breath, she attracts his attention with a wave:
“Hey Peter, what ever happened to this being a ‘master free conversation’?” She demands, somewhat surprised at her own boldness. For a moment her trepidation returns full force as Peter’s face is startled out of its gentle, affectionate expression, but it quickly comes back in full force, a toothy grin this time:
“Well, my insolent little Tiny, I never declared it a ‘pet’ free conversation, did I?” Despite his stern words, Jill knows he’s amused, and willing to be teased some more. She draws breath to do so when he neatly interrupts her by showing her the treat he promised, which totally drives any thought of teasing far from her mind:
“You didn’t.” She gasps, seeing the thick book clenched carefully between two fingers. He looks smug:
“I did.” He lowers the book slowly toward Jill, holding it out so she can grasp it. It’s quite large, a very thick tome almost the size of Jill’s torso, but to Jill’s eager, trembling hands it weighs nothing at all. There, emblazoned quite prominently in raised, gold letters, are the words Harry potter: The complete collection. Jill cradles the book carefully, than looks up at peter with shining eyes:
“Thank you. Thank you thank you Thank you!” She squeals. She looks at the title again, unable to believe her eyes: “How did you possibly manage to do this? I’ve never even seen a regular book my size, just boring old textbooks.”
“One should never underestimate what a reasonably smart guy with nothing but time on his hands and a whole workshop full of pretty sophisticated equipment designed for setting up a pet store for Tinies can do.” He states, enjoying the sight of her whole body practically levitating with energy. “So, I guess you like your treat then. Care to crack open the cover?”
“Like it? I LOVE it!” Without wasting any more words she pulls Peters hand insistently down to the ground with surprising force. She leans over and gives Peter a quick, loving peck on the underside of his wrist, right between the prominent wrist bones, before climbing into his hand. As she situates herself, back on Peter’s angled arm and tiny little feet resting on his fingers, legs carefully drawn up to support her book, she misses Peter’s cheeks going their own interesting shade of pink. He settles in to watch her, cheek resting on his free hand and mind wandering between the feel of the kiss, tiny but still tingling wonderfully, and the warmth of her small body cradled in his hand.
Jill cracks open the cover to the cover page, finding an inscription:
“To Jill, for the most delightful performance I’ve ever seen, followed by the best conversation I’ve ever had. The best night I’ve ever had, delivered by the most unlikely little pet I’ve ever seen. From peter.” She reads the inscription twice more, heart filled to bursting, remembering that first night she performed for Peter. The incredible anxiety beforehand and the embarrassment from her breasts, swinging so much more freely than she was used to combined to make her stumble her first time out. She had slowly gotten into the swing of things, however, with Peter’s gentle assistance, even learning to keep her mind from imagining what his eyes were following so greedily. Then, lying panting on his desk afterwards, feeling astonished at his very sincere thanks and gentle blowing which quickly cooled her overheated body. And to finish it all off, him holding a slightly one-sided conversation with her, not really expecting answers but willing to try, at least. Jill smiles, remembering with keenest detail confessing her love of the magical series and her regret at not having been able to read the last two, due to her rescue. He hadn’t laughed at her or called her a silly little Tiny, he had smiled and confessed himself that he couldn’t get enough of her long, silky hair.
Peter and Jill sit comfortably for a while, Jill oohing and awing over her book, but at last noises from outside recall Peter to his duty. He nudges Jill:
“I’m really sorry, I could hold you like this for hours, reading, but I’m afraid we’ve got a job to do. Come on, leave the book somewhere safe and let’s go. First, we’ll register to, and then we’re off to fulfill her grand scheme.” Regretfully, Jill complies, setting the book reverently down on the trunk next to her bed, and then stepping into Peter’s waiting hands. Together, master and pet set off to begin…
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August 15
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