The Crystal Talisman
Volume IV:
Job
by Dr. Music

 

Part 1: Meredith makes a new friend

Meredith was nauseous. The story Jesse had just related to her made her both sick and afraid of herself. Meredith's experience had been fun and exhilarating as well, yes, but when she had discovered that it wasn't reversible, that she couldn't have all her wishes granted, then she had become utterly disgusted with herself and wanted to die. Meredith saw in Jesse the side of her that had enjoyed all that. Enjoyed it, though it disgusted her to thing about it, even after she found out it was all real. It was this thought that made her sick to her stomach rather than the gruesome tale Jesse had imparted.

"Are you alright?"

The voice startled Meredith, and she stood up quickly from where she had been bent over, nearly vomiting. Before her stood a young man, perhaps nineteen at the most. He was tall, about six feet, with sandy-blond hair and a pimply face. Absently she felt sorry for him for still having acne. She herself had been the same way, not developing serious acne till well past her formative years.

The boy was gawky and gangly, dressed in loose jeans and a Donald Duck tee-shirt. As he stood there, staring at Meredith, he produced a yellow inhaler from his pocket and took a puff from it.

"That was some story she told, huh?" he said, after letting out a deep breath of air. He smiled awkwardly at her.

Meredith looked back to where she had left Jesse, and saw with some disgust that she a small group of men, and a couple of women, had gathered around her adoringly. She shook her head.

"I'm with you, though," the boy continued, as if Meredith had answered him, "it was pretty sick and twisted. I'm Job Walker." He extended his hand out to her. After a moment, she took it.

His grip was clammy, the palm sweaty. But, it was strong which Meredith liked. She was already feeling a strange kinship to him.

"That's Job without an e. I hate it when people spell it with an e. It should be J-o-b, like in the bible. I'm not religious though. Agnostic, I guess. I believe in God, but not religion. I guess that's agnostic, but I've never been too sure. Never thought about it much, I guess." He paused then, waiting for some kind of reaction from her.

Meredith shook her head suddenly. "I'm sorry. I suppose that after I tried to make friends with Jesse and she told me that story, I'm a little shy about making new friends here." She took his hand again. "I'm Meredith Danforth."

Job smiled as he shook her hand, then blushed. Meredith resisted the urge to smile herself. She could tell the beginnings of a crush when she saw it. After a moment of consideration, she decided to take a chance again. "So, Job...without an e...what brings you here?"

Job blushed again. "I...I don't know if I want to talk about it all that much. It's kinda personal. Why don't we start with you? Why are you here?"

Meredith wasn't sure if she wanted to divulge her story, but she decided that it was only fair if she wanted to hear his. But did she really want to hear it? It frightened her that she was eager to, even after what happened with Jesse. Was she that much of a sadist? The temptation was too great, though, so she launched into her story about how she had met Sheila and what they had done together.

The story took a while to tell, and once she was done, she saw that Job was flushed, and sitting awkwardly on the white with his knees drawn up to his chest. He shifted his legs uncomfortably, and again Meredith resisted a smile. She knew she had turned him on with her tale, and she sort of liked it. Again she had cause for alarm. All those lives she had snuffed out, and she was enjoying the fact that a teenager got his rocks off from it. What was she? To dispel the thoughts from her mind, she said, "So, your turn. What's your little ditty?"

Job grew even redder and stammered, "Well...well, it's embarrassing to talk about."

Meredith tried the soothing approach. "C'mon, Job. I told you my fantasies, it's only fair that you tell me yours. Besides, I get the feeling they aren't all that different from mine."

Job seemed to relax at her words, and after a moment, he nodded. "Okay." He shifted his position as if to get more comfortable, but Meredith didn't even feel as if she were sitting on anything. It was all very strange.

"Well," he began, "It all started when I went to this small curio shop near my high school. I'm a senior, graduating this fall ahead of my class." He stopped at this, as if realizing where he was. Then continued. "This old lady looked me over pretty good when I walked in. After I browsed around a little, she came up to me and said, 'I know what you want,' and wanted me to go into the back with her. For some reason I couldn't keep myself from going."

Job shifted again. Clearly he was uncomfortable relating this story. "We went through those hanging beads you see all the time in doorways, and into this small room in the back. The room was set up like something out of a movie about witches: tables with shrouds on them, lamps with red cloth covering the shades, and even bottles of bubbling water. And on the wall was an altar or something with a stand on it. And on the stand hung a necklace with a marble or something. I was drawn to it. I expected the old woman to want me to pay for it somehow, or give her a finger or something." He chuckled at this, and continued, "But suddenly she was gone. I called out, but she didn't answer.

"The marble, crystal, whatever it was, seemed to call to me. I wasn't able to resist the urge to touch it. But before I did, all these strange lights started coming out if it and flying all around me. I guess I blacked out, because when I came to, I was lying in the palm of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen."

* * * *

"My name is Sheila, Job," the lovely, honey-haired giantess said in a sultry voice, "and I see you're happy to see me." She pointed a well-manicured finger at a sudden bulge in Job's pants.

Job swallowed hard and nearly fainted. He had to be dreaming. This was a dream come true. He new that any minute now he would wake up and be staring into the face of that old hag, and so he yelped in surprise when Sheila began to stroke his member through his pants with her long, blood-red fingernail.

"Oh no, this is for real, love. And I'm here to make all your dreams come true."

Job still couldn't speak.

"That's alright. I can read your thoughts. And yes, every wish you ever had is about to come true. Believe me when I say that there will be a price to pay when you're done, but I assure you, it's one that you won't mind paying. Still at a loss for words? Well then, let's just get started, shall we? Whenever you want me, just ask, and I'll be there."

With her other hand, Sheila pressed her fingers to her luscious lips and blew him a kiss. As her sweet, warm breath surrounded Job, the world began to swirl and fade.





Part 2: the High School

Job opened his eyes and looked around him. Sheila was gone, and he was lying on a cold, hard floor in some wide open area, though very well lit. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, pushing himself up with his hands. He noticed that there were several small, irregularly shaped pieces of what looked like dirt clods lying around. It was all very confusing.

Job began to wonder if he had been dreaming about Sheila. Maybe the old woman had drugged him somehow, taken his wallet, and dumped him off in some warehouse. He felt his back pocket, and found his wallet still there. Opening it, he saw that his money, all five dollars of it, was still there. He was about to close the wallet again when he noticed a picture in the insert.

It was a picture of Sheila.

Job nearly fell to the floor. And he screamed and almost dropped his wallet when the picture suddenly came to life, Sheila's face becoming animated.

"Yes, dear, it was all real. And now you have your wish. Better look out, though. Class is almost out." With these last words, Sheila winked at him and her picture faded."

Job was more confused than ever. What did she mean class was almost out?

Suddenly there was a horrendous sound like all the bells in the world ringing at once, from the tiniest Christmas bells to the largest church bell. This time, Job did drop his wallet as he clasped his hands over his ears in pain. Then the sound was gone, but replaced with a deep rumbling.

The rumble seemed to come from everywhere. For the first time, Job looked around his surroundings and was astonished by what he saw. He seemed to be in an enormous, cavernous hallway lined with towering green lockers. The hard floor he was standing on was made up of miles and miles of green and white tiling, each tile nearly as big as a house. The dirt clods he saw where actually dirt particles. He was so small even dust seemed big.

The rumbling grew louder, and with an ear-splitting crack and creak, a gigantic door several hundred feet away swung open with a torrential whoosh. And out stepped something straight from Job's best wet dreams: a giant teenage girl.

The girl was about seventeen, by Job's guess, and then he wondered why he was guessing how old she was. She was huge! Maybe 400 feet tall! That same part of his brain that guessed her age now guessed that that made him less than an inch tall! These new thoughts and sights gave him an instant erection, but also struck immense terror in his heart.

The girl was wearing flare-bottom blue jeans, a white baby tee, and had her blond hair done in 2 braids. On her feet were a pare of the meanest looking Dr. Martins Job had ever seen. They thundered toward him with sickening speed, and he felt each footstep as an explosion in the earth. And yet, he didn't move. His heart pounded to beat the booming the girl caused, but he couldn't move his legs. The towering girl drew nearer until Job had to look straight up to see her face over her ample bosom. She looked taller than any mountain he could think of.

At the last moment, Job's trance was broken, and he through himself to the side as the girl's giant foot landed with a deafening thud where he had been. She walked on, her footsteps receding in the distance, and Job lay where he was, staring at the ceiling. Then he tried to get up, and found that only his left leg worked. Wondering why, he looked down at his left, and nearly screamed at what he saw.

His left leg was pressed completely flat! Just below the knee, the leg was thinner than paper. Job was scared and felt like crying in utter fear, but then he noticed something else. There was no blood. And what was even more surprising, no pain. Curious, he poked at the flattened leg, and felt it yield like soft dough. In fact, his finger left an impression in it complete with fingerprint. And then, suddenly and with a slight pop, his leg burst back into its original shape.

With dawning understanding, Job laughed with glee. This was one of his fantasies. He was made of dough, including his clothes. He couldn't be hurt. And when everything was over with, he could reshape himself back to normal. This was great. He wondered what other aspects of the fantasy were there, and became aware of thundering footsteps all around him.

Job looked up to see the towering forms of dozens of young titanesses. Yes! He was in an all-girls high school! He was less than an inch tall, made of indestructible dough, and surrounded by teenage girls. He began to cheer, but was cut off quickly by the plummeting, sandal clad foot of one of the girls smashing into his body.

The weight was immense but pleasurable. He felt it pressing down from above like an unstoppable avalanche, pushing into his soft form and spreading it out around him. He felt the most excruciatingly sweet pleasure in his groin as it was squashed with the rest of his body. All was dark for a split second, and then he watched as the foot lifted off of him and moved away somewhere above and behind his head.

He wished he had seen the owner of that foot more closely, but he was soon treated by the lovely vision of another goddess, this one in black jeans, a red sweater to match her hair, and wingtip loafers smash the toe of her foot down over the lower half of his body. Again he experienced the most wonderful feeling he could ever hope for as all her weight squished his pelvis even flatter.

Again, he wished it would last, but many more alluring vixens pleasured him with the soles of their shoes as he lay there, drinking it all in. Before it was done, he estimated that he had been stepped on fully by at least ten different girls, and partially by about fifteen. And then, sadly, the last bell rang and he was all alone once again.

Job lay where he was for a long while, flattened and dirty from the grit on the soles of the girls shoes. He felt it embedded in his skin, but didn't care. It felt good. He wanted it to stay there forever. But he thought that would be impractical, so he inflated himself and all the dirt popped out.

He couldn't believe this was happening to him. His greatest fantasy come true. And Sheila had said he could have as many wishes as he wanted. He wondered what he would do next. After a moment's deliberation, he climbed to his feet and began a long trek for the nearest classroom door. Beyond it, he could hear the booming voice of a female teacher. That voice sounded so sexy, Job could barely contain his excitement.





Part 3: Clarice in the classroom

Job found just enough room beneath the classroom door to squeeze his body. Chuckling to himself, he realized that with his dough-isity, he could squeeze into pretty much anything. Then he chortled at the thought that with infinite wishes, anything at all was possible. He wondered what he would do if the teacher he was so eager to see turned out to be not at all attractive. He could wish her to be so. Hell, he could wish her to be wearing sexy lingerie and do a gigantic lap dance for him if he wanted. For some reason, this thought bothered him. It kind of took some of the fun and excitement out of it. He decided to play with his chances and see what happened.

To his luck, the teacher wasn't at all unattractive. She was no super model, but then again, he hated supermodels. The woman was tall (duh) and a brunette, and she wore a sharp, navy business suit (he wondered why she did since she was a teacher, but decided that she was just very professional) with navy pumps. The heels of the pumps were a couple of inches tall, about 12 feet to Job. His mouth watered as he stared at those pumps.

From the pumps rose her slender, sexy legs which were clothed in white stockings. Oh, white stockings! Job didn't know why this turned him on so much, but decided it had something to do with a childhood experience that had warped him and started this whole fetish in the first place, and dismissed the thoughts.

The navy skirt she wore began about 2/3rds of the way up her calf, pleated at the waist. She wore a white, long-sleeved blouse, which was revealed fully as she removed her suit jacket. The teacher's dark hair was pulled back in a bun (he didn't realize women still wore those) and black-rimmed glasses sat perched on her tiny nose. Looking at her, Job was reminded of Wonder Woman's alter-ego on the old television show which aired now on the Sci-Fi Channel. His mind wondered briefly of what she would look like in the super woman's tights, but then he got back to the task of looking at her.

As Job watched, the object of his affection unbuttoned each of her sleeves in turn and rolled them up to her elbows. Her arms weren't too thin, nor were they too plump. They seemed to Job to be just right. He loved arms. He loved every inch of a woman's body, and took great lengths (in his mind, being a virgin) to devote equal attention to each part during his fantasies. He wasn't a breast man or a butt man, he was a body man.

As she spoke, the teacher walked around the corner of her desk with footfalls that shook Job's world. When she reached the front of the desk, she leaned against it, placing her hands behind her for support. Then she bent her left knee, the one closest to Job, and began dangling her pump from her toes. Job watched this in utter fascination. He longed to be in that shoe, watching the sole of her stockinged foot come closer, then rise away, closer again, and farther again.

Lost in these thoughts, Job was startled by a loud coughing. Looking around, he became aware for the first time that the room was filled with giant desks. And within these giant desks sat giant teenage girls. Job's knees became weak and he had to steady himself against the door to keep from collapsing. One of his fantasies was to wander willy-nilly among the feet of schoolgirls, all unaware of his presence as they concentrated on what the teacher was saying.

Job himself listened for a moment to the teacher, letting her low, sexy voice wash over his body.

"Now, as for the reading you were supposed to do last night," she was saying, "I hope you all are growing in your appreciation for the writings of Grildrig." There were some murmurs of consent. "'Amy Zonn'. This is a story filled with jewels of refreshing character development. Too often do authors fall short in their attempts to do this, but Grildrig never leaves us hanging. I give you the scene where Amy, now a towering giantess, holds her foot above a frightened crowd of tiny people simply to tease them with her sole before stepping down. This is a classic example of...."

Ah, a class on feminism, Job thought. He stopped listening - reminding himself that he needed to read more - because his senses were already overloaded with what was happening. Now his sights were set on a girl seated in the front row of desks.

This girl was obviously considered the one, shall we say, voted most likely to wind up in a cult. She wore a black leather mini skirt, and a white mini-tee that showed off her midriff (something Job was sure was against dress code). Her hair was earlobe length and straight, jet-black with a bright red streak in the bangs. Her makeup was done in black and white: black, Cleopatra style eye-shadow, and black lipstick, her face powder-white. In both ears she wore upside-down crucifixes. My type of woman, Job thought. He bet she had a navel ring, also, but the way she was sitting prevented him from telling.

The girl's legs were bare with a tattoo of a serpent around her right ankle. On her feet was a pair of black stiletto heels. Job was in love. He knew he wanted to start with this girl.

Looking up, Job saw that all the girls' attentions were centered on their teacher. He hoped he wouldn't be noticed as part of his current fantasy was for them all to be completely unaware of him. Cautiously, he edged closer to the feet of his sweet angel of death.

The girl was slowly tapping the toe of her right foot. Each time the sole met the hard floor, a cracking boom rang out into the room - which Job knew was in actuality an unnoticeable tap to the ears of the giantesses around him - and a slight vibration raced through the floor and beneath Job's feet. His eyes followed the toe of her shoe as it rose, then fell to the floor again as he edged closer. He was now within twenty feet of her foot, and the shockwave from the tapping traveled up his legs and into his pelvis: a not unwelcome sensation. It tickled.

He got closer, and closer still, until he was a mere foot away from the rising and falling shoe. The wind created by it ruffled Job's hair, and sent a waft of sweet odor, not quite sour, into his nostrils. She wore no makeup. Good. Just the scent of her essence.

As the foot banged down again, Job saw up and over it to where the cleavage of her toes peeked out from the rim of her shoe. He loved toe cleavage, and imagined himself wedged tight in between her big and second toe. Not now, though. First things first.

Nervously, even though he had been squashed bodily beneath giant trampling feet only a few minutes before, Job edged his foot experimentally beneath the girl's huge shoe. When it came down again, nothing happened. Job was puzzled, and got down on his stomach to see what had happened. There he saw that the toe of her shoe never quite met the floor when she dropped it. The shoe curved upward as it came forward from the ball of her foot.

As Job stared under the ped, there was a loud scraping noise and he was suddenly thrown into darkness as the girl's foot slid over his body while lifted. Then she tapped it down again and squished him against the floor. This was an unexpected, though not unpleasant surprise. When it rose again, he found himself stuck to the sole, his legs dangling beneath him as they had not been crushed. He watched as his legs touched the floor and bent at an unnatural angle as her foot descended again, folding him in half and smashing his knees into his eye sockets. He was scrunched together and stuck that way, for she did not lift her foot again. He felt the foot shuffle as if the girl was bending down. Then there was the lifting sensation again, and he felt giant fingers squeezing his sides and tugging at his body. She must have felt his soft, yielding body instead of the hard floor when she tapped her foot and decided to investigate.

Job was pulled from the bottom of the girl's shoe like used bubble gum, and his knees left his eyes. He watched the foot fall away beneath him as he was lifted into the air. Then he was looking into the Egyptian-like eyes of the girl. She examined him with only the slightest surprise. He wondered what he looked like to her: possibly a flat miniature boy, but did he look like a real person or did he look like a clay figure? Just to see what would happen, he puffed his body back out to regular thickness.

She arched an eyebrow, but looked less than startled. To Job's surprise, however, she placed a thumb, the nail decorated in black polish, on his chest and an index finger against his back and squeezed. His back and chest met as she pressed and then released the grip, still holding on to him with her other hand. Job made his chest expand again. She repeated the process and so did he. Then he smiled and waved at her.

This got her attention. She sucked in a quick gasp of air, went wide-eyed, and dropped him onto her desk top.

"Is something wrong, Clarice?" the teacher asked.

The girl looked up and above Job and addressed her. "Uh...no, Miss Stinger." Her right hand fell over Job, plunging him into a moist darkness and partially squashing him. Then he heard her stutter. "Um, actually, may I be excused to go to the rest room."

After a moment, Job heard Miss Stinger's voice. "Well, you do look a little paler than usual. Yes, you may go."

Clarice again: "Thanks."

Then Job felt her fingers wrap under his body, squeezing him into what he assessed as a tube. She must not know her own strength, he thought. Then he was rising into the air again, and swinging, presumably at Clarice's side. He heard the door to the classroom open, and Clarice's stilettos clicking loudly on the tile floor of the hall. After a few moments, there was the creak of another door, and then light again.

Job looked up to see Clarice staring with wonder at him. All he could think of was that her eyes were a delightful shade of pale gray.

"Hi," he said.

Clarice stared. After a moment, she managed a weak "Hi" in return.

Job puffed out his body, stood up in her palm, and extended an arm. "My name's Job."

Clarice smiled, showing perfectly white teeth, and took his hand between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand. "Clarice."

She squeezed too hard, and when she released her grip, Job's hand stuck to her thumb. Before she realized this, Clarice had already started pulling her own hand away, and his arm stretched out to the length of ten feet (to him, that is.)

"Wow!" Clarice said with a huge smile. "You're like Play-doh, or something!" She began to roll Job's tiny hand between her fingers, and then started twisting his lengthened arm around her index finger. "This is so cool!"

Job wasn't sure what to make of what was going on. In part, he was afraid that she'd pull it from his body and he would spend the rest of his life without his right arm. This was absurd, of course. For one thing, it seemed that he had incredible elasticity and his arm was only going to stretch and not break off. Secondly, he had all the wishes in the universe at his command. He could simply wish a new arm back.

"Are you a person or what?" Clarice asked him.

Job looked up at her and said, "Yeah. I'm just a normal kid who has all these wishes available to him."

Clarice looked puzzled. "Huh?"

"Well," Job began, "I met this girl Sheila who granted me infinite wishes, and well, here I am, in the long and short of it. No pun intended."

"Any wishes?" Clarice asked, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

"Well, yeah," Job replied. He wasn't sure he liked where this was going, but it excited him nonetheless.

"Wait, why did you wish for this?" she asked him.

Job said: "I didn't really. It's really just a product of my deepest desires, I guess."

Clarice cocked an eyebrow at him. "Your deepest desire is to be Gumby?"

Job felt embarrassed. "Uh, yeah."

"Weird," was all she said further on the subject. Then she smiled innocently at him. "So you can have any wish you want, huh?"

Job nodded, that uneasy feeling creeping back into him.

"Well," Clarice said seductively, "how 'bout I make you a deal. You make some wishes for me, and I'll help you live out your deepest desires."

This interested Job, but a thought then occurred to him. "Why would I need your help if I have infinite wishes?"

Clarice frowned at this, angry that he realized the obvious. Then she started and looked above and behind Job. Job turned to see what she saw, and there stood Sheila, in all her beauty and glory.

"An interesting plot twist is about to develop here," Sheila dripped sweetly, her sentence playing out like that of some strange narrator. She extended a hand to Clarice. "I'm Sheila."

Clarice took her hand with the same one that held Job, who hmmphed as he was smashed between the two women's palms. "Clarice."

Sheila laughed as their hands parted and pointed to Job, who was flattened with the imprint of her palm to Clarice's. "You've, uh, got something on your hand."

Clarice looked down at Job and laughed herself. "Wow, I forgot."

"Yeah," Sheila said, "I have that effect on people." Then she looked back at Job and said matter-of-factly, "There's been a change of plans. Clarice here has given me a good idea, and since I have the ultimate power over everything that goes on here - and everywhere else, for that matter - I'm going to alter our deal."

That feeling wouldn't leave Job, but it was being increasingly spiked with excitement. He felt like a toy to these giantesses, and he liked it.

Sheila continued: "From now on, the only way you are to be able to make more wishes is if you first grant a wish to Clarice."

"What?!" Job shouted in dismay, but the excitement was still there.

Sheila smiled, and Clarice laughed with glee.

"Yes," Sheila said. "You can't wish that this be undone, because I won't allow it. And be careful. If you wish to be away from Clarice, then you won't be able to make any more wishes unless she finds you or you go back to her. Because, of course, you can't make wishes unless you grant some for her."

"This isn't fair!" Job shouted, then jumped as Sheila bent her colossal and beautiful form down so that her head was in front of Clarice's hand, Sheila's eyes piercing Job with an icy stare.

"Isn't fair?" The words trickled from Sheila's tongue like tendrils of frost. "I gave you this power as a gift, and you say I'm not being fair?"

Job actually cowered away from the goddess. "I - I'm sorry, Sheila. I don't know what came over me." Then he brightened. "Actually, I kinda like it."

Sheila straightened with a bouncy smile. "I know. You're submissive. Most men are, they just don't realize it." Then she looked at Clarice. "Okay, then. Enjoy your new toy, Clarice." With that, she disappeared.

Job stared into the space Sheila had been, then craned his neck around to look up at Clarice.

Clarice was looking down at him with evil mischief in her eyes, and that wicked smile was back on her lips, playing there like a dark secret.

In spite of himself, Job gulped.

"Oh the fun we're going to have," Clarice said in an ominous whisper. "But first, I'm going back to class."

Job was surprised by this. "Why? You can have whatever you want right now, and you want to go back to class?"

Clarice nodded. "Yeah." Then she said, "I know what you're thinking. I don't look like the type that enjoys school. But I do want an education."

Job shook his head. "But you could wish for one? Why go back to class?"

Clarice rolled her eyes. "I need some challenges in my life now that I can have anything I want without any effort."

Job accepted this response, though it seemed a little strange to him.

"Now let's see," Clarice said, staring off into nowhere, "where should I keep you until school's out? I don't have any pockets and I don't carry a purse." She thought for a moment. "I know." She pinched Job between her thumb and forefinger, caving his sides inward.

Job watched as she opened her mouth and lifted him toward it. "You don't mean..."

Clarice stopped and said, "Yup. You're going to spend the rest of the day as my gum."

Job shrugged. This was one of his fantasies also, so he was cool with it. He decided to sit back and enjoy the ride.

Clarice's mouth loomed large before him like the opening of a deep, dark, dank cavern. Her perfect teeth rose from the floor of it and hung from the ceiling like stalagmites and stalactites. Her large, pink tongue glistened just beyond the entrance, and there was a hiss and gurgle as her salivation glands squirted in anticipation of Job's arrival. He looked up and saw that her eyes were closed. She was enjoying this.

Her nose, longer than he was tall, passed overhead and he slid beneath and between her lips. Her breath, which enveloped his body every other second like a moist cloud, was only slightly sour, so he could tolerate it just fine. After he was inside, Clarice closed her lips around her fingers, plunging Job into a wet darkness. He heard her moan, and felt her fingers release him and slide from her mouth with a deep slurping noise. Now he sat on the undulating form of her tongue, leaning back against the smooth, hard surface of her teeth. The air was hot and very humid, coating his skin with a layer of condensation.

Clarice's tongue lurched beneath Job, and he was thrust to the roof of her mouth where his head banged against it, compacting his neck into his shoulders. His body doubled over and again his knees met his eyes. Then her tongue moved to the side, pushing him across the top of her mouth and down the back of her gums. He felt her teeth slide over his body as they lifted, and he was placed on top of her lower set. The bumps and ridges of her teeth pressed up against his body as his weight settled down, then he felt them push upward as the traveled to meet her top set.

Clarice's top teeth pressed down on Job's back hard, sinking into his soft, clay-like body. They sank deep and forcefully, until they met the bottom teeth, and then the bottom teeth fell away, leaving him stuck to the top. Her tongue moved in and pushed him to a new position, then the teeth rose again to bite, and pinched him bodily again.

Clarice began to chew at a medium pace, pressing Job's body into several new and interesting shapes. He was rolled into a ball, flattened, rolled again, and flattened again. He passed from one side of her mouth to the other. It was impossible for him to tell which direction was which with the combination of darkness and the speed with which her tongue pushed him around. Not to mention the fact that he didn't think his head was even on the top part of his body anymore. He was nothing more than a shapeless blob of...well, chewing gum at that point.

Job was then pressed by the tip of her tongue against her front teeth (he thought). Then he was thinned out and pressed against the backs of her lips. Her lips parted and she began to blow air against him. Job's body inflated as he was pushed outside her mouth. She was blowing a bubble with him. He saw her upper lip move away as he passed back beneath her nose. Her face took on a curved look, as he was sure his body was curved into the surface of the bubble. He inflated larger and larger until there was a loud pop, and his thinned body slapped against Clarice's cheek and lips, and even onto the tip of her nose.

Giggling, Clarice used her fingers to peel Job from her face. She then wadded him up and stuck him back in her mouth and proceeded to chew once again.

Job, enjoying all this immensely, decided that it was definitely going to be an interesting life from now on.





Part 4: Stinger

Job felt Clarice walking, and knew that she was returning to class. Meanwhile, he was continually pushed and prodded by her tongue, and shoved beneath her molars for more grinding sessions than he could count. And he was enjoying the entire experience immensely.

Clarice had managed to twist his misshapen body around her tongue and was chewing on his head when he heard the muffled voice of Miss Stinger say, "Clarice, is that gum you're chewing?"

Clarice immediately stopped chewing on him and answered in a voice that reverberated throughout the cavern of her mouth and shook Job to the bone, had he had any bones, "No, Miss Stinger."

Then he heard the teacher say, "Please address me as Ms. Stinger, and don't lie. I've been watching you chew it since you came back from the restroom." Her voice got closer. "Now, spit it out."

Job felt himself pushed to the back of Clarice's mouth and started to slide down into her throat. He freaked out. "No!" he shouted as loud as he could.

He didn't know if Clarice had heard him or had simply experienced second thoughts, but she stopped trying to swallow him, and pushed him to the front of her mouth, instead. Light peeked in as she pursed her lips. Through the opening in her mouth, Job saw the outstretched and enormous hand of Ms. Stinger. Then with a loud "Ptooie!", Job was sent flying where he landed with a smack in the teacher's palm.

The class groaned in disgust as they looked at him. He imagined he looked very much like a wad of used chewing gum. Then he was moving again as Ms. Stinger carried him away. He wasn't sure where she was taking him, but he guessed it was the waste basket. Fear filled him again as he realized that he might not be able to escape for the trash can, especially since he was away from Clarice and therefore couldn't make any wishes. In desperation, he inflated his body and popped himself back into shape. There he lay staring up at the gigantic, yet beautiful face of Ms. Stinger. She looked down at him, confused about what she was holding. So he did the same thing he had to Clarice, and waved at her.

Ms. Stinger let out a little yelp of surprise, and dropped him. Job's world was spinning as he fell through the air. Then he landed with a rustling thump amid the wadded up papers in a silo-like waste-basket. From where he lay, Job looked up to see the staring face of the teacher. She was visible from the knee up, and looked extremely tall. On her face she wore an expression of mixed fear and apprehension. As he watched, she slowly backed away out of his view. He waited then, hearing the class get restless as they were undoubtedly wondering what exactly about the gum had frightened their teacher. After what seemed like an eternity, Ms. Stinger resumed her lecture like nothing had ever happened.

From time to time throughout the class, Job caught glimpses of Ms. Stinger as she passed the waste basket either en route to her blackboard or to her chair. She never once looked down at him, though. Job had a lot of time to himself to thing. He dared not move, because when he did, the papers around him would rustle. For some reason, he feared what might happen if he attracted attention. Without the ability to make any wishes, he might find himself in a dumpster outside. Or worse, in an incinerator.

Finally, the class bell rang. Job heard the sounds of students getting up to leave, and even saw a few pass overhead. Not one looked into the waste basket, though they must have been curious as to what Ms. Stinger had seen to scare her like that. Perhaps they had forgotten the incident, as it seemed the teacher had.

Job had a growing sense of fear that Clarice was going to leave him there. He began to will her to approach the trash can. With a great sense of relief, he saw her face from high above peek over the rim of the can at him. He gave her a little wave, and she smiled. Then Ms. Stinger appeared.

"Clarice," she said to the girl, "Please stay for a bit." Then she looked down at him and just stood there. Job waited. Ms. Stinger waited. Clarice waited. He looking up at their towering forms and they looking down at his diminutive one. Then, when all the sounds of the leaving girls had subsided, and the room was silent, Ms. Stinger said to Clarice without looking away from him, "Close the door, dear. And lock it."

Clarice looked at the teacher, then disappeared. There was the sound of the great door being shut, and the click of the lock sliding into place. Then her heels were clicking back toward Job and she appeared again. They stood there again, looking down on him, and he grew nervous. Apparently Clarice was growing impatient, as well, because she said, "Ms. Stinger, is there something you wanted?"

Ms. Stinger looked at her. "Call me Leslie, dear. You and I are going to get to know each other better." With that, she bent down and reached a hand toward Job.

Job froze as he saw the huge hand descending upon him, darkening as it passed from the light of the room into the gloom of the waste basket. The hand stopped when it came to within a foot of him, but then came crashing down. Her fingers, decorated with long, blood-red nails, closed around his small form with the strength of anacondas. The nails sunk into him, and the tips pressed indentations into his body. Then he was lifted with sickening speed from the sanctuary of the can, and brought before the lovely gaze of Ms. Stinger.

Her eyebrows were plucked and thinned, and one arched up as she looked at him. Behind the rim of her glasses, Job noticed a tiny, flat mole above her left eye just below the brow. Her eyes were sharply blue and rimmed with black eyeliner. Her lips were done in the same deep red as her nails, but other than these things, she wore no makeup. Up close, she really did look like Wonder Woman from the old series. Those blue eyes regarded him with a little humor and a sense of something else. Something darker. Job gulped in spite of himself.

"What have you got here, Clarice?" she said with a slight smile. "A little Mr. Bill to play with?"

Clarice said, "Really, Ms. Stinger, I don't know what you're talking about. May I have my toy so I can leave?"

"Leslie," Ms. Stinger said, "and it's more than a toy, isn't it?"

"No, it's just a toy," Clarice insisted. "It's like a chew toy or something. I was just chewing on it to relax. It's what I do."

"It waved at me, Clarice," Leslie said, and Clarice didn't say anything. Then she looked back at Job and smiled. "Are you some sort of little man?"

Job wasn't sure what to do. He was afraid that Clarice would just leave him there if he said anything, not that that would be such a bad prospect, but he needed to be able to wish himself back to normal eventually. On the other hand, Clarice wanted her wishes as badly as he wanted his, so he spoke up.

"Yes, ma'am. My name's Job."

Leslie's face lit up with delight and she let a squeal escape from her lips. "It really is a little man! How cuuute!!"

Clarice was upset at this point. "Job, god dammit! Ms. Stinger, I really have to take him and leave! Please!"

Leslie began poking Job's body with a fingernail. "But you're so doughy! You can't be a person! You're so small!"

Job was giggling in spite of himself, and in spite of seeing her fingernail press into him up to the quick. She was taking a lot of liberties with him, but he found himself enjoying it.

"Clarice, where did you find him?" Leslie said in a little girl's voice of wonder.

Clarice smiled, getting into the fact that she was showing off a new toy. "Well, he just appeared earlier in class. Stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Actually, that's why I excused myself."

Leslie looked up at her. "Stuck to the bottom of your shoe?" Then she seemed to realize for the first time that she had been shredding his body with her nails. "Oh, I see. He's like a clay man. How did you become this way, uh, Job, is it?"

Job smiled up at her and made his wounds heal miraculously, to which Leslie cooed in excitement. "It's a long story. The important thing is that I am like this. I can be squashed and bent into any shape possible. Wanna try?" He was really getting into this.

Leslie gave him an innocent, unsure look. "Is it alright?"

Job's smile broadened. "Of course. I like it!" He wondered if that was going to far, but then she began working on him.

Leslie picked his tiny hand up between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand while gripping him in the fist of her left. Experimentally, she squeezed, and was delighted to feel the hand mush between her fingers like clay. She let his hand drop, and looked at it with a bit of fear in her eyes.

Job looked down at his flattened hand, and said, "Don't worry, watch." Concentrating, he made his hand puff back out.

Leslie giggled and bounced. She had lost all appearance of being a stern school teacher, and the little girl in her was coming out.

"I can take anything," Job assured her. "Seriously. Give me your best shot!"

Leslie grinned, arched an eyebrow, stuck her tongue in her cheek, and squeezed her fist closed on him hard.

Job felt exquisite pleasure as his body was squashed in the giant woman's grip. He felt his lower body being compacted as his upper body was forced upward. He let go with a huge sigh that made Leslie chuckle seductively.

"Oh you like that, don't you little guy," she asked in a sultry voice.

If Job's manhood hadn't been squeezed into a pancake at the moment, that voice and the question it asked alone would have made him hard. But Leslie kept him squeezed in her iron grip, and he felt her squeeze even harder, to the point that her hand started shaking with effort. Then he heard Clarice clear her throat. They both looked at her.

Clarice was standing with a slight smile on her lips and her hands on her hips, tapping her foot and glaring at both of them. She was amused, but not happy. "If you're both quite finished, I would like to take Job home with me so that we may start with the wishing." As soon a she had said it, Clarice looked surprised at her own words and clapped both hands over her mouth.

"What did you say?" Leslie asked her, her mouth hanging open. "Wishes? You have wishes? Is that how he got this...is that how you got this way?" She said this last looking down at Job.

Job was extremely enjoying this. Here he had two giant women who wanted him for themselves to squish, twist, chew, step on, and God knew what else, and things were about to get spicier. He waited, not answering her, for Sheila to appear and give Leslie the ability to wish, but it didn't happen. Leslie shook him a little then, and tightened her grip, which had relaxed a bit.

"Uh, actually, yes, sort of," Job said. "But Sheila changed her mind, and now I can't make any wishes until I grant one for Clarice, and...."

Leslie cut him off. "Sheila? Who's Sheila?"

"Never mind," Clarice said, reaching up and wrapping her hand around Job's upper torso. Job was thrown into darkness as her fingers closed over his head, and then he was squeezed and pulled. He barely heard Clarice say, "We really have to go now," but was suddenly aware that though she was taking his upper body with her, his lower body was very much in the possession of the dear Ms. Leslie Stinger. He felt his waist stretch to a great length, then hear both women gasp. There was light again and fresh air as Clarice opened her hand and looked at him.

"Oops," was all she said, and smiled at him.

Job looked down to see his body stretched from Clarice's open hand to Leslie's closed fist. The teacher still hadn't let him go, and it seemed she didn't plan to.

"You know, Clarice," Leslie said, slyly, "If you lone Job here to me for some time, I could be very generous with...say, your grades?"

Clarice looked at her mentor, and shook her head. "No way, Ms. Stinger. I was just telling Job in the bathroom that I want to work hard to get my own grades. Now, please give me the rest of him.

Leslie decided a different approach. "Well, then. You'll be graduating this spring, and I know you want to go to the University. Your grades are good enough, but it will still be unnecessarily tough for you to get in. I know the Dean of Admissions there. I could give you a good recommendation."

Clarice shot back at her, "You said you were going to anyway!"

Leslie smiled wickedly. "I know. But, suddenly I'm remembering some little incidences that might not look good in your recommendation."

Clarice stared at her. Then smiled. "I like that. You're good, Ms. Stinger...Leslie. Of course you know I could wish for a good recommendation from you. But then again, I did say I wanted to get my education honestly." She thought for a moment. "It's a deal then. But, I want him to myself for a little while. I'll bring him to class tomorrow and you can have him for a night. We can switch off."

Leslie was a little girl again, and nearly clapped her hands in glee before she realized she was still holding Job's lower half. Then, smiling, she took up the stretched slack in his waist, and pressed his lower body into his upper, squeezing them together into Clarice's hand, and closed the girls fingers over him, giving the hand a squeeze that compacted Job into a tiny ball. Then Job could tell that she leaned close to Clarice's fist, because he heard her whisper near him, "I'll be waiting for you, Little One. We'll have such fun together." Then he felt movement as Clarice carried him out of the room.





Part 5: Clarice's house

Job looked around the area he was in. Clarice had taken him home with her, and he was now sitting cross-legged on the bare-wood floor, which was dented with high-heel pock marks, next to her bed. As far as he could tell from his vantage point, her room was done up in shades of black and more black. The only thing non-black about her room was the brown wooden floor, which clashed strikingly with the motif.

"So, what are you, some sort of Goth?" Job asked, and cringed when Clarice glared down at his reflection in the mirror she was currently using to adjust her makeup.

"Don't label me. I don't believe in labels or conforming to a group." She went back to applying more eye shadow. "I hate it that people consider themselves outsiders and not part of a group, but you see everyone trying to be that and dressing the same. I dress, act, and like what I feel."

"Sorry," Job said, and looked at the posters on the walls. They were mainly of the Cure and Nine Inch Nails, with a Depeche Mode "Violator", as well as others he didn't recognize.

"I'm an old fashioned girl," Clarice said, noticing his interest in her posters. "Fuck Marilyn Manson. That stuff's for conformists."

Job took the opportunity. "You realize of course that your very act of being a non-conformist makes you a conformist, don't you?"

She glared at him again.

He shut up, though he wasn't sure what he was afraid of. He was made of clay, what could she do to him? Well for starters, he thought, she could swallow me whole, and I'm not sure I would like that. She could use one of her wishes to make me into real flesh and bone again, and then what? She could bite my head off and keep it away from my body forever. She could. . . . He stopped himself. He was getting the heebie-jeebies.

After a moment more of preening herself, Clarice looked at him through the mirror and smiled that smile he had come to recognize as a signal that she was about to have some fun. "Now," she said in nearly a whisper, "let's begin."

A chill ran through Job's doughy spine.

Clarice turned from the mirror and went to the other side of the room, where she pulled the thick black curtains shut, plunging the room into utter darkness.

Job waited, his breath growing heavier with each passing second. He then heard Clarice coming toward him, her spike heels resounding off the wood floor with ominous thunder. He thought he could tell that she was rounding the foot of the bed, only a few normal feet away from him. The sound grew louder, and his breath quicker. Suddenly, a heavy object fell upon his chest, caving it in and piercing it through. The object stopped falling, then lifted, carrying him with it. Job's body, impaled on the object, rammed back to earth with force enough to nearly jar his limbs loose. Then he was lifted again, and fell again. This time, all remained still.

There was a loud scratch followed by a hiss and a glare of light. Job looked up, and saw that Clarice had struck a match.

The object which had impaled him was, of course, one of Clarice's spike heels. Job looked up its shaft to her shoe, then up her towering leg, passed the hem of her skirt, up her body to where she was lighting a candle. After lighting the first - a black candle - she lit a blood red one next to it. Then she crossed the room, carrying Job's poor body with her. With every other step she took, Job was actually forced higher up her spike until he was halfway up.

Clarice rounded the room, lighting a total of eight candles situated on shelves throughout. Then she returned to the side of the bed where Job had originally been. He watched from her spike as she scanned the floor, growing confused.

"Job?" she said to the room. "Job, where are you?" She crossed her arms, growing annoyed. She started tapping her foot, vibrating Job to the point of falling apart. "This is annoying, Job. Come back out here before I decide to get the vacuum."

Job couldn't speak. He had a spike heel shoved through his chest, after all. He couldn't wish anything, either, since he hadn't granted Clarice a wish yet.

Then Clarice decided to look under her feet, in case she had stepped on him and he was there. She finally found his tiny body stuck to her left spike. She laughed, and lifted her foot to pry him off.

"Oh, that's where you went. Now I thought you weren't supposed to be able to wish anything unless I made one first," she quipped.

Grabbing Job's body in her fist, she squeezed him into a ball and pulled him off the spike. Then she opened her hand and watched as he formed himself back to regular shape. Then her face grew thoughtful.

"Let's see," she breathed over Job, "what should I wish for first?"

Job held his breath, afraid of what she would come up with despite himself. He knew that it was absurd to think that she would kill him in some way. She needed him for her wishes. But she could hurt and terribly maim him if she wanted. He nearly flinched when he saw her eyes light up and she grinned down at him.

"I know," Clarice said. "I've always wanted an entourage of men to control. Give me men!"

Job sat in her palm, staring up at her. Nothing happened.

Clarice stared at him, and grew angry. "Well? Where are my men?"

Job shrugged. "I don't know. What am I supposed to do, anyway? Cross my arms and blink? Wiggle my nose? What?"

Clarice growled in anger, and lifted her fist over his puny body. Bringing the fist down with the force of a falling boulder, she smashed Job against her palm with a loud, wet smack. When she took her fist away, he was flattened into the lines of the other hand and between her fingers.

Job popped himself back out. "Hey! This isn't my fault! Maybe Sheila lied to us." Despite the frightening aspects of his predicament, Job had actually liked what Clarice had done. Then he realized that she had made a wish, so it was possible that he might be able to make one now. He knew just what he wanted to wish for. He closed his eyes and wished that whatever Clarice wished for was a product of his deepest desires. He heard Clarice gasp, and opened his eyes.

Around them stood eight half-naked men. Each of them wore nothing but leather g-strings and a collar. Job nearly fainted. Surely this wasn't one of his deepest desires! Then he collected himself and realized that he had simply made Clarice's wish come true.

But this wouldn't do at all! They were giant men to him. This went against his very being! He had to fix this some way, so he closed his eyes again, and heard Clarice say, "Goddammit!"

When he opened his eyes, the men were gone.

Clarice glared at him. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Look what you've done to them!" She closed her fist around him and held him so that he could look at the floor.

There on the floor, kneeling and worshiping in front of Clarice's shoes, were the eight men, now only one inch tall each.

"They're no use to me now!" She lifted a shiny shoe and brought it down on two of the men, who screamed in fear as their lives were cruelly snuffed out. The two men crunched loudly as she stepped onto them. She stopped then, resting her shoe on them, lost in thought. When she picked her foot back up, there was a puddle of blood where the men had been, their bodies barely discernable as flattened rags of flesh wearing leather g-strings.

"Hey," Clarice said quietly. "That was kinda neat." She brought her other foot down on one of the other men, who worshiped her to the very end. The crunch he emitted wasn't as loud, but it served its purpose. Clarice smiled. "That feels nice. I like that."

She then proceeded to stomp the remaining five men one by one. The last tried to run away from her, but she brought her foot down on him, abruptly ending his escape. When she had finished, Clarice heaved a great sigh of pleasure.

"That was nice! That was very nice!" she said, then looked at Job. "I want more! The way they crunch excites me! Give me more!"

Job smiled back at her. He was enjoying the show immensely. "How many?"

"A hundred!" Clarice exclaimed. "No wait, a thousand! No! Enough to cover my entire floor!"

Job grinned broadly, his clay member springing upright in anticipation. "You wish is my command, mistress." He made the wish.

Clarice squealed with delight. Everywhere they looked, the floor was suddenly writhing with tiny men. She took a step forward onto them, her foot audibly squelching into their screaming forms. She moaned softly, as did Job as he watched from her loosely closed hand. He watched as each foot, one after another, noisily sank into the sea of screaming men, all scrambling over each other in an effort to flee the towering beauty.

Suddenly, Job realized he had a wish to make. He thought that he should make it a practical one - try in some way to get away from Clarice and retain his wishing capability - but his other brain took over, and he closed his eyes.

Job was dizzied by the abrupt new vantage points that swarmed over him. It was if he could see from the thousands of eyes that looked up in terror at the gigantic Clarice. One second, he was between her feet, staring up her titanic form at her gleaming eyes and wicked smile, watching her blood-soaked sole crashing down on him and feeling a wave of pleasure as his body crunched, powdering his bones in orgasmic, ecstatic bliss. The next second, looking up the length of her leg from beside her shoe, his lower half crushed beneath her foot, pinning him in ecstasy. And in the next minute, he watched as her huge feet crushed first the men next to him on the right, then the ones on the left, and then him.

It went on like this for what seemed like hours. Job guessed he had seen through the eyes of most of the men on Clarice's floor. Finally, they both collapsed onto her bed, heaving in deep breaths of air. They were exhausted.

After a few minutes, Clarice lifted Job up to her face in her sweaty palm.

"I guess that was as good for you as it was for me?" she coyly asked him.

Job nodded his weak head.

"And now for my next wish," she said, that smile at her lips again.

Job groaned.

"I wish. . . " she started, but was interrupted by a call from the other room.

"Clarice, honey! Dinner!" It was a female voice, followed by singing. Most likely her mom singing to herself while setting the table.

Clarice smiled again. "I wish for my mom, dad, and two brothers to be shrunk down to a quarter of an inch tall wherever they are right now."

Job wasn't sure about that one. "You have a problem with them or something? I don't want to kill any real person."

Clarice shrugged. "No. When we're done, I'll wish them back to normal. I just want to have some fun with them." She saw Job's unsure look. "Not that I care or anything, but you can do whatever it is you did before that let you enjoy it so much."

Job began to smile. Then nodded his head. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. The singing abruptly ended.





Part 6: All in the family

Clarice sauntered from her room, swaying her hips provocatively behind her. As she turned out of the doorway, she gave him a wink and a smile over her shoulder.

Job decided that he didn't want to experience what he did before as Clarice squashed the room full of tiny men. He was a bit spent by that experience. Instead, he wished only to be a spectator. But he wasn't sure how. He was tired, but he wanted to follow Clarice around her house to see what she was up to. Oh well, to hell with being tired. He closed hid eyes and made the wish.

Abruptly, Job found himself in the hallway, not one foot behind Clarice as she strode along. He was aware of his legs moving, moving faster than they possibly could have in order to keep up with the girl's great strides, but felt no ill effects from it. In fact, he was invigorated. Though he thought he could experience no more ecstasy after the crowd stomp, he was excited and eagerly looking forward to what may come next. A part of him did pity Clarice's family, but that part was way in the back of him, a tiny voice just barely ringing through. He ignored it completely.

Soon they arrived in the dining room, and there they stopped. Job noticed that he stopped immediately with Clarice, though he didn't tell himself to. He expected to be cemented to where he stood, since he seemed to be tied somehow to her movements, but found that he could move about freely.

"Mother," Clarice called in a sing-song voice. A smile played on her lips. She must've seen Job move out of the corner of her eye, because she spun around quickly.

"Oh, it's you," she seemed a bit disappointed. Then a quizzical look passed her face. "How did you get here so fast?"

Job winked at her.

She smiled and nodded. "Never mind." Then she turned back and faced the dining room table. "Mother," she called again, impishly. She looked around a bit, walking around the table, and then got down on her hands and knees and looked under it. Job could see from his vantage that her mother was nowhere to be seen.

"Hmm," Clarice muttered. "Where could she be? Mother?" Then she stood up. "She must be in the kitchen." She began walking around the table to the doorway. "Come along, my pet," she said down at Job.

Job became excited at those words. He liked the idea of being her pet. Of course, his legs quickly sped up of their own accord as he followed the towering beauty.

They entered the kitchen, and it didn't take long for Job to spot Clarice's mother standing on the floor near the sink. She was running toward her now gigantic daughter, flailing her arms in the air and screaming her head off. She was so tiny! Job, being an inch tall himself, knew how large the world seemed to him now. He couldn't possibly imagine what Clarice's mother was seeing at the moment. One thing was for sure, though. She was trying her damndest to get her daughter's attention.

At first Job thought Clarice wouldn't notice her tiny mother after all. Then he heard her let out a gasp. "Why mother!" Clarice practically squealed, "There you are! And look how tiny you are! Aren't you precious?"

Her mom slowed her running and stopped screaming. She looked both relieved and unsure at the same time. She was perhaps 100 yards in front of the gleaming toes of Clarice's spiked heels, and she stared up at her with her mouth open. Job could barely hear her speak. Neither of them could make out what she was saying, though.

"Job," Clarice said, "make her voice normal so I can hear her."

Job made the wish, and suddenly they were surrounded by the normal-sized voice of Clarice's mom. They both jumped a bit, and the mother actually squealed in surprise. She looked around herself for a moment, then back up at Clarice.

"Clarice, what's going on? What's happening?" her mother asked, trembling.

Clarice bent down, kneeling in front of her. "Why mommy dearest, we've shrunk you, that's all."

The tiny woman shook her head. "What do you mean? Why? What's going on? I don't understand!"

Clarice lowered a finger to pat the woman's head. Her mother fell to her butt on the linoleum from the force of the pat.

"Now Sharon," Clarice said soothingly, mockingly. "There's no reason to fear your little girl." She giggled at that, and picked her mom up using a fingernail, standing her back on her feet.

"Clarice Marianne Goodner, I've told you never to call me by my name!" her mom said sternly, her tiny hands placed on her tiny hips in fists. "It's improper."

Clarice laughed. "And I've told you, Sharon, never to call me by my full name. It's annoying." Clarice stood up to her full height and mimicked the stance her mother held. Sharon Goodner backed away a step, her arms falling limply to her sides.

"Someone's being a naughty little bug," Clarice said, looking like an angry girl and staring down at her diminutive mother. "And what do we do to naughty little bugs?" She lifted her foot slightly off the floor, and slammed it down again, the force knocking her mother to her knees.

"Clarice, baby. . ." Sharon said, a little unsteadily as she gained her feet, ". . . what are you doing? I'm your mother."

Clarice smiled wickedly. "I know, that's what makes it so sweet." She stomped a little closer to her.

Chills went through Job's body at the sound of the girl's voice. He was afraid for Sharon, and was suddenly hating himself for granting this wish.

Sharon seemed to notice Job for the first time. "You. . . whoever you are. . . help me." She was beginning to lose it. Job understood why. A few minutes before, she was setting the table for dinner with her family. Then she found herself no bigger than an insect on her own kitchen floor. Now she was being terrorized by the giant form of her only daughter. Job indeed understood her fear.

Sharon began to run toward Job. "Please, help me." But Clarice stomped her foot in front of her, stopping her short.

"No, no, no, mommy dearest. You'll find no help there," Clarice said, then she was kneeling again. She reached down and scooped her mother up in a black-lacquered nail. The woman screamed as she rose up into the air, clutching the edge of the nail for dear life. Clarice stood back up, smiling down at her. "Now, let's go see if we can find daddy."

Job was forced to follow Clarice as she walked from the room. Forced to follow the screams of Sharon as she was carried along with her. He didn't want to follow anymore, but he had no choice. He had forgotten it was his turn to make a wish.

The trio soon entered a room just down the hall from the kitchen. It looked like some sort of office to Job, with a large oak desk supporting a computer, and bookshelves lining the walls. Job looked over near one of the shelves and saw a pipe lying on the floor surrounded by strewn, smoldering ashes. Apparently Clarice saw it as well, for she strode purposefully over to it and nudged it with her toe.

"Father," she chimed in the same sickeningly sweet voice she had used while searching for her mother, "where are you hiding." She looked around a bit, spinning in a slow circle. "Oh, there you are!"

Clarice reached over to one of the shelves to extract a dangling Mr. Goodner. Apparently he had been taking a book from the shelf when the shrinking had struck him. He was hanging by both hands to the edge of a book that had fallen over on its side. Clarice cupped him in the palm of the opposite hand that held her mother and smiled down at him.

"Dear father," she said in a sickeningly sweet voice, "how nice it is to see you away from your work."

Her dad was dumbstruck, and only stared up at her.

Clarice then cupped her other hand over the one that held her dad, unceremoniously dumping her mother on top of him, and joyfully left the room, practically skipping, with Job in hurried tow.

Next stop was her brothers' room. They were bunked together since there weren't enough rooms in the house to accommodate everyone. The door was closed, but Clarice opened it without knocking. There was no reason to.

No sooner had she stepped in the room than a crunch emitted from between her right foot and the hardwood floor. Clarice stopped her forward motion and lifted her foot to look where she had stepped.

Beneath her foot was a red splotch of what appeared to be blood. Job walked over to the spot and looked at it curiously. It was indeed blood. Then he looked at the sole of Clarice's shoe, and saw the flattened corpse of presumably one of her brothers stuck there. When he told her as much, a look of abhorrence crossed the giant girl's face for a moment, but was soon replaced by an evil smirk.

"Oh well," Clarice said, "that was where he was going to end up anyway."

Another chill passed through Job as she uttered those words. Clarice had just stepped on and killed one of her brothers, and she acted as if she'd trodden on a bug. Until recently, she had seemed like a normal, if a bit eccentric, teenage girl who would never think of another human life as such a trivial thing as she just had, but now he was beginning to wonder just what he'd gotten himself into. But what she did next really sickened him.

Clarice lifted her foot higher and began to examine the sole.

"I wonder which one he was. Was it Ricky or Blake?" She scrutinized the body closer, keeping her balance with her unused hand pressed against the doorframe. "It's so hard to tell with him so flat." She leaned against the frame, and with her once again free hand peeled the tiny corpse from the bottom of her shoe. It flopped a bit, and drops of blood fell to the floor. Job swallowed noisily.

Clarice held the body up before her face and crinkled her nose in concentration. She turned it left and right, examining it. "I still can't tell. Hmm." Then she opened her other hand, and unbelievably held the body over it for her parents to look.

"Mom, dad, is this Ricky or Blake?"

Sharon fainted at the grotesque sight, and her dad vomited onto her palm, before he, too, collapsed at his wife's side.

Clarice frowned at this. "Well, that wasn't exactly the reaction I expected."

Job was beside himself with guilt. What had he done? True, it was Sheila who had given Clarice part of his powers, but he was still partly responsible. It was his fantasies that had led to this. Before him, Clarice hadn't even an inkling of shrinking people and crushing them. Had she? She was obviously getting immense pleasure out of torturing her minuscule family members.

"Clarice," Job said up to her, and she turned her amused gaze upon him. "Clarice, this is getting out of hand. This is your family! I thought you were above this."

Clarice chuckled softly. "No, dear little man, I'm above them, and you." She slammed her foot down on Job, squashing him into paste, and walked on into her brothers' room.

As Job regained his form, he saw the girl reach over to one of the beds in the room and pinch something up between her fingers. He knew it was her other brother.

"Ricky," she exclaimed. "So that was Blake I just squished. Oh well, I never liked him much, anyway. I always liked you the best."

She dropped Ricky into her hand with her parents, and strode from the room, just missing Job with her left foot.

Back in Clarice's room, she dropped her remaining family members onto the floor before her feet, and nudged her parents until they regained consciousness. The too adults huddled together, shaking and sobbing for the loss of their child as well as for fear of being crushed themselves. Clarice towered over them, her hands on her hips again.

"I'm not going to draw this out," Clarice stated. "I have other plans that I want to get to before it get's too late, and I'm already getting bored with you. So, Ricky, start running."

Ricky just stared up at her, his face pale and his eyes wide. His big sister was now much bigger, and he was scared to the point of being speechless. His parents, on the other hand, fell over each other in begs to spare his life.

"Clarice, please, not Ricky!" her mom blubbered, "He's a sweet boy, and never hurts a fly."

"Clarice, what's gotten into you?" from her dad. "You killed Blake, and now you're going to kill Ricky? Why? Why are you doing this?"

Clarice ignored them both, and stared down at her brother. "I said run, pipsqueak." She then lifted her right foot and held it over not Ricky, but her parents. "Run now, or I'll stomp mom and dad like roaches."

This seemed to break Ricky's stupor. He looked first at his sister's foot, then at his parents, and burst into tears. Staggering, he climbed to his feet and took a step toward his mom and dad.

"Uh, uh, uh," Clarice said warningly, and lowered her foot a bit.

Sobbing, Ricky stopped, looked up at her, and then began to stumble in the opposite direction of his parents.

Clarice smiled as she watched her tiny brother. He was moving very slowly by her vantage. She lowered her foot and stood gazing down at him as he made his way across the wood floor.

Job saw that Ricky was heading for the closet, though it was several hundred yards away, and silently pleaded for him to find a closer hiding place, like under the bed. But, he knew that it was all hopeless for the small boy. Job wondered how old he was. He couldn't be more than eight. Job sincerely hoped that they would be able to wish it all back the way it was. He looked up at Clarice, and saw her yawning in boredom. It was all over for Ricky.

Clarice watched as her brother finally made it about two feet away from her. It had taken him longer than she thought it should. But she was done with her game. Casually, she stepped forward, her left foot landing solidly on the running boy with a moist crunch.

Her parents screamed as one in agony, and ran toward their giant daughter's foot. Clarice shook her head, and gently kicked at her mother with the toe of the other foot, sending Sharon sprawling several feet away from her husband. With the same foot, she then stepped on her father, who never saw his doom coming.

Sharon saw her husband disappear beneath their daughter's foot, and screamed. At once, she was on her feet, but she did not run after her murdered husband. Instead, she stood and screamed up at Clarice.

"You little bitch! You fucking whore! How could you? Your own brothers! Your own father! They loved you, and you killed them! How could you?"

Job watched the tiny woman scream defiantly up at the giant one, and his heart sobbed for her. He couldn't believe himself what Clarice had done. He wished there was something he could do. He wished he could at least find some way to make things right. Then it hit him. Wish. Of course! It was his turn. In the horror of what had been happening, he'd forgotten all about his powers.

Job saw Clarice's right shoe lift from the remains of her dad, dripping his blood, and swing over her mom. Frantically, he thought of what to wish for, and it came to him. He wished.

Suddenly, Clarice disappeared from sight, and Sharon shot up to her normal height. The now giant mother was still staring upward and screaming, but she suddenly stopped. Looking around, she slowly began to realize what had happened, and looked down at her body. As she looked down, she noticed a small speck on the floor before her.

Job smiled. Clarice was now a quarter of an inch tall. She was obviously confused, and looked around in wonder. Then she caught sight of her mother's shoes, and slowly looked up.

Sharon was wearing white house slippers, plaid pajama pants, and a white tee-shirt, but Job suddenly thought she was the most radiant being on the planet. She had a small build, but at the moment looked like a collosus. Her face was pixyish, and she had dark hair cropped just below her ears. Her features reminded him of Sarah McLachlan. She was very pretty, and at the moment, extreme anger made her even lovelier.

Clarice was scared. Her face told Job that she knew she had done a bad thing, and was about to be punished by her mother for it. Despite his feelings of actual death, he savored the moment for all it was worth.

"Mommy," Clarice squeaked. "Mommy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything I did."

Sharon said nothing. She just stared down at her shrunken daughter with a vengeful gleam in her eye. Her mouth was drawn into a tight line, and her breathing was slow and deep.

Clarice swallowed. Tears shimmered in her eyes. "Mommy, please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sharon slowly shook her head, and a tear ran from one of her eyes. "Sorry?" she said in a chilling, whispered voice. "Sorry? You're sorry that you stepped on my little boys? My children? And you're sorry that you killed my husband?"

Clarice started to cry. "Really, mommy. I can fix it. I can make it better."

Sharon lifted her chin a bit, looking down her nose at Clarice. "No. You can't make it better. You killed my family. You murdered them."

"But I can, really." Clarice was getting desperate. Her voice began to crack, and she was slowly backing away. She nervously glanced down at her mother's slippered feet.

Sharon noticed where her daughter was looking, and smiled a malevolent smile. "That's right. Look at them. Look at them real good."

Clarice was still backing away, and she looked back up at her mom. "Mommy, I'm your daughter. Don't. . . ."

"No," Sharon interrupted. "You're not my daughter. I don't know what you are. My daughter wouldn't have done those things. Not my daughter." She looked up at nothing, blinking away tears. "No," she said again. "I know what you are. You're a bug."

Clarice stopped breathing, and stopped moving. Her mouth worked, but all that came out was a pathetic squeak.

"You're an ugly insect," her mom continued, "and a dangerous one." She took a small step forward, closing the distance between her and her daughter.

Clarice was moving again, backing away a bit faster. She stared up at her mom for a moment longer, then looked down at Job.

"Get me out of this, Job," she stammered. Her voice was so soft with fear he could barely hear her. "It's my turn to wish, and I wish for you to stop this right now."

Job could only smile, and nod his head. It was difficult to say if he agreed with Clarice or Sharon. Clarice was scared.

She waited, but nothing happened. She shot a look back up at her mom, who was edging closer, staring down at her over her nose like she did see Clarice as nothing more than an ugly insect. Clarice looked back at Job, her eyes wild. "Job. Now, Job! I'm making my wish! Make this all go away! Make me big again, and make my family alive again! I don't like this!"

Job just watched her for a moment, then looked up at Sharon expectantly.

"No!" Clarice screamed in frustration, and turned back to pleading with her mom. "Mommy, please don't do this. I'm your daughter, mommy."

"Insect." The word was hissed from Sharon's mouth in distaste, but her gaze was cold and determined.

"No, mommy, I'm not a bug! I'm Clarice! I'm your daughter!" Clarice stumbled, tripped up by her high heels, and went down onto her backside. Her mother's shadow covered her completely.

Sharon stopped moving forward when the "insect" fell down. And she lifted her foot barely off the floor. She would not have to lift it high. Minimal effort for disposing of something so loathsome.

Clarice couldn't get back up. Terror locked her muscles in place. "No mommy! Mommy, please! Don't step on me! Mommy!"

Sharon's foot slid forward, coming over Clarice.

Clarice screamed up into the well-worn and dirty sole of her mother's slipper. "No!" She threw up an arm to try to block away the oncoming death, but her mother's foot sank on top of her with grim finality.

Sharon leaned forward slightly, putting her weight onto her foot, squashing her daughter with a crunch. A burst of mixed remorse and vengeance swept through her, but her expression didn't change. It remained cold and hard.

She stood there for a moment, letting her foot rest on the bug that used to be her daughter. Then she continued to step forward, leaving the room with a blank look of bewilderment.

Job watched as the slippered foot lifted from the squished remains of Clarice. The body stuck a bit to the slipper's sole, but peeled off and slapped back to the floor as the foot was carried away. The giant Sharon strode from the room, not looking back.

Enough is enough, Job thought, and made his wish.

* * * *

Clarice sat on her bed, full-sized, with Job at her feet. The sounds of her mother's singing filled the air as well as the smell of cooking food. For a moment, Clarice was confused. Then she looked down at Job.

"You made my wish come true."

Job nodded. "But first I wanted you to learn your lesson."

Clarice looked down at him a moment, her expression unreadable. Then her look turned quite angry, and stomped her foot down on top of him.

After Job had reformed himself, Clarice said, "Fine. I learned my lesson. You ruined my fun. It's over now."

From the kitchen, they heard Sharon's voice. "Dinner!"

Clarice reached down and picked Job up. "Let's go eat, jerk."





Part 7: Through the lips and over the gums. . . .

After dinner with Clarice's family had come and gone (Job had spent quite a bit of it inside Clarice's mouth being chewed and nearly swallowed along with her food) Job found himself once more in the bedroom of the mighty Clarice. He expected a lot of "I want to wish for this, I want to wish for that" from the teenager, but all he got was mostly sullen silence as she did her homework and then prepared for bed. Although Job was a bit fed up with her wishes, he found himself oddly disappointed in her current mood.

"Everything alright, Clarice?" he asked the giant girl.

Clarice looked over at the one inch man on the bed from around the closet door where she was changing into a nightshirt.

"Yeah, just tired," she replied, then popped her head back out of sight. Her voice came to him from the closet. "Today took a lot out of me. The whole thing with my family, and then with my mom. . ." she trailed off, and Job could tell she was reliving the experience. "Well, that was just too much. I feel terrible about what I did to my dad and my brothers. I mean, it was exciting at the time, but now I feel. . . I don't know, perverted somehow."

She came around the closet door sporting a black night shirt with the Cure's Robert Smith in all his make-upped glory on the front. Other than that, and Job assumed panties, she wore nothing. Her face had been scrubbed clean of her own make up earlier, and at the moment looked both naturally attractive and disturbed. She sat beside Job, the mattress compressing beneath her and causing him to press his hands into the bedspread to avoid sliding down to her butt. She seemed not to notice as she stared at her feet.

"When I was crushing all those men in here, it was a sexual charge: all the power I had to be able to snuff a person's life out with nothing but my foot. And with my family. . ." she paused again, and her scowl deepened, ". . . it makes me sick, but it was also a sexual charge." She hurried on, a blush rising on her cheeks. "Not sexual in the sense of I wanted to. . . you know. . . but sexual in that I had power over someone who had dominated me my entire life." She threw up her hands and fell back onto the bed with an exasperated sigh, causing Job to bounce into the air a few inches. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it wasn't exactly sexual, but I've never felt power before. Maybe a power rush feels the same way as being turned on."

Job had no replies. He understood what she meant, but he, too, would not be able to put it into words. He tried to change the subject.

"So," he began, "do you want to do anything else? It's your turn to wish."

Clarice chewed on her bottom lip, staring at the ceiling and appearing to mull it over. At length, she replied.

"Nah. I think I've had enough for tonight. We can do other things tomorrow after school." Then she grunted in annoyance. "Damn! School. I forgot Ms. Stinger. I promised her I would loan you to her."

Job had forgotten about that, too. Suddenly his future looked a little brighter. After all, Ms. Stinger was a grown woman, perhaps with grown women fantasies. All this squishing and stuff was great, and he hoped it continued no matter whom he was with, but something inside of him sparked at the new possibilities of being with an older woman. Another thought occurred to him, though, and he thought for a moment on how to make it pan out.

"What about the wishes?" Job asked. "I can't make them without you."

Clarice looked at him. "So?"

"Well," Job said, "what if she wants to make her own wishes. Don't you think it would be pretty boring for her to just squash me all the time. Sure, it would be great for me, but what about her?"

Clarice shrugged. "My deal with Leslie was she would get to borrow you for a night. It didn't have anything to do with wishes. She seemed happy enough just to squash you over and over again. That's probably all she has in mind to do."

Job thought about it some more. Then it came to him. "But what about my wish? I need you to wish for something so I can have my turn. I may as well have that if I'm going to be with her."

Clarice looked at him again, then stared at the ceiling, chewing her lip again. Finally she said, "Well, I guess it couldn't hurt. Sheila said you can't wish to undo the whole not being able to make wishes unless I do thing. And you wouldn't dare wish yourself away from me or anything because you want to be able to make wishes, too."

Job nodded, though she didn't see because she wasn't paying attention to him.

Clarice looked at the clock and saw that it was after nine. She yawned long and hard, causing Job to yawn as well. "Aaahhh, I'm sleepy. I usually don't go to bed until 10 or so, but I'm pooped." She smiled wickedly and turned her gaze upon Job, who began to sweat. "Hmm..." she moaned, "now that's an interesting idea."

The little man's heart began to pound. He knew this girl couldn't harm him, but he didn't like the way she was looking at him. As he watched, the tip of her pink tongue poked from her mouth and moistened her lips. Then her teeth caught the corner of her bottom lip and she giggled hungrily.

"Clahhhrice," Job stammered, "what are you thinking about."

The giant girl raised her eyebrows and for a moment looked almost innocent. Almost. "Oh, I don't know. I was just wondering what it would be like to digest a certain little man."

Job shot to his feet, and promptly fell on his ass as he slid toward her huge form. He scrambled on all fours, crab-like, but made little headway. With mounting terror, he watched as Clarice snaked one giant hand toward him. Giggling, she wrapped her fingers around his form, gave him a couple of playful squeezes, and lifted him from the bed as she sat up.

Clarice held his tiny body in front of her gleaming eyes. "Oh, Job, there's nothing to worry about. You're indestructible, right?"

Job really was sweating now as he struggled in her tight grip. "Indestructible to being stepped on and squashed and crushed and beaten and. . ." He stopped as he realized he was babbling and tried to get a grip on himself, not even thinking of the pun that created. Swallowing, he tried to reason with her. "Your stomach and intestinal tract is filled with acids designed to break down very tough foods. They'd make very short work of a one inch tall kid like me. I'd die, Clarice."

She shook her head. "Oh, I don't think so. After all, you're like gum, remember. And they say if gum were allowed to stay in your digestive system it would take 7 years to breakdown."

Job wasn't comforted by this. "I'm like gum, I'm not made of gum! I'm still made out of flesh, and I still bleed. See?"

He took his thumbnail and scraped it very hard across his arm, of course only making a dent that popped back out. "Damn!"

"Don't worry, baby," she cooed, looking at him seductively.

Job had to admit, she was winning him over. Who wouldn't be when given a look like that?

"If you haven't been killed by me yet," Clarice said in a husky voice completely at odds with the words themselves, "then you won't be killed by my wittle tummy."

As if on cue, her stomach growled, causing her to break into loud, girlish laughter. Job only chuckled nervously and couldn't keep his eyes from her large, luscious lips.

"Clarice, I still don't think it would be such a good idea if WOOOOAAA!!!"

Job yelled comically as he was tossed into the air. He couldn't quite tell as he was spinning too much, but he thought he could see Clarice grinning up at him, her mouth opening wide and positioning beneath him.

"Noooooo Clariiiiiiice!!"

With a moist, soft plop, Job disappeared into her mouth.

Clarice quickly shut her jaw, nearly gagging as Job had fallen straight to the back of her throat. She coughed a little, sending Job forward into her mouth and onto her tongue.

Once again Job was in the humid darkness of Clarice's mouth. Although he was disoriented by the sudden and unexpected tossing into the air by the girl, he quickly struggled to his feet, slipped, then crawled to the front of her mouth. Almost too late, he felt the tongue beneath him slope downward and realized he was heading the wrong direction. Nearly doing a backward somersault, he spun around and went the opposite direction, expecting at any moment to be pushed toward the gaping throat by a greedy tongue.

A second later, Job's head impacted with Clarice's front teeth. A deep-throated giggle rose from behind him as she felt his struggles. Suddenly the teeth and lips parted and light streamed in. Job made a mad dash for freedom only to slam into the oncoming fingers of his torturer.

"Uh-uh-uuh," she chuckled as she pushed him back into her mouth. Her lips closed around her fingers and she pulled them out with a slurp.

"Clarice!" Job shouted for all he was worth. "Let me out! Pleeeease!!" He began to sob. It was panic time, no doubt about that. He couldn't think straight. He tried to wish for his freedom, but nothing happened. He wished over and over again and was constantly surprised. He had forgotten in his terror that it wasn't his turn to wish yet.

"Pleeease!!" sobbing, "Pleeeeeeease!!!!" more sobbing.

Clarice listened to his cries, as muffled as they were. She almost felt bad for him. In fact, she wasn't sure why she didn't. She knew it was entirely possible that he wouldn't survive the event, but it made her strangely giddy. Her stomach ached to feel him. But, what if she did digest him? She pondered what to do, feeling him growing weak inside her mouth. Then, her face brightened and she spit him out into her palm.

Job looked up at her, tears streaming down his face. "Thank you!" he stumbled over and hug her thumb, kissing it. "Thank you!"

Clarice did feel pity for him, then. "Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie. I just want to have some fun. I want to know what it feels like to have you inside of me."

He kissed her more and hugged harder. "Please don't. I don't want to die."

She smiled and stroked his slimy head with her index finger. "You don't have to, silly. It's my turn to make a wish."

Job's mind cleared up instantly. If she made a wish and then swallowed him, all he had to do was make a wish to get out.

"My wish is. . ." she smiled wickedly again, and Job's heart sank once more, "I wish to be able to make 2 more wishes before you can."

Job stood up. "You can't do that!"

"Oh no?" Clarice asked. "When did Sheila say that?" She waited as he thought about it.

"But. . . but. . ." he stammered.

"She didn't. Now grant my wish."

"No!" Job said, but he wasn't sure if that made a difference.

Clarice just smiled. "I think it has been granted. Let's try it out, shall we? My next wish is that you cannot wish yourself out of my body once you've been swallowed."

Job only choked on that. He didn't think this was working, but there was no way to tell. All he could do was look up at her pleadingly.

She stroked his head again. "And my third wish is that you won't be digested by me. Any questions? No? Here we go!"

With that, she popped him into her mouth like a piece of candy.

Job only had time to scream once before the great tongue beneath him undulated and forced him into the unseen throat beyond. Then he was being squeezed on all sides as he was pulled down her esophagus. He was too stunned at this point to even think about crying out in terror.

Halfway down, it seemed, apparently he got stuck, because suddenly there was a tremendous pressure from the muscles in her esophagus which pushed him down further. He heard a bit of a choking sound from all around him, but then his body pressed thinner and he was shoved further down.

Job's feet soon came to rest on something hard and slimy, but only for a moment. The floor he was standing on opened and he was then squeezed downward once more through a tighter hole. There was a moment of what he assumed to be her sphincter squeezing on his upper body, then he was through. He fell a short distance into Clarice's stomach with a soft plop.

The first thing he noticed was that there wasn't any air. That hardly mattered as he didn't need to breathe, but not being able to breath was a panicky experience. He quickly got over it, though. The second thing he noticed was the slight tingling on his skin. This worried him more as he pictured his skin sloughing off and dissolving away. He immediately wished to be out of there.

Nothing happened.

This really worried him. Either Clarice's first wish worked, or none of them did. What if whatever powers-that-be that governed these wishes decided her first wish was breaking the rules, so her wishes after that were null and void? That meant she had not made a wish, therefore he couldn't make one. That also meant that there was a strong possibility that he could be digested.

Job began to panic again. Had he been able to breath, he would be gasping. As it was, he was gasping for air but only pulling in whatever passed for air inside Clarice's stomach. He slipped and slid over to the wall of her stomach in the darkness and began to claw at it. He pounded on it and pushed. He was truly in the grip of terror. It seemed to him that he could already feel his skin peeling away, revealing the tender flesh of his muscles beneath. He screamed a silent scream as he dug ferociously at the lining of her stomach wall.

Clarice placed a hand on her belly, feeling the tiny boy inside of her struggle for freedom. At first it was a pleasant sensation, but soon it began to nauseate her. All that movement was not setting well with her dinner. She opened her mouth and burped, grimacing at the thought of puking everything up. She had to stop him from moving around so much.

Gently at first, she poked at her stomach.

Job stopped his struggles as he felt something push back from the other side. He didn't know what that meant, but he resumed his fighting hoping that it was a good sign.

Clarice grimaced again. She thought she had made her point, but now he was struggling more. She decided to push a bit harder, shoving till her fingers sank into her belly up to the first knuckles.

Job was shoved back a pace, falling onto his butt. He was determined, though, and quickly scrambled back up and started pounding again.

She was near vomiting. She had to make him stop soon. Stealing herself, she jabbed at her stomach hard, pushing her fingers in quickly. It didn't help the nausea, but she found it did the trick.

Job was flung off his feet and to the other side of Clarice's stomach. He landed with a splat in digesting food and sank into it. He tried to scream as it covered his head, but only succeeded in allowing the foul substance into his mouth. He choked and gagged, trying to expel it from him, but had no air to do it. The pile of food wasn't very deep, and he was able to stand up. Frantically he clawed at the muck in his mouth, and finally succeeded in getting rid of it only by vomiting.

He thought his skin was tingling more, and in his mind's eye it was already dissolved away. He sobbed silently and tried to fling himself forward again, but his foot was stuck. Something seemed to have hold of his ankle. He could feel his foot emerged in something that felt like the sphincter he had just passed through. With a shock of fright he realized that it was the sphincter that transported the food into the intestine.

Try as he might, and he did try, he was not able to free his foot. After some time of panicky jerks and pulling, Job finally collapsed in the digesting food, crying his silent cries. It was several minutes before he realized that he himself was not being digested. As far as he could fee, his skin was still there. The hair was still on his head, his eyelids were still intact, even his clothes were in good shape. Carefully and with much fear, he pinched at his forearm, waiting for his flesh to peel away. It didn't. It did, however, stretch a lot more than normal skin. He almost started panicking again before he remembered his elasticity.

Then he smacked himself in the head and mutely laughed at himself. With a slight tug, his caught foot collapsed and pulled free. In his panic he apparently had done everything wrong to free himself.

Clarice breathed a sigh of relief as her stomach calmed down. Then she herself grew a bit panicky as the implication of what that meant hit her.

"Job," she whispered, looking down at her stomach. Then more loudly, "Job?"

There was no answer.

Oh god, she thought, what if I've digested him? What if the wishes didn't work?

"Job!" the panic began to creep into her voice. The thought of digesting him at first had been nice, but now that it may be for real, she was worried. Not only for the inability to make more wishes it would cause, but the little guy had grown on her. "Job!" she was nearly crying his name very loudly now.

There was a light tap on the inside of the front of her stomach.

Clarice nearly sobbed in relief. "Job, are you okay? Tap twice if you are."

Two taps.

Clarice collapsed back onto her bed, hands to her belly. Inside of her, Job fell to the back of her stomach again.

"Job," she said again, "I kind of want to get you out of there."

Two taps.

"But that would mean I would have to throw up."

Puzzled no taps.

"And I hate throwing up. I absolutely hate it."

One tap.

"I know, but the thought of you going through my body really does still appeal to me."

One tap, harder this time.

"Honey, you know you can't be digested, right, or you already would be starting?"

Two faint taps, slowly.

"Then what's the problem."

Nothing.

A smile broke out on Clarice's face. "Oh, I know. In order for you to come out of my body I either have to vomit, which I don't want to do, or I have to. . . ."

Two taps.

Clarice giggled long and hard. Inside Job was jostled head over heels and finally ended with his head stuck in her intestinal sphincter. He pulled it out with a pop.

"Too bad, dipshit," she giggled at her joke. "Puking is too unpleasant for me and you. At least this way, it's only unpleasant for you."

There was a sudden, fast drumming inside her stomach, and she grew queasy again. She pressed her fingers into her belly. "Now stop that or with my next wish I'll make sure you are digested!"

The drumming stopped immediately.

Clarice walked over and turned out her bedroom light, then crawled into bed and snuggled under the covers. She really was tired after her exciting day.

Yawning, she said, "Think about it, squirt. It's your turn to wish. You can't get out of me, but what will you wish for?"

Job thought about it. He thought about it a long time and soon noticed a great, even rumbling around him. He guessed Clarice had fallen asleep and was now snoring. He tried wishing himself out of her, but nothing happened.

He couldn't decide what to do with his wish. There was still the chance that he could be digested, and that was foremost in his mind. But, the thought of being encased in this giant girls feces in a few hours was running a close second. He supposed he could wish that the other food (he didn't even realize that he thought of himself as food) to not be turned into shit so that only he would come out the other end, but then he would be worried the whole time that he would dissolve into nothing. It was still possible that Clarice's wishes didn't work and the only thing that had kept him alive so far was his gum-like qualities. Who knew how long that would last?

Reluctantly, Job made up his mind and made his wish.