Homework

by Aborigen

Maureen hustled into her dorm room, mittened hands cupping something close to her puffy black jacket. Booting two weeks of laundry aside, she made her way to the vanity across from her bed and dumped her prize upon it.

A tiny man stumbled across the vanity, tiny legs struggling to find their footing, tiny Timberland boots tapping over the surface. She watched his head whip this way and that, goggling at a Coke can taller than himself, kicking gingerly at a nest of earbud cords. She peeled off her mittens and tossed them behind her, but kept her floppy stocking cap on. Digging in her coat pocket, she withdrew a little white bottle and placed it near the tiny man, then let her coat sink to the floor.

The little guy stared at it. It was a small plastic spray bottle with the label scraped off. Awkwardly formed letters in Sharpie spelled out SMOL across its surface. He pointed at it and looked up at her, his amusement immediately replaced by huge eyes and mouth.

"Holy shit, you're scary," he said, then stammered an apology. Maureen held perfectly still as he walked up to her face, turning his head to pick out her features: thin, pink chapped lips, half-hearted eyeliner to make her pale blue eyes stand out from her milky skin. Abruptly he shook his head and pulled his jacket off, plucked at his flannel shirt to ventilate his chest. His heart was probably pounding. He probably warmed up quickly, at that size.

"Why don't you take your clothes off," she asked him.

He laughed and stared at her. "What, seriously?" She nodded, so he unbuttoned his flannel shirt and tossed it aside. He wore a bright white tee beneath it; she nodded, and he pulled that off over his head. He wasn't muscular but he wasn't fat, just kind of a solid mass of tiny man.

"Jeans," she said. When he balked, she slid her tongue out and ran the tip over her lips. His little head turned to track its movement, slowly left and slowly right, and then his hands unbuckled his belt, unsnapped his fly, and cinched his pants down. He took a seat on his coat to unlace his boots, tossing them aside with tiny thumps, yanked off his socks and shucked his jeans before standing again. This time, Maureen only moaned quietly, and the tiny man obediently pulled off his underwear, finally nude before her.

She exhaled, sending warm air scented like hard candy over him. The tiny figure closed his eyes and breathed it in, and she could see his itty-bitty little cock twitch. She lowered her face to his level and held her gaping mouth open before him. He stepped back, fearful, but then stepped forward again. He was too close for her to see, except for a blurry, peach-colored smear below her nose, but she could feel his tiny hand on her lower lip, then planted on her tongue.

Quickly she closed her lips around his wrist. He jerked back defensively; she sucked on his hand and drew him in up to her shoulder. She felt his chest bump against her puckered lips. He pounded on her with his fist, which didn't feel like anything, and she ran her tongue all around his arm in her mouth, holding him securely. He yelled at her and tried to dig his other hand between her lips, but he was only freed when she opened her mouth with a wet POP! He stumbled back and tripped on his clothes. She grinned at him, and after a moment he grinned back.

"I get it," he said. "You're crazy! But that's cool, crazy's cool." He laughed and picked himself up again. He discovered his own hard-on and covered it with both hands, then looked up into her eyes. "Hey, uh, are you going to get undressed too?"

Maureen said nothing, only reached over the diminutive person for the pencil. It was newish, with a rounded, streaked eraser and bite marks near the metal. The tip was sharp. She held the pencil in the middle and waggled it over his head.

The tiny man couldn't take his eyes from the sharpened tip.

She smiled and held the pencil by the tip and circled the air around his head with the eraser. He seemed to loosen up. She boffed him in the head with the eraser, gently. He swatted at it stumbling to the side, then looked up at her and laughed. Not an earnest laugh.

Maureen smiled and punched him in the center of his tiny chest with the eraser. He said "whoof" and sprawled on his tiny little butt. He rested there, glaring up at her with a serious expression.

She turned the pencil around in her hand and jabbed the sharpened graphite tip into his abdomen. He attempted to roll with it, striking the exposed wood with his forearm and turning away from the blow, but Maureen's hand was far too strong for a deflection. She didn't spear him, but the tip caught the padding over his belly and lacerated him. There was a streak of dark gray across his abs, ending in a welling bead of red.

The tiny man clapped one hand over his belly, scrambled to his feet, and ran from her. There was only a vast wall behind him, but he wanted to put distance between himself and Maureen. Her lips turned up in a dreamy grin as she spun the pencil around and punched him in the back of the skull with the eraser. Down he went in a quiet thump-bump, both hands pinned under his body, legs splayed. Her sharp, young eyes could pick out his genitalia, the way his cock flopped on the vanity, balls swinging between his little thighs.

She reached over to the tiny man and, with both hands, thwapped the pencil sharply down upon one thigh. The bone snapped obediently. The tiny man let out a long shriek of pain, like a quiet whistle, breaking down into halting sobs. She tilted her head and watched him try to crawl away, dragging one useless leg behind him, never letting go of his belly. Leaving a thin, bright red line behind him.

Licking her lips, Maureen set the pencil aside and reached out to encircle the tiny figure with her arms. She rested on her elbows and hung her head almost directly over him. He really hadn't made much distance at all, practically in the center of the vanity, so it was no effort to stretch out and enclose him.

The tiny man looked up at the bare palms before him, the forearms in school colors on either side. He rolled to his back, clutching his stomach, and stared at her with an ugly expression. Bright red covered his thin little fingers, smeared over his belly and sides and the front of his thighs.

Maureen stared back at him, then whispered, "Dance."

His jaw fell open. His head wobbled as though he was struggling to come up with words. He shook his head and scooted himself back with his one good leg.

She nodded. Her hair swished around the vanity. "Get up and dance. Now."

The tiny body curled up on its side and paused. Maureen scowled, until she saw him push himself up with one arm to a sitting position. His broken leg hung awry at a weird angle, but he showed he was able to hop up on his good leg. He made a lot of noises, barking, crying, bad words, but he stood upright at least. The tiny body balanced unsteadily, paused, then turned and hopped for the gap between her two hands. She had encircled him, but not perfectly.

She smiled at his back, at the tiny little buttocks bouncing merrily. Her hands slid together, two rows of pink fingertips lacing together, as she made a little noise like stone walls colliding. The tiny man needed a couple more hops to recover himself and stand still, his tiny shoulders shaking with crying. She loomed over him to watch the blood running down his good leg, to listen to the noises he was making.

Abruptly, he turned and lunged at her long, blonde hair. Maureen blinked with surprise, then grinned broadly. She planted her palms upon the vanity and slowly rose out of her chair, lifting the tiny man off the surface. He got blood on her hair, but that was fine. It was just cute to see him hanging from her long hair above the vanity, then above the floor. Her blue eyes rolled to regard him: his little arms were wrapped up in shiny, golden strands.

She rocked left and right, gently, watching him. The tiny man swung through the air, just below her face. He looked up at her once, screamed, then buried his face in her hair. She started to laugh. His entire body felt like less than a gentle tug at her scalp. Carefully she picked her way across her clothes on the floor and walked around her bed. She could see his tiny head poke up and look around, glancing at this and that, peeking at the ground and quickly looking away.

Planting her feet, she turned her head far to one side, then whipped it sharply in the other direction. The tiny man drifted before her face, so close she could almost kiss him, then spun away. The tug on her hair relented. She watched the little, naked body sail through the air and strike her wall with a loud thud. He didn't hang there for a second, like in cartoons: he bounced once and plummeted directly to the carpet, leaving a little red smear on the white wall.

"Oops," she said.

It took two strides of her thin, black-legging-wrapped legs to catch up to the tiny man. He lay sprawled beneath the radiator, reaching out with spindly arms to claw at the carpet and pull himself along. Frowning upon him, Maureen brought one booted foot up to his tiny body and carefully placed the hard toe of her sole onto his lower back. There was a quiet popping sound as she placed all of her weight on that one point, first crushing his legs and snapping his spine, then crudely rending his lower body from his upper body.

He never stopped screaming as she plucked him up by one arm. She dropped him into a Bell jar of water in her dorm fridge, and his cries rang out within the glass. His little arms flailed in the water, fighting against his mass that dragged him down. A bright red carnation bloomed from him, spreading throughout the water in delicate whorls. His intestines unspooled, too, and teensy little organs came out and floated near him. She studied these even after his arms slowed down, as his torso sank into the hue and his mouth cried out forever.

Snorting quietly, Maureen carefully lifted the jar away and found a space for it in her freezer, next to the others. It was a gallery in there, a showcase of tiny half-men, perfectly still, hovering in clouds of deep red. Her newest addition made six, but she had no idea how many she needed, or wanted. She should figure out what to do with them probably. At some point.

It was just fun for now.