Ah. I feel like I’m getting back into the flow of it. Also, this is a much more interesting chapter, in my opinion. In fact, I would even say it might get a little intense.
Miranda rubbed the fabric between her fingers pensively for a few more moments before looking up at me.
“Ian…” she began, only to trail off as she looked at me. Like before, I got the impression she was looking for something on my expression, though I still wasn’t sure what.
“Ian… we would like to put on our clothes. Would you please turn away so we could have some privacy?”
I lifted an eyebrow before asking, “Why?”
I would be the first to admit that I had been looking forward to seeing the spectacle of not only Miranda, but Amber and Mia as well, dress; just seeing them in their underwear alone would be more than worth the price I had paid to obtain them, but as always it was more complicated than just what I wanted.
There was a time not too long ago where I would have done what she asked without question, but there was also time even less long ago where I would have simply said ‘No’ just because I could. More than than the constant confusion of our relationship, though, there was an even more valid point of contention.
“It’s not like like you’re undressing or anything: you’re already naked. You’ve been naked the entire time. I literally have never seen the others with clothes on, ever.”
Miranda visibly hesitated, but didn’t back down before my question.
“Because… because I’m asking you. Because I’m asking you to do this, for me, as a favor.” She licked her lips nervously. “Because I’m hoping that, even now, you’ll respect my opinion enough to do this, even though you have every right to ignore me, and there’s no way for me to stop you. So please Ian. Please.”
It was a low blow. Even now, after all the twists and turns we’d been though, all the frustration she’d caused me, the fact that a simple, heartfelt ‘Please’ could hit me like that was cheating. I wanted her. I was promised her, by her, no less.
But in the end, I just couldn’t tell her no.
“Fine.” I said, more than a little bitterly, though the entire table noticeably cheered at my response. “Fine. For you, Miranda.”
She smiled. “Maybe you could… wait over at the couch, until we’re done?” She was more confident in her request this time, either at the fact that it would actually be listened to, or that she wouldn’t be punished for asking.
“We can all meet you there afterwards. I think we need to have a talk.” Miranda paused, and looked meaningfully at Sydney, who was still doing her best to hide behind people a fraction of her size.
“All of us. And it might go better if we were in a more… relaxed setting than this.”
That was actually a decent point. I was trying to establish more of a relationship with Miranda, one more than just enemies or of pet and owner, and my standing over them as they stood on the table probably wasn’t the most reassuring stance for them.
“That seems reasonable.” I answered after a moment. “I’ll go turn something on while I wait.”
It was a more undignified exit than I would have liked, and I barely resisted the urge to stomp a little as I left. Flopping onto the couch with a sigh, I turned on the television, mindlessly flipping through the channels before I landed on one of those gimmicky cooking shows.
Usually, I enjoyed the spectacle of watching Mins, once professional chefs, struggle and more often than not fail to perform tasks as simple as mixing a bowl, but today, their antics left a bad taste in my mouth. Clicking my tongue in irritation, I turned the the TV off again, and glanced down only to realize I had gained an audience at some point.
I may have actually drooled.
The dress hugged Miranda’s torso like it was painted on, with a neckline so low that her breasts were more outlined by the dress than concealed by it, and from the side it was cut so high that, from any other viewpoint than above, I was sure I could gotten a good look at her panties. A leg, magnificently highlighted in all it’s long, yet paradoxically short glory by black stockings, struck out from that gap assertively, matching the cocky grin she wore as she gazed up at my dumb expression.
It was gorgeous. She was gorgeous.
And she knew it.
“Holy shit.” I said.
I fumbled for more words, and failed to find any.
I settled on, “Holy shit”, eventually, with what I felt was not nearly enough emphasis for the reality of the situation.
Miranda laughed a sweet, bell-like laugh.
“Ah, Ian, you do know how to make a girl feel appreciated, don’t you?”
I opened my mouth, decided repeating myself a third time probably wasn’t going to help, and closed it again.
She laughed even harder.
“Would you mind being a gentleman and giving us a lift? It’s hard to talk to you from all the way down here.”
Oh, right. The others were there too. I glanced at them briefly, and while the outfits did cling to them like a second skin, and while the boots did like awfully nice on them, my eyes slide their way back to Miranda in no time at all.
She noticed, and her smug smile grew larger at the realization of how much of my attention she had.
I cleared my throat before making a mock bow, bending low in my chair so I could lower my hand down to her level.
“My lady,” I said, in what was meant to be a teasing tone, but came out far more serious than I had planned. “Your ride awaits.”
Miranda curseyed, still grinning, before walking primly toward my hand and sitting on it as if it was a bench, folding one leg over the other as she did so, in a way that just so happened to hike her dress up even higher.
I’d felt that very same ass multiple times over the last few days, without any fabric separating it from my skin, yet somehow, something made the its touch on the palm of my hand far more erotic than it ever had been before: the outfit, maybe, how teased but still concealed, or the newfound confidence Miranda wore with her dress, or maybe the situation itself, the intimacy of it, as if we were lovers on a date rather than something as brutish and simple as groping or copping a feel.
I didn’t know, and I didn’t care, as long as it kept happening.
I lifted my hand, and the tiny, spectacular creature sitting upon it, slowly up into the air as I straightened up, before bringing it hovering just over the arm of my chair. Daintly, Miranda stepped onto the fake leather, before rearranging her dress and settling down on the edge, high heeled feet dangled out over my leg.
I stared at her a moment before she coughed politely. “And everyone else…?”
“Ah.”
Miranda giggled again as I bent over, taking pains to avoid knocking her over as I did so. For Amber and Mia, I lowered my hand again so they could climb on it, and if it wasn’t quite as flat or the ride as smooth as it had been for Miranda, they only had to look over at how I grabbed Sydney, pinning her arms in place, to stop themselves from voicing any complaints.
The smaller Mins I placed on the same arm as Miranda: they sat by her side, dwarfed by her in both size and beauty. Interestingly, I watched Miranda reach down to gently stroke Amber’s head, and how the woman leaned into her touch, while Mia look on in both envy and contempt.
Clearly, at some point that relationship must have changed.
Sydney, on the other hand, I placed face down on my leg, pressed up against the other arm of the chair, pinned in place by the elbow I sat on her back. She whimpered, once, as I did so, but bad no move to try and escape.
Miranda watched me do so, and her expression cooled somewhat in the process.
“Ian. I’ve realized that we need to… discuss some things. About Sydney, mostly,” and here the woman in question flinched, as if she was struck, “But also about you.”
Reaching down, she plucked Amber off of the chair and cuddled the Min to her chest, as if she was child hugging a teddy bear.
“I don’t like Sydney, Ian” Miranda began frankly. “I never have. I want her to bow and scape at my feet. I want her to cower at my displeasure, I want use her, and I want to rule her… but I don’t want to kill her. I don’t want to maim her, or even torture her. She’s a bitch, yes, but she doesn’t deserve that.”
She paused, squeezing the woman in her arms tighter, seeking comfort from the warm little form she held, before continuing.
“I heard you, in the other room, with Sydney. We all did. And I know you did it to protect me, and believe me, Ian, I very much appreciate that you’re trying to look out for me, but I feel there are some basic realities of being a Min that you don’t quite understand.”
Miranda adjusted Amber in her grip, resting the Min in her arm and against her breast, before gesturing at me.
“To a Min, a normal person isn’t a ‘person’ anymore Ian. Think about it. Your finger is as tall as these two. You pick any of us up, one handed, and barely notice. If you stepped on one of us accidently? We would be crushed. When you look at a person, there’s an implicit understand that, largely, both you and them are equals. Even a small woman has a chance to defend herself against a tall man, after all.”
Miranda laughed, bitterly. “There are no equals here, Ian. What can I do to resist you? What can any of us do to resist you? Sydney is, without a doubt, the largest Min I’ve seen in my life, the largest Min I’ve ever heard of, and look at her! You’re not doing anything, and she can’t even move! Does something able to do that sound like a person to you? Or a human being?”
She sighed. “You are not a human to us, Ian. You are a force of nature, a god: something that can’t be stopped, can’t be fought, can’t be resisted in any way, only avoided or appeased. You are a god, Ian Hunter, and you are a terrible one, a cold, cruel creature whispered about in the dark of night, a Min’s nightmare. You adore me, and treasure me, but it is only me that you extend these feelings towards, it is only me that you would protect, and no one here doubts that you would kill them without remorse if I wasn’t here to stop you. You wouldn’t relish in it, but you wouldn’t feel sorry, either, would you?”
Taking a deep breath, and blinking away tears, Miranda curled up on the chair, tucking Amber under her head. I didn’t, couldn’t, say anything, and after a moment she continued.
“Mins live in a world filled with gods, a world for gods, with tools and objects beyond us petty mortals. We live in a world where we are loathed by those who hold absolute power over us, who consider us, rightfully, as less than people, less than Them. We live in fear that today is the day some god or another may decide that today is the day we shall be hurt for their amusement, played with as toys… or worse. We pray that today is the day a god might look down on us and find us worthy of some absent, backhanded generosity, the gift of crumbs instead of going hungry, the mercy of being felt up with a gentle finger instead of being clenched in a tight fist.”
Miranda was crying, now, and I was afraid moving would only make things worse, would drive her away, so all I could do was watch as the woman I loved broke down next to me.
“We are afraid, Ian. We are afraid, always afraid, of anyone we see. The fact you exist is a threat to us, Ian, to any Min, and the way you act, the way you look at us, so distant and uncaring? It’s fucking terrifying. Sharks are supposed to look at people like that. You look at me, and it’s so… kind, and warm, and filled with so many emotions, but I wonder, sometimes-”
She stopped. Shivered. “Sometimes… sometimes I look up at you, and wonder if I’ll see anything looking back at me, if it’ll be as flat and as empty as the way you look the others, if you’ll stop-”
As Miranda talked, her voice had grown more and more frantic, before I spoke over her with one simple word.
“NO.” I said, trying to drive away her terror with the sheer determination in my voice. She froze and looked at me, wide eyed, as I continued to talk.
“No. Not you, Miranda. Not you, never you.”
Slowly, inch by pain stacking inch, I lifted up my hand and brought it towards her, as she stared at it with all the unreasoning terror of a cornered animal.
“You are special to me, Miranda,” I continued, lowering my voice, trying to make it soothing and gentle, “You’ve always been special to me.”
The hand continued to approach, and still she didn’t move. In her arms, Amber gazed out towards it with dread, unable to escape Miranda’s grip.
“Always.”
My hand closed around her, and Miranda started at the contact, her eyes suddenly focusing.
“You will never be like the others.”
As she was lifted into the air, my other arm, just as slowly, rose from its living rest. Ever so gently, a finger wiped away her tears.
So. As it turns out, blatantly giving no shits if someone lives or dies is scary, especially if they depend on you for everything. Who’d thunk? Not Ian, that’s for sure.
