sallyfourth

Penelope struggled to imagine what they might have in store for her.  Did they intend to reduce her to a ridiculously petite, five-foot nothing sex kitten?  The sort of woman that all the men always drooled and fawned over?  Did they intend to parade her in public as though she was their personal Lolita?  What exactly were these miscreants really capable of? A decades-old, half-remembered fantasy began to coalesce in her mind’s eye.  Penelope saw an image of herself.  Young, just as she was now but tiny, so very tiny.  She was nude and taped spread-eagled to the polished surface of a black lab table.  The large ruler, magnifying lens, calipers, notebook and pencils suggested that she was the subject of some sort of demented science experiment.  Detached and strangely impassive, Penelope took in the scene as her tiny doppelganger struggled furiously against her bonds. An entry in an open notebook, stated that “Subject 23” was now 35.6 cm high.  At the sound of deep, distant, male