Miffy Goes to the Vet - Ch. 2

Chapter 2 - Playing Doctor

Doctor Clara slipped on a pair of black medical gloves, cloaking herself in ritual, slightly encumbered by Miffy's leash. She tested the glove fit, clenching her fingers, touching each pad to the tip of her thumb in an almost sensual manner. It worked to confirm her dexterity, but the real purpose of this oft-repeated exercise was to enter a headspace. It was also a performance, for Miffy's benefit. The girl watched, practically hypnotized, only coming out of it when Clara suddenly clapped her hands.

"You're a little nervous, huh?" Clara smiled at her teensy patient, and put a fingertip under her chin. It was the first time they had touched. That was always a significant moment, even with a layer of nitrile between them. Clara took time to marvel at the girl's size, how her finger covered most of the woman's chin, and the fantastic delicateness of her body. Then she lifted, and made the embarrassed girl look her full in the face. "So. Miffy's a pretty name. But it's not your real name, is it, sweetie?"

'Miffy' shook her head, eyes wide as saucers.

"Are you allowed to tell me? Or would that violate your contract?"

The miniature girl hesitated, but didn't look at Miss Montblanc for instruction. That was good. Clara needed Miffy focused on her, not the giant woman in the corner. After a moment's consideration, the pet cleared her throat. "I'm allowed to tell you. But call me Miffy. Please? I like that name. And, um. I get all goosebumpy when you say it, Doctor Terringer."

"Is that so... Miffy?" Clara glanced down, confirmed the autonomic response, raised her voice slightly as she continued. "I'll call you that. But only if you call me Clara -- not Doctor Terringer. Agreed?"

The tiny girl fidgeted. "Can I call you Doctor Clara?"

"Very well, Doctor Clara it is. Are you ready for me to examine you, Miffy?"

The half-sized lady shivered at the sound of her name, and nodded hard. She started to reach for Clara with her itty-bitty hands, then thought better of it. The girl shot an embarrassed look over Clara's shoulder -- Miss Montblanc was obviously glaring at her. Clara could feel the oppressive weight of her gaze without even turning to look.

Clara realized she was gripping the leash too hard. She made herself relax.

"First," she said brightly, "I want you to stand up as straight as you can. Stretch your hands over your head."

Human animals were the best at following orders, and Miffy obeyed these with crisp eagerness. Clara rewarded her with a small tilt of her head, then pointed downward. "Stay."

Miffy became a statue, even going so far as to hold her breath. Miss Montblanc grunted appreciatively.

There was a meticulously organized supply drawer to Clara's left. She opened it, allowing metal to clink against metal as she rooted around. Some of the tools were quite menacing, reserved for animals having very bad days. Clara lifted a few of these thoughtfully, making sure Miffy could see. There were clamps, and extractors, and a particularly frightening implement for cleaning the teeth of an unwilling equine. Miffy remained still, standing fully exposed with her hands locked over her head, but in her eyes Clara could see a rising panic.

At last Clara removed the tool she wanted -- a simple ophthalmoscope, for examining a patient's ears, throat, and eyes. Clara considered, then selected an attachment appropriate in size for a somewhat small dog. Clara turned on the light, and held it up to the shrunken girl's face.

"Open wide. Say ah."

Miffy had apparently had her tonsils removed. Her throat was otherwise unremarkable, except for its size. Clara doubted she could even get two fingers inside that teensy little mouth. She moved on to her tiny ears, her nose, and then her eyes. Miffy's pupil response was dramatic, contracting far more quickly than a normal human's when Clara shined the light on her. That was consistent with an animal that was scared. Or excited.

Doctor Clara put the tool aside, and gave Miffy a nod. "You're standing for me very well. Good girl."

Another dramatic pupil response, this time in the other direction, dilating. That narrowed it down: definitely excited.

Clara went back to the drawer, retrieved her stethoscope, polished the bell on the fabric of her lab coat. She stepped dangerously close to Miffy, reached out a hand, and lay the cold metal tool against the center of her sternum. "Big deep breath. Hold. And, out. There. Continue just like that."

Miffy had a good strong heart. Her pulse was hard and fast, around one hundred twenty beats per minute. Clara was practiced enough that she knew this somatically, without the need to count. Now she had stumbled upon an interesting data point: could Miffy's quick pulse be a side effect of her shrinking?

Clara decided to experiment.

She rested her gloved hand flat on the woman's back, covering a third of her torso beneath a single palm. Clara pressed firmly, and began to stroke in a firm, gentle circle, while pressing on the other side of Miffy's body with her stethoscope. It was the way she touched clients of many species when she needed them to relax, taking advantage of deeply inherited instincts that were nigh-universal in the animal kingdom. It was the same principle that made weighted blankets so effective. The pressure told someone small and vulnerable that they were safe, cared for... home.

With the size difference between them, Clara guessed it would have a powerful impact. She was right. The little woman sank beneath Clara's touch, closing her eyes and bowing her shoulders. Her heart rate fell -- ninety, then seventy-five, and all the way into the mid-sixties. Clara waited to allow it to stabilize, then began to move the bell of her stethoscope. She placed the cool metal over one little breast, and then the other. Miffy's heart beat faster. And faster still as Clara let the bell cover the woman's entire nipple. She teased as it became hard, then at last pressed down firmly.

Miffy gasped. Heart rate: one-thirty. So, not a side effect of shrinking.

"Well, doctor?" Miss Montblanc purred. "I'm enjoying your examination almost as much as my little Miffy. But I notice you're oddly silent. Are there any observations you'd like to share at this time?"

"She's healthy," the doctor replied, moving the stethoscope down the tiny girl's tummy. "She's also exceptionally responsive. I see that mostly in dogs that have received a lot of training. They become attuned to their humans, you see, and take physical and emotional cues from them. It's almost like they want a person to tell them what to think, what to feel."

Miffy was beginning to tremble. Respiration and heart rate increased further, but she remained obediently still.

"You recognize hard work when you see it," Miss Montblanc said, clearly pleased. "Miffy certainly didn't take to her training at first. There were long and grueling hours, let me tell you. More than a few tears were shed, and most of them mine. But to hear she's attuned to me? Doctor Terringer, that makes everything I've done worthwhile."

Clara made certain her body blocked Miss Montblanc's view, then favored Miffy with a wink. Miffy grinned.

"I'll take her measurements next," the doctor said. "I doubt I'll find a cure, as I'm sure you're aware. But if she's losing height on a daily basis, the least I can do is document it."

"By all means. Document away."

Clara opened a cabinet and retrieved a roll of sterile measuring tape, still sealed in a plastic autoclave bag. She unwrapped it, unspooled it, wrapped one end carefully around her first two fingers. Miffy's eyes followed the movement. Clara smiled, and came to stand chest-to-chest with the tiny woman. With Miffy standing on the exam table, the two were almost exactly the same height.

The doctor brushed the cool silicone measuring tape against Miffy's stomach, then slid it upward until the edge disappeared under her apple-sized breasts. Clara pressed her fingertips delicately against the tiny woman's ribs, holding the tape in place.

"Turn for me. Slowly."

Miffy did, and the tape gradually wrapped around her like a hug. Clara maintained tension until she had fully encircled her underbust this way.

"Twenty-four point five inches," Clara reported. "And for your cup size...." With a flick of her wrists Clara moved the tape upward, and pressed it firmly against Miffy's nipples. "Twenty-eight. What size were your breasts before you started shrinking, Miffy?"

"Forty-two," the mini-girl squeaked. "And, um, I was an F-cup."

"Well, you're a C now." Clara spared a look for the stern woman over her shoulder. "Just in case you want to take her bra shopping."

Miss Montblanc shrugged. "Why would I spend my hard-earned money when she'll shrink out of anything I buy her?"

"A fair point," Clara admitted, mentally adding that the big lady in town could certainly afford it.

She did the shrunken girl's waist next -- fourteen tiny inches, so small that Clara could nearly wrap around her completely if she used both hands. And then came her hips, the number Clara had been most curious about. Miffy was thirty-three inches, absolutely enormous for a girl her size. Clara tried to calculate what that would be if the girl were her original five-six, but her mind kept drifting in decidedly unscientific directions. She found herself picturing the tiny woman sitting across her lap. She was the perfect size for that now. But how small would Miffy need to become for that little butt to rest easy in Clara's open palm? Two feet tall perhaps, or eighteen inches to be safe. What an intriguing height for the girl. Miffy would feel so warm, and soft....

The tape measure had drifted lower as Clara lost herself in reverie. It now rested in Miffy's pubic hair, shaved into a thin line and dyed the same purple as her pixie cut. The shrunken woman hadn't dared to move, though sweat stood on her forehead, and blush rose high on her cheeks.

"Doctor Terringer?" the teensy girl whispered. She swallowed. "Sorry. I mean, Doctor Clara?"

Clara steadied herself before responding. "What is it, Miffy?"

"Can I... can I please put my hands down?" The girl had been obediently holding them over her head all the while. She grinned sheepishly. "My arms are getting tired."

Clara tsked. "You can be a good girl and go a little longer, can't you? If you can, I'll give you a reward."

Miffy bit her lip. "I'll be good, Doctor Clara."

Clara next confirmed Miffy's height as forty-four inches, which was three-foot-eight, just as her owner had said. She measured the length of each of her legs (unnecessary, but fun). Twenty-five inches. Then she decided to measure the circumference of Miffy's pretty little neck. She didn't even look at the reading on the tape. She simply stared into Miffy's eyes, gauging her reaction as she was gently choked. The girl was panting, her tongue lolling helplessly from her mouth. Her expression could only be described as needy.

"Is this in case I want to buy Miffy a necktie?" Miss Montblanc asked mildly.

"I'm being thorough," Clara shot back. "For ten times my usual rate, it's the least I can do." Clara tightened the measure ever so slightly, held it for a five count, and finally relented. She withdrew the tape, and favored the little woman with a smile. "Okay, Miffy. You've been a good girl. You can put your arms down now. And just one more thing before you get your reward -- get on your hands and knees."

Miffy obeyed with almost comic exuberance. She arched her back, stuck out her butt, lifted her chin, and waited for further instructions. If she had a tail, it would've been waging.

Clara opened her tool cabinet, and stood on tip-toe as she reached up to the top shelf. There were devices stored here that were meant to stay out of view of her clients, and Clara was faintly perturbed that Miss Montblanc was now seeing into one of her secret places. It couldn't be helped.

The doctor felt around for a moment, then found what she was looking for: an old-fashioned mercury thermometer, with a usually large and bulbous tip. There was something undeniably lewd about it, or at least Clara had always thought so. She'd had it since college -- the days when she'd simply played doctor, before actually earning the title.

"They tend to whine when I use this," Clara explained, turning to show it to the gargantuan woman in the corner. "They struggle. They beg. Sometimes they even cry. It can be upsetting to witness. If you'd like to leave the room...."

"On the contrary, Doctor Terringer. I wouldn't miss it." Miss Montblanc was openly leering now, her hands pressed her to her muscular thighs, holding her dress flat to her skin.

Clara gave her a knowing smile. "Suit yourself. But remember, you agreed not to interfere. Until the exam is over, she's my patient. And I intend to take very, very good care of her."