RR Lori Warren - Chapter 59

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Reduction & Relocation: Lori Warren

Chapter 59 - So, So Little

September 29th, 2006

“Unbelievable.” Lori uttered under her breath.  

Wow, some girl is really going to struggle to avoid losing you, my dear.

Still nestled between Brandi’s fingers, he shivered in a way that made Lori’s heart melt, his little torso rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths. His arms were limp at his sides, and his legs—so comically thin—looked like they barely had the muscle to lift several strands of hair. And somehow he’d managed to support Brandi and her–what Victoria would call…’dump truck of a booty’.

“You really sat on him this whole time?” Lori finally asked, eyes wide. “For the whole ride?”

Brandi glanced back with a sheepish little shrug, though her grin didn’t waver. “Hey. You saw what I’m working with. He had a very cushioned ride.”

As she chuckled, Lori couldn’t help but feel a flicker of awe. That little thing in her hand–he survived all that? 

It was, in a strange way, kind of inspiring. 

That tiny little thing, no bigger than a crumb, had just spent the better part of an hour beneath Brandi’s enormous buttocks. Wide, heavy hips, glutes so full and round they had trouble fitting between the car door and the center console without touching, and thighs that looked like they could crush melons if she felt so inclined. And he supported all of it.

Time seemed to slow down as her mind raced, and she reflected on her RR journey.

** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Back at the beginning of all this, Lori had been so uncertain.

She could picture it like it was yesterday: the soft amber light of her bedroom lamp casting shadows across her floral comforter. The girls were still living at home back then but they were all in bed, and the house was quiet except for the occasional creak of settling floorboards. Lori had been sitting on the edge of her bed, both palms cupped together underneath Michael like she was holding a baby bird. Delicate. Fragile.  

Two inches tall. Tanned skin and a sharp farmer’s tan, earned perhaps from time at the beach or working under the beating sun.  He was frozen and blinking up at her with those feeble, frightened eyes. So desperately in need of her grace and care, but not at all aware of it yet.

He hadn’t spoken. Not yet. Just trembled slightly with every breath, like his entire nervous system was still adjusting to the scale of the world around him. And she, unsure and new herself, had stared down at him in awe and worry. Her hands trembled too—just a little—because even then, she understood the absurd weight of the responsibility she was holding. Of the difference in scale. And of what came next.

She thought back even earlier. Back to the days leading up to when she’d first lay eyes on his shipment box, partially hidden under Isabella’s discarded flip flop. Lori had spent more time than she cared to admit standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom, the waistband of her leggings rolled halfway down to reveal the full width of her motherly hips and the expansive curve of her generous glutes. She studied her body with a meticulous closeness that she hadn’t done in years. 

Not for vanity, goodness no!  And surprisingly enough, not for criticism. It was out of concern for the subject she’d be meeting soon.

Could a shrunken man really survive all this?

Her glutes were soft—but they were so, SO heavy. Plump. Hefty. Lori had inherited this huge rear from her mother, who got it from her mother’s mother; it was the kind of bottom that required careful maneuvering through tight spaces, and filled out most any seat you could imagine. Her girls had inherited the same DNA–Warren girls didn’t mess around when it came to big bottoms!

She remembered whispering to her own reflection, almost trying to coach herself through what was to come.  And even after months of housing Michael in her rear, Lori still worried that one of these days, she’d clench just a little too hard.  Sit a little too quickly. And she’d feel the horrible, traumatic sensation of a grape popping between her bulbous cheeks, and that would be that. Michael would leave this world; his adventure would come to an abrupt and unceremonious end in Lori’s bottom.

But seeing the cheerful, chipper, and confident Brandi modeling this lint-sized man, Lori found herself filling with validation. Brandi’s rear was nearly just as big as Lori’s, albeit younger, perkier, and more firm, and she had been casually grinding an even smaller man beneath her cheeks like it was nothing. 

It didn’t just ease Lori’s hard-dying fears of overwhelming her little Michael with the vastness of her own bottom.  It convinced her that she’d done the right thing all along. That Michael was never in any danger when in her rear.  Quite the contrary. This really was the safest place for him. Lori smiled to herself, feeling him still and quiet again beneath her. 

He’s stronger than even he knows. Safer than he even needs to be.

She was proud of him. 

And of herself.

** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Hellooo, earth to Lori.”

Brandi’s voice pulled Lori gently out of her memories. Her eyes refocused and suddenly she was back in the car—back in the present—with the blur of train cars still rattling past the crossing ahead and the steady hum of the engine beneath her. The end of the train was in sight now–off in the blurred distance, but still stretching far away.

“Huh?” Lori said.

Brandi looked amused but also proud.  Like she understood exactly what Lori was thinking.  “I asked if you wanna hold him.”

She held out her open palm toward Lori. The little subject was dwarfed even by the slope of her lifeline.

“If you’re thinking about ‘you-know-what’, you don’t have to worry.” Brandi said, wrinkling her nose and gently plugging it. “Remember how I said it’s straight-up baby steps with these subjects?” 

Brandi smiled, using her free hand to stretch the lycra material of her leggings. They snapped back with a vengeance, as if being separated from her bare skin was a travesty not to be tolerated. “These leggings cost more than this car, if you can believe that. And they’re engineered to keep things like moisture and odor away from the subject.  He’s perfectly clean.”

Lori hesitated for only a second before reaching out, her fingers curling carefully beneath the edge of Brandi’s palm.

They both waited–to see if the tiny little subject would move from one woman’s hand to the other. But after about three seconds of no action, Brandi tilted her palm.  And with a level of effortless precision that spoke volumes to just how natural this all was for her, Brandi allowed the tiny man to fall into Lori’s waiting hand. Lori remained sitting perfectly still, back arched straight up and her gaze supremely focused on the teeny subject.

He was just so light. Barely there. Like Brandi had just passed off a piece of sock lint instead of a living, breathing, thinking man. He felt more like static cling than mass. She adjusted her grip, settling him onto the wide pad of her thumb, so very careful not to let him slip off and into her lap where he might be lost forever. 

“Oh my…” she murmured. “He’s just so…”

“Itty bitty?” Brandi finished.

Lori nodded, unable to help the soft smile tugging at her lips. “I was going to say ‘impossibly small,’ but yes. Itty bitty works.”

She turned the tiny man slightly, angling him into a shaft of sunlight that had fallen across her lap. His arms stirred weakly, one knee twitching against her palm. 

Lori leaned back in her seat, just for a moment, cradling him the way she once did Michael. She brought him a touch closer, so close her eyes were now crossing down the length of her nose. 

Brandi was right.  He didn’t smell at all.  Not like anything except for the faint scent of leather, probably from Brandi’s driver’s seat. And fabric softener, probably from the last time Brandi’s magical, expensive leggings might have been washed.

Lori thought of Michael, and how different his experiences were from this novice of a subject.

After just an hour nestled between her bare cheeks, Lori wouldn’t have dared to hand Michael to another person without a quick rinse—at the very least. And after a full day? Forget it. Sweet, energy-drained Michael would be steeped in sweat, a slick sheen of gluteal oil and whatever else had been slowly brewing in that humid, near-airtight space over the course of the day. A heady mix of natural musk, skin oils, lotion residue, and body heat—all trapped in the plushest, deepest part of her intimate, womanly anatomy.

It was a strong aroma that, at this point, no one knew better than Michael.  Not even Lori.  In a way, he knew her better than she knew herself. And in the last few months, even the deepest scrubbing proved unable to eliminate all of the odor, as if it had been seared into his skin like oil on a blank canvas. But she didn’t blame him for it. How could she?

She was a real woman. Big. Warm. Full-bodied. And Michael was submerged in it all day every day. Immersed in her scent. In her presence. Of course he came out smelling like her. It came with the territory. It was his life now.

And, though she’d take it to her grave, a small, secret part of Lori didn’t mind it.

She’d never in a million years admit it aloud—not even to her daughters or closest girlfriends—but every now and then, when she brought Michael out and caught a whiff of that uniquely Lori-scented man... well, it didn’t disgust her, per se. It was like catching the fleeting scent of her own gas—unpleasant to every other person, of course, but familiar to her. Personal. 

But it wasn’t as if she wanted to bottle it and sell it at Nordstrom. Goodness, no! Hers or not, it was still objectively unsavory and lip-curling, and Lori wouldn’t dare put someone else through having to smell that if she could help it! But there was something satisfying about it. Some primal reassurance in knowing that Michael carried her essence on his tiny skin after hours spent buried between those fleshy, consuming cheeks. That even when he was away from the safety of her crack, as rare an instance that was these days, her unforgettable scent embedded on him–in him, like deep etchings on a shallow stone. 

Michael received his most vigorous cleanings late at night (and sometimes in the morning), right before his more intimate and romantic tours over, and even into her. Lori’s sweltering sex could leave quite a sheen on him, and sometimes the aroma tickling her nostrils after removing him from her core filled her with enough lust to stuff him right back in without even a word. Cleaning him after that was much more fun, and sometimes she didn’t even have to leave the bed.

The incredibly miniscule man in Lori’s palm scanned his surroundings before staring up at her in awe like a goddess.

“Oh, he’s warm; much warmer than I would have expected,” Lori said, brows lifting as the tiny heat radiated up into her palm. She was looking directly at him but instead of speaking to him, she spoke to Brandi.  The little man practically pulsed in her grasp—like a thimble-sized ember. No way this little boy generated all that on his own. He had to have help; and of course he did have help; each of Brandi’s massive, round-as-basketball glutes squeezing down and around him for over an hour. He practically glowed with Brandi’s body heat as Lori shifted him in her fingers.

“It’s like... I can feel the heat from his body more than I can actually feel him.”

There had been a few times during her own journey through the world of rear housing—especially after spicy food or too much coffee—when Lori would remove Michael from her bottom and found his skin hot to the touch. Really hot.

‘Michael gets this warm when I let one go. And she’s been sitting on him for over an hour…’ Lori thought.  ‘There’s really no polite way to ask if she’s been tooting on him, is there?’

Lori was just about to ask if that might’ve been the case here, when Brandi mercifully spoke up.

“Yeah, he’s got this prankster over here to thank for that,” Brandi said, swatting Jane playfully on the shoulder with a soft thump. “Turning on my heated seat like that. For shame.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jane replied coolly, folding her arms with exaggerated innocence. She turned toward the window with a smug little smirk—far too pleased with herself to be convincing, but then again she didn’t seem to be trying.

Brandi let out a breath through her nose, feigning outrage. “Yeah, yeah. You just sat there all smiles while my glutes were roasting him like a little Thanksgiving turkey. It’s a miracle he didn’t fuse into my seat.” 

“Oh no, wouldn’t that be terrible.” Jane said with heavy sarcasm, and Brandi stifled a laugh. She rubbed the expensive lycra material clinging to her large thigh once more. “He’s lucky he didn’t have to deal with my body heat on top of all that. ”

Lori let out a light chuckle, glancing down at the tiny man still lying stunned in her palm looking up at her. He was sticky, flushed, and blinking slowly like he wasn’t entirely aware of what these young women were doing.  Brandi may have sounded like she was holding Jane accountable for the prank. But she wasn’t. They both found it hilarious.  And he was the butt of the joke.

Lori tried to at least look sympathetic as she peeked down again at the tiny figure in her hand—but it was impossible to ignore how ridiculous the whole thing was. He was barely a speck in her palm, fresh off an hour-long sauna session directly beneath Brandi’s bouncing, bubbly rear, but Lori could already feel the chill of the car air starting to cool his fevered little body. Lori let out a laugh, watching the banter unfold between Brandi and Jane with warm amusement. 

“Resilience builds character at least, right?” Jane said. “I’ve heard you say that before.”

Brandi smirked. “You’re horrible.”

Jane didn’t argue or disagree; she just smiled.

Invigorated by all the fresh, cool air infiltrating his lungs and assaulting his naked skin, the quarter-inch man in Lori’s hand found the energy to stir.

“He’s moving around.  Michael did this a lot in the beginning.” Lori muttered. The pads of Lori’s fingers alone dwarfed his entire body—and her thumb must have looked like a semi-truck from his perspective.  “You know, my youngest tells me all the time how my Michael is much too big…and how he’d be so much happier if he were ‘littler and cuter’.” 

“Sounds like my kinda girl.” Brandi laughed.

The quarter-incher in Lori’s fingers could struggle all he wanted, and he sure did now. But Lori’s index finger was more than enough to secure him down.  In fact, Lori surmised that there was literally no part of her body that couldn’t overpower him with laughable imbalance. Even a bat of her thick eyelashes might be enough to pin him down.  As Lori leaned closer, she felt her heart skip a beat.  There was something exciting about this.  Something new.  It reminded her of the feeling she got when she first saw Michael.  When she first positioned him into his new home between her buttocks.  At two inches tall, Michael blended in and disappeared from Lori’s radar after enough time in her bottom; she could barely feel him when he was tucked snuggly between her cheeks, and his presence faded to little more than a faint, occasional squirm.  

But this little man? 

Lori would feel a droplet of sweat glide down her lower back and slip between her glutes before she’d feel him. The same droplet of sweat that Michael imbibed could fully encase this little man like an unfortunate little ant trapped in a heaping tablespoon of amber

Not with all his effort could he even register in Lori’s bottom. 

It was hard to imagine how untraceable this little pencil-tip eraser of a man would feel–or not feel…in her crack. He was simply too small–a speck, a whisper of presence, nothing more than a tickle of movement in an ocean of fleshy warmth that would jiggle, quake, compress, spread, flex, and relax all with no regard for his presence.

Lori’s lips parted slightly as the thought settled in her mind. He’d disappear in there.  Completely and truly.

“I think Victoria would literally lose her mind if she saw you.”

Lori looked up from the squirming man, who’s struggles were starting to weigh heavily on his remaining strength.

“Did you say this is his third time with..well, with you?”

“He just completed Reduction Therapy last week.  Technically this is his third time. His second session was on the way out to pick you up.”

The little man’s minuscule chest rose and fell in panicked breaths, noticeably quicker than when she first accepted him from Brandy.  His twig-like arms trembled as he pressed himself against Lori’s fingertip. Even now, leaning in close enough to boop him with her nose, Lori could barely make out his features, but she could tell he was young. Handsome. His whole life was ahead of him. He was looking up—staring at a large powerful woman who held him so effortlessly, as if she were an unshakable force of nature.

Brandi stretched her arm back between the front seats, palm up, fingers extended and wiggling. “Alrighty, looks like the train is about through. I should get him settled.” she chirped brightly.

Her tone hadn’t lost its warmth, but there was firmness that Lori hadn’t heard yet—like a teacher calling recess over. Friendly and polite, but non-negotiable.  

“That’s probably enough break for the little trooper anyway.”

Lori glanced down at the shivering figure in her palm. The poor thing was clearly listening—if not with his ears, then with some deep, survival-wired instinct. He’d gone rigid, clutching at Lori’s pinky finger–as much of it as he could, like it were a mighty redwood tree. His arms were so tiny, so soft, he came not even close to encircling the first knuckle.

It was pitiful. And weirdly… sweet.

‘Oh, you poor, silly little thing,’ Lori thought, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckling. ‘You think I’m going to save you from her?’

She shifted slightly in her seat, and deep within the warm press of her glutes, she felt the faintest twitch from Michael—reminding her he was still there, faithfully tucked where he belonged.

‘Young man’, she mused, ‘I’m housing one of you between my cheeks right now; and he’s much bigger than you.’

The irony was almost too rich. She wondered if Michael might feel a confidence boost, seeing that there was something smaller than him. Maybe she’d tell him about it later.

The quiet of the moment was shattered by the sharp, indignant BLAAAT of a horn behind them. Long and theatrical. It was another driver, tired of waiting behind the idle Malibu at the empty railroad crossing.

Brandi flinched. “Ugh, alright, alright! We’re moving.” She said, speaking into her rear-view mirror like it was a walkie-talkie connected to the car honking behind her.

She kept her hand out toward Lori as she shifted in her seat, settling the car back into gear. “C’mon, duty calls–and by duty, I mean booty.”

Lori let out a soft snort, gently prying the tiny subject from her finger as if unwrapping a toddler from her leg. He clung. He resisted. But it was literally nothing compared to Lori’s will.  Less than nothing if that were possible. 

Lori gave her palm a slight tilt, and the little man tumbled forward like a loose bead.

He didn’t land with a thud or a smack—he was far too light for that. He simply toppled, a clumsy, helpless roll over the gentle slope of her hand and into Brandi’s waiting palm, where he came to rest face-down in the center of her outstretched skin.

Brandi didn’t even glance down.

“Shoot, we’re moving again.” Brandi frowned, whipping her head forward and returning her gaze to the road. ”I shouldn’t handle them while I’m driving.  Jane, mind grabbing him for me?”

Brandi held out the tiny subject toward her dark-haired co-pilot. 

Unlike Brandi, whose touch had been deliberate, careful, and almost affectionate, Jane’s pale, long fingers plucked the tiny man up with the same level of regard and care someone might have after retrieving a cheap dropped pen cap.  Not even a pen.  Just the cap.

She didn’t cradle him in her palm or against her fingertip like Brandi did. She didn’t offer him a stable surface to rest on.  Instead, she simply pinched him between her fingers as he tried to stabilize himself. Jane didn’t seem to notice–or she just didn’t care.

“Careful, Jane!” Brandi laughed, reaching for and steadying the pale intern’s wrist.  “Your window’s down.”

“You’re such a worrier sometimes.” Jane said, finishing up whatever she was doing on her phone before she was tasked with handling the little subject.  He trembled in Jane’s fingers, holding on for dear life. “He’s sticking to me like super glue.”

“He’s checked out in my name, silly!” Brandi said.  “I’ll be the one who gets in trouble if we lose him. And you’ll have to be the one to tell poor Lacey why she doesn’t get to have her subject.”

“Fine then,” Jane muttered, bringing the tiny man between her pinched fingers away from the gushing slipstream of wind. “Here’s your butt’s little chew toy.”

Brandi didn’t extend a hand to accept him. “Didn’t you hear me, you goof? Ten and two, Jane. Ten and two,” The blonde nodded toward her hands planted dutifully on the steering wheel. “Keeping us safe out here. No distracted driving.” Brandi flashed a crooked grin that made her sound both responsible and smug. “But you can put him away for me.”

And with that, Brandi shifted her weight to the left and leaned into the driver’s side door, sending a cascade of subtle motion through her generous lower half. Her core engaged as her right glute came up from the seat, like a buoyant, rising black moon.

The jet-black lycra cleaved inward where the curvature split—creating a deep, inviting canyon of softness. “That’s your target,” Brandi said breezily. “Just slide him into the gap.”

Lori glanced at Jane—and that cool, cavalier act she’d been trying to put on had started crumbling. She wasn’t entirely hesitant. Not exactly reluctant. But noticeably flushed and locked in a sort of quiet paralysis. Her fingers hovered mid-air, subject in hand, while her eyes flicked—just briefly—down to the massive underside of Brandi’s lifted cheek.

It wasn’t just lust, but something more complicated. Something between torment and thrill. Like Jane had been challenged to a dare she’d been dying for and dreading all at the same time.

And still, Brandi seemed totally unaware. Or expertly practiced in ignoring and pretending. 

Lori tried not to laugh. She almost felt sorry for Jane. Because if the size of Brandi’s ass was overwhelming from a distance–and goodness, was it ever, then Lori could only imagine what it felt like for Jane to be so close…to be permitted to look and maybe even touch. Inches from that heat, that weight, that pressure… especially for a girl like Jane, who looked fair and fragile enough that she could be folded in half by Brittany’s developed lower half.

And now she was supposed to slide someone underneath it. Like a sacrifice to a goddess.

After what felt like minutes, but truly only took a beat of time for her to respond, Jane cleared her throat and muttered, “Yeah, okay.”

Lori watched the tiny man quiver between Jane’s fingers, his frail little limbs twitching as those firm-gripped fingers crossed over the center console toward Brandi.

“You gotta nudge him further, Jane. I can feel him under my cheek. When I settle back down, he needs to nudge up between them.” Brandi said, allowing her enormous rear to rise just a little more. “Think of it like a little egg under a mama hen.” 

Her gaze snapped back up to Jane. And there it was again…

‘Oh, this poor girl.’

Just a fraction of a second, but Lori caught it. The way her dark eyes darted—not toward the subject who was gawking up at the jet black, convex ceiling overhead, but toward Brandi. Lori had seen that expression before—that telltale, deer-in-the-headlights panic of someone trying to act normal when their brain was absolutely not cooperating.

Lori saw Jane’s slender, fair throat bob with a dry swallow and she exhaled deeply through her nose. Her defined jaw twitched and sure enough, as Jane reached forward to nudge the tiny man further toward the center of Brandi's driver’s seat, Jane’s knuckles just barely—deliberately?—grazed against the soft swell of Brandi’s hanging cheek.

Lori might’ve believed it was an accident, but Jane’s reaction gave her away. The girl went rigid, her pale knuckles brushing lower, briefly skimming against the curve of Brandi’s thigh before she jerked her hand back like she’d been burned.

Brandi didn’t seem to care. For all Lori knew, Brandi deliberately kept the distance between her huge butt and her soft driver’s seat too narrow for even a small hand like Jane’s to fit.

“Okay, he’s there.” Jane said softly.  

“Thanks, Janey.” Brandi said, flipping on a turn signal to change lanes for the coming turn. It was a long and winding dirt road that Lori vaguely recognized. Brandi was still smiling, still holding herself aloft, oblivious to the flustered tension rolling off of Jane in waves. The subject could be seen, under the heavy, hefty black ceiling of Brandi’s immense right glute. He’d gotten all his mobility back; having broken into a full-on sprint to escape the seat.  But it was much too late for that.  Jane’s fingers went back in, offering a light but insulting flick that sent him flying back to the center of the driver’s seat. 

“Now get your hand outta there. I don’t think it needs any acclimating.”

Jane quickly obliged, and Lori smirked to see the rapid jiggle of Brandi’s right glute, and the rapid apology of Jane whose face had turned as red as a stop sign.

Without taking her hands off the steering wheel or her eyes off the road, Brandi centered her weight once more, just like she did at the beginning of the drive.  Only now Lori knew why…it was to seal that tiny, one-quarter of an inch tall man tight and cozy between her massive buns. 

There we go” Brandi chirped, her voice as light as ever. There was an air of condescension and superiority…so it must have been directed toward the subject under her bottom. “Trust the process.  Trust the cushion.”

~

Stay tuned for next chapter! It's called Chapter 60 - In Good Company