RR Lori Warren - Chapter 49

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Reduction & Relocation: Lori Warren

Chapter 49 - Buried in the Bit

January 28th, 2006

For the first time, Sarah Silverman looked caught off guard, even flabbergasted.  But then that adorable, sheepish grin that Michael had grown to love slowly crept onto her face.  

Sarah looked over to the far end of the stage, not nearly as lit up as Sarah’s platform. It was void of the normal flurry of busy crew members moving equipment and lights. Michael saw an old three-cushion couch, so old that it had probably been there when the venue opened a hundred years ago. Sarah’s opening comedian was seated on the left cushion–legs crossed, an arm on the armrest, and a hand covering her mouth.

“What do you think, Angela?  Should I take him for a test drive? Give him the ol’ Silverman Squeeze?”

The spunky opening comedian’s legs fluttered up, tucking in under her butt and then she leaned over, showcasing her generous backside. “Oh god, if you don’t then I definitely will!”

“Don’t do it!” Michael squeaked, his tiny voice barely audible over the deafening roar of approval from the surrounding crowd. “Don’t give me to someone else!” His words came out in frantic bursts as he clung to Lori’s thumb, wrapping his arms and legs around it as if it were a life raft in a raging storm. The thought of being handed off and being trapped in someone else’s butt sent a cold wave of panic through him. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to endure Lori’s treatment, to accept her as his new world. She had been his torturess with a side of cheer, and now she was his protector with a heaping spoonful of betrayal. The idea of starting over with someone new, especially someone as wild and unpredictable as Sarah, was too much to handle.

“Aw, don’t let him fool you, Sarah!” Lori chuckled, her voice lilting with amusement as she gently but firmly pried Michael’s trembling legs from around her thumb and peeled him away from her skin like a bandaid. “I’m sure he’s just embarrassed. This boy wouldn’t stop gushing about how much he likes you.”

Michael’s face burned with embarrassment, his tiny body trembling as he tried to make himself smaller, an impossible feat given his one-inch frame. He could feel her scrutiny, her casual dismissal of him as a person, as if he were no more significant than a bug she could flick away if she so pleased.

Lori’s matter-of-fact tone made it all so much worse. She wasn’t defending him. She wasn’t acknowledging his desperate pleas. No, she was treating him like a child caught fawning over his first crush, spinning a narrative that left him utterly powerless. The crowd’s laughter swelled, a tidal wave of mockery that crushed what little hope he had left.

“Really?” Sarah drawled, leaning closer, her massive face filling Michael’s field of vision. Her breath was warm, sweet, and overpowering as it washed over him. “You like me, little guy?” She tilted her head and her smirk widened. “Not sure how it’d go, to be honest–bringing you home to meet my mom…I dunno–knowing her, she’d wanna try you out just to make sure her little girl isn’t getting mixed up with a bad boy!”

Michael’s humiliation deepened under Sarah’s persistent and targeted teasing. His squeaks of protest as Lori fiddled with him were swallowed by the cacophony of laughter and cheers. He felt like a plaything, his words and feelings dismissed as irrelevant, if not just adorable. Lori held him out to Sarah with a casualness that broke him. He clawed at her fingers, trying to hold on, but it was no use. 

“Well,” Sarah paused dramatically, her grin widening as the crowd buzzed with anticipation, “What’s everyone think?  Should I give it a shot? What’s one more butt for this little cassanova to conquer, right?”

The audience erupted into raucous laughter. Michael’s stomach dropped. Was this actually happening? Sarah Silverman, the woman he idolized, was not only mocking him but was now offering to shove him between her cheeks?

“Honestly Sarah, I think he’d actually love it!  He’s been with me for so long now, I think he could use a change of scenery.”

“Lori, no…” Michael whimpered. Why was she doing this? 

“Or should we say…” Sarah raised a pointer finger into the air, waiting the second or two for the audience to hush. “...a change of cheekery?”

The crowd absolutely lost it. People were cheering, and Michael, sitting frozen in shock, could hardly process what was happening. He should have expected the crowd to cheer, but their enthusiasm was otherworldly. How could they be so heartless?  So entertained by his turmoil? He wanted to scream, to beg, but the overwhelming noise and Sarah’s growing excitement paralyzed him.

Lori laughed and gave Michael a light pat on the head. “ A change of scenery could be nice.  What do you think, Michael? Do you want to see what Miss Sarah’s bottom is like?”

“I don’t want to, Lori.  I want to stay with you.”

“Awww…the poor little booty baby.” Sarah’s eyes flicked from the crowd back to Michael, this time with an even more playful gleam. “You wanna stay with mommy? Don’t worry, little guy,” she teased, leaning down so her face loomed over him. Her thick eyebrows danced up and down as she smirked with a smug superiority. “I promise, I’ll take good care of you. Plus, you’ll have a front-row seat to my set. Just… y’know, from the rear.” Michael felt utterly powerless. The crowd was eating it up, Lori was thrilled—and he was nothing but a punchline.

Michael scrambled, trying to escape.  Where would he go? He had no idea, but he had to try. And sure enough, the only place his trying got him was face down in the denim cleavage of Lori’s thunderous thighs.

“Oh my god, this is like…pathetically precious.” Sarah said in sincere astonishment, cupping her hand over her cheeky grin. “I seriously just can’t even.”

Lori gently scooped Michael up from her lap. The crowd’s laughter and excitement only made the moment worse. Every second stretched into its own eternity for him as Lori held him out in her hand, passing him over like a scarcely-cherished toy.

Sarah carefully accepted him, her fingers pinching his tiny form with a tenderness that contrasted her sharp wit. She inspected him for a moment, her lips curling into a devious and power-hungry smirk. The lights were so much brighter up here on stage. He was on display for everyone to see.  And it didn’t help matters any better that Lori asked for Michael’s clothes.  No way she was going to risk losing Gina’s doll clothes, and Sarah was more than happy to undress Michael.

“Look at you,” Sarah’s tone of mockery masqueraded behind a near-transparent veil of sweetness, “the world’s tiniest hitchhiker about to get the ride of his life….”  She ran a finger down his narrow chest and flicked at his involuntarily hard cock like a tiny little light switch. “...streaking his way into the history books.”

With the crowd still roaring, Sarah turned her back to the audience, and made an exaggerated show of preparing herself. Her jeans were tight around her thighs and waist, but there was just enough give for her to create a gap between the waistband and her lower back. 

“Alright, Michael,” she said with exaggerated enthusiasm, “Things are about to get real snug.  Time to meet your home away from home.”

Michael scanned the crowd for a face…any face that might carry some hint of sympathy but he found not a single one.  Even Lori was practically glowing with excitement as she cheered Sarah on. Sarah’s jeans hugged snug against her generous curves, creasing and stretching against her thighs to allow for the lengthening of her waistband.  Michael was glad to be forcefully turned away from the fascinated crowd, for they’d be of no help to him now.  But now he couldn’t see much of anything except for Sarah’s exposed crack, peeking through the gap of her tugged waistband.  

Sarah Silverman was naturally a pale woman, but the skin below her waistband practically glowed under the stage lights–soft and creamy, as if inviting his gaze despite his growing horror. The curves of her buttocks swelled outward with a borderline arrogant splendor.

A faint sheen of warmth emanated from the cleft between those soft cheeks, round as spheres.  It was a canyon to him, yawning wide and ready to gobble him up.

Sarah lowered him toward that outstretched waistband. The crowd’s laughter reached a fever pitch as Michael felt the air change, the warmth of Sarah’s body growing closer. The cleft of her ass threatened to swallow him whole, and he could smell the unique musk signature of her body rising with the heat. He was close enough now to see the faint dimples playing across her skin. When he grazed against the flesh, it felt smooth and plush against him, yet firm–like freshly risen dough just waiting for a baker’s hand.  The living mountains of pale peach folded to the influence of her powerful hand. Disposable cameras flashed as Sarah plunged him down the waistline of her jeans and, with one swift motion, she slipped Michael between her cheeks.

The crowd erupted, and Michael was swallowed by darkness. He could feel the heavy weight of her dense cheeks and the warmth of her skin pressing him into place. Every word Sarah spoke now felt like muffled thunder above him. The hair didn’t help either.  She’d always joked about being a hairy woman, but from deep between her thick, muggy cheeks, Michael realized that all those jokes were inspired by reality.

“Aww, he’s actually trying to fight it. How cute.” Sarah announced to the crowd. “Must feel like he’s squirming between two giant marshmallows.”

“He does that when he’s trying to get comfy!” Lori shouted.

Sarah smiled, her left eye squinting for a moment before a large giggle escaped her lips.

“I can see that..or should I say ‘feel’ that.” Sarah remarked, bouncing her cheeks with each of her hands.  “He’s like…the world’s tiniest pillow fluffer.  Except he’s not fluffing pillows, he’s fluffing butt cheeks.”

Michael could still hear laughter, but it was much more muffled, unable to penetrate the thick flesh of Sarah Silverman’s dense glutes.  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve got a butt roommate now! And let me tell you, I think he’s settling in nicely.” Sarah bent over at the waist and reached for Lori’s hand.  She planted a playful kiss on Lori’s palm and thanked her.

“Do you mind if I hold onto him for my last set tonight? My butt cheeks need something to chew on!”

“It’d be his honor!” Lori shouted over the thunderous laughter.  “You be good for Miss Sarah, Michael! In fact, if you like, you could borrow him for the night if you want.”

“You’d really do that? That’s so generous!  I’ll return him tomorrow morning.  Maybe a little flatter, but still in one piece!”

The crowd went wild with applause.

                      *

Michael woke with enough of a jolt to realize that everything he’d just experienced was some perverted nightmare–but as usual, he only returned to a reality far worse. He was so far beyond the adorable naivety of waking up and expecting to be under the thick pale-blue comforter of his queen-sized bed. He knew better now.  He knew that bed, his apartment, and the rest of his life was hundreds of miles away.  But still, in his dream-addled state, Michael hadn’t quite caught up to the most recent developments of his reality–the developments that took place mere days after Isabella further ruined his already ruined life.

As Michael felt the living flesh around his body flex and twitch, his heart pounded with such force in his chest it was a wonder that she couldn’t hear it!  The nightmare still clung to his mind like thick cobwebs as he tried to regulate his heartbeat.  He’d remembered, from his youth, hearing that you needed to stay very still upon waking from a dream.  If you moved too quickly, you risked fuzzing the dream’s finer details…so naturally Michael thrashed like a fish out of water. The thrashing seemed to work in a mental sense; the details of his Sarah Silverman nightmare turned to a dull, vague terror.  But in a physical sense, his wriggling did very little.  It never did, really.  

Michael had become somewhat of an expert on butt cheek flesh, at least Lori’s anyway.  Lori had a fat ass, which meant her cheeks were incredibly soft. Disgustingly so.  And as a begrudgingly self-proclaimed expert, Michael recognized that the compression on his body right now felt…off.  It felt different. It wasn’t as yielding to his movements.  It didn’t depress and dip in the way Lori’s cheeks usually did. And also, perhaps most evident, it didn’t smell like ass.

Michael tried to focus his vision but the pitch-black darkness surrounding him wouldn’t allow it. 

Where the hell am I?

Was he missing something?  He felt like he was.

Michael heard talking.  Feminine voices. Informal. Confident. Giggling. As clarity was still returning to him in fragmented pieces, Michael realized that the voices had been present all along, conversing with one another.

The voices belonged to Lori’s daughters, Michael was sure of it–but which ones? He didn’t know, but he could hear their conversation.  But that in itself was strange!  Why could he hear them so clearly?  Lori’s butt cheeks were nothing if not an incredible insulator of sound.

Flesh surrounded him, but it didn’t feel like Lori’s butt cheeks.  It didn’t smell like Lori’s butt cheeks.  It didn’t taste like Lori’s butt cheeks.  But whatever it was, it was something soft and fleshy pressing against him from all sides, that was for sure. 

But actually, after focusing on the sensation, Michael arrived at the conclusion that there were more than one soft and fleshy ‘somethings’…and they carried a gentle warmth, not sweltering like Lori’s crack after a long workout, mind you.  But still, it was donating more heat into his body than he wanted.

The air around him was dense, humid—thick with an unfamiliar and odd, sweet and sour-salty scent accompanied by a hint of mango.  It clung to his throat and the innards of his nostrils as he tried to breathe in deeply. He’d been here for awhile–long enough for the horrid molecules to gang up and dominate his senses. 

It didn’t make sense. The smell, the taste…it was all so unfamiliar. This wasn’t Lori’s ass crack…and yet, where else could he be? Where else did he belong if not in the crevice of Lori’s massive butt? The feeling of pressure against his nude body–while still oppressive and unrelenting, was unlike the absurdly overwhelming sensation of Lori’s butt cheeks.  His brain struggled to process the sensation, searching for context, for anything that might ground him in what was happening.

And then, it hit him—the faint rhythmic pressure against his back. 

A pulse. 

Micheal could feel it against his skin plain as the daylight that dare not enter his prison.

Slow and steady, the pulse thudded through the soft, yielding surface curling around him. 

Butt cheeks don’t have a pulse…

Oh, no…It was all starting to come back to him.  The comedy show, it actually was tonight.  And Lori had every intention of still going, but she didn’t bring Michael.

The soft, padded curling tightened in a delayed response to his struggles, thick peachy stalks carrying a faint hint of mango, roughness and callous working together to restrain him.  Michael could hear muffled sounds, distant yet unmistakable. A feminine voice.

“God, you probably don’t even realize how freaking lucky you are, do you?”

His breath caught in his throat.  That was Victoria’s voice.  Unmistakable.

Michael held his breath as long as he could, listening and reacting to the sound of skin and cotton shuffling against bedsheets.  After holding his breath as long as he could, Michael inhaled deeply. The thick and musky odor filtering into his tiny lungs hit his senses even more intensely now.  It was a bold mixture of artificial berry and natural bodily vinegar . He recognized it now, even if his mind didn’t want to accept it. His heart skipped a beat, terror freezing his thoughts as he wriggled desperately, but the round bullies surrounding him were too strong.  Too plush.  Too overwhelming.  His cheek rubbed against the warm, pliant surface beside him. Michael could feel the ridges of the print against his jaw…against his chin…against his lips.

It was a toe.

Michael gasped; he remembered all of it. He wasn’t just trapped in some strange fabric prison—he was inside a black-and-white checkered sock.  

The soft, doughy bulk curling in rhythmic pulses around him was the flesh of her chubby toes, contributing to the bitter growing humidity, and it pinned him in place like a tiny, helpless insect. 

How did it get to this?

No seriously…how did it come to this?  For all the misery Michael had endured in this bizarre experiment, at least there had been a routine: most of his waking hours were spent trapped between Lori’s butt cheeks. Was it fun? Of course not.  But it was consistent.  Now this nightmare had taken a new turn.

The scent was much different than what he’d grown used to living in Lori’s ass–earth, musky, and overwhelming…but it had become some perverted version of home. His heart pounded in his chest as the last shreds of his nightmare dissolved, only to reveal the greater horror of his true and unfiltered reality. This wasn’t a dream he could wake up from.

Michael tried to scream, but his voice was muffled by the thick walls of fabric and flesh around him, his tiny cries absorbed into sock fabric. He tried to pull himself out of the padded cleavage, not nearly as soft as Lori’s cheeks, but he gave up quickly.  Those toes were relentless; they had a mind of their own.  And the second that Michael was far enough away from them to feel the flattened fuzz of the black-and-white checkered fabric at his back, those doughy balls curled around him and pulled him right back.