RR Lori Warren - Chapter 46

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Reduction & Relocation: Lori Warren

Chapter 46 - Fluid Dynamics

January 21st, 2006

The minutes bled into hours, but Michael was no stranger to the distortions of time brought on by deprivation of light.  Studies he’d skimmed in college not only confirmed those first-hand experiences, but also spoke of a heightening of the other senses.  Michael could definitely attest to that as well.  The foul aroma surrounding him could strip latex paint from a wall.  And that bitter, salt-laden taste–truth be told, it wasn’t as appalling and offensive as it had been the first time he’d slipped up and tasted it.  

Why was that, by the way? 

Was it a natural defense mechanism? A survival mechanic–suggestive of a human’s will to survive in even the most dark and dank conditions?  Could be. But of course it could have just as easily been the opposite. Maybe the softening assault of Lori’s ass sweat against his tongue and palate indicated the opposite of strength–a weak, broken mind?  

The cycle of being pressed, squeezed, and smothered between Lori’s massive buttocks had no end–nor did it have a beginning, really. The soft, warm flesh around him became his entire existence, stretching out in all dimensions of space and time–he’d been born here in this wobbly world of fat and muscle, and he felt that he would die here.  Every breath of humid, heavy air was filled with her scent and the increasing humidity saw to it that keeping her sweat was impossible.

Mercifully so, fate permitted Michael to drift in and out of consciousness as Lori carried out her errands for the day. He hadn’t exactly gotten a good deal of rest confined within Victoria’s disgusting sock so his body was now forcing micro naps wherever the smallest window of opportunity existed.  

God, how long ago had it been anyway?  How long had it been since he was stuffed into that rank, threadbare sock?  It was about noon now, judging from the muffled voice of a cashier somewhere beyond the dense adipose tissue of Lori’s generously sized glutes. That would place the sock-trap at 12 hours ago. 

Revolting as he found Victoria’s grimy, threadbare sock to be, at least he had room to actually move around.  He could shift and stretch; he could turn his face away from the worst of it and free his face from direct contact with the scratchy fibers.  The only part of the sock experience worse than the butt experience was the temperature.  

Disgusting as he found Lori’s ass crack to be, at least he wasn’t freezing. But was it really that much better feeling the thick, salty, muggy ass air cloak your skin, line your nostrils and palette, and humidify your lungs?  It was a lose/lose for him, of course.  To win would have been being free of socks and feet, underwear and asses, bras and tits, vengeful irrational teenagers and most of all controlling middle-aged mothers.  

He dozed off in the middle of the boring pleasantries between Lori and the cashier only to be dragged back to harsh consciousness as she left the store.  Walking was always a humbling experience for Michael, as if he was in any short supply of those!  

No one was in a better position than him to recognize just how transformative a body part the buttocks were, especially when they were as fat as Lori’s.  On the surface, Lori’s buttocks resembled a double-serving of opaque, jiggly peach jello decorated with cellulite. But being between those heaping helpings of the worst dessert ever, every step reminded Michael of the powerful, inconsiderate muscles underneath all that jiggling fat. And those muscles flexed with a disrespectful vengeance, reaching for him through the protective cushion with each step.  

No one was in a better position than Michael to appreciate just how transformative a body part the buttocks could be—especially when they were as fat and imposing as Lori’s. Her colossal cheeks were a foul display of excessive abundance, resembling two jiggling servings of opaque peach jello marbled with cellulite. The pale, dimpled skin wobbled and rippled with each casual step.  

But there was so much more to it–and Michael knew better. He had come to know that world of flesh better than any living, thinking creature, trapped where no one else could even imagine being.

And after hours and days and weeks to reflect, Michael understood what the ignorant (and dare he speculate: the envious!) likely did not understand themselves:  it wasn’t the plump, pillowy fat that punished him. No, the true menace lay deeper beneath the layers of soft cushion in the raw, merciless power of the muscles lurking beneath. Like a strong, powerful sea monster causing ripples beneath the surface. Those muscles had to be strong enough to propel a woman as big as Lori forward.  But they also owned him, flexing with a mindless, relentless dominance.

The pressure around him was constant, unyielding, and any movement on Lori’s part—whether she was sitting, walking, or even just shifting in her seat—pressed him deeper into the soft, enveloping flesh. If he was going to get any more REM sleep, it would have to be during her drive home–but obviously not without its unique challenges.

Walking briskly might have been the worst for him.  The pressure came in waves, squeezing him, releasing him, then squeezing again, as if testing just how much he could endure. The fat jiggled around him like an earthquake while the powerful muscles clenched and shifted underneath with a crushing, disrespectful efficiency. 

The air between her cheeks was a muggy, suffocating swamp, thick with the faint tang of sweat and the oppressive heat generated by her constant movement. It clung to Michael like a second skin, dampening every breath he tried to take and making his tiny lungs burn. The scent wasn’t overwhelming—it was far worse than that. It was constant, inescapable, an ever-present reminder that he was nothing more than a captive of Lori’s indifference, stuck in a place designed by nature never to see the light of day.

The walls of flesh surrounding him were relentless, always shifting, always pressing, like living quicksand. He could feel every subtle jiggle, every tremor as Lori went about her life, utterly oblivious to his suffering. A quick turn of her hips sent the cheeks rolling together, mashing him deeper into their suffocating embrace. A casual bounce as she climbed a flight of stairs sent shockwaves through the fat, a tidal wave of soft flesh that rippled over him and left him gasping in the humid darkness.

Michael’s entire world rotated 90 degrees, and he braced himself for impact.  Lori’s ass collided with the leather driver’s seat of her car. No acknowledgement. No apology.  But plenty of hip-wiggling to get herself nice and comfy.  Those powerful gluteus muscles were no longer starved to squeeze him, but only because her jiggly fat had turned to peach concrete, squeezing in on him from every side. 

It was hard to breathe, harder still to think about anything beyond the immediate, crushing reality of his existence. And he lived alone in that reality–well…almost alone.  Persisting, obsessive thoughts were plentiful roommates, and they were nothing if not negative.

She hasn’t said a word to you since she found you.

She thinks you were trying to run away.  She’s furious with you. 

You have to tell her. 

You have to tell her the truth.

When Michael even thought about just entertaining the idea of tattling on Isabella for kidnapping him, stuffing him into Victoria’s dirty sock, and then staging a false escape attempt, he hyperventilated uncontrollably. And he thought Victoria was the scary one. Life was full of demented surprises.

Victoria’s clear infatuation and obsession with Michael was disconcerting. But she was nothing compared to Isabella.  Innocence and beauty concealed a true monster, as far as he was concerned.  She said they were a team!  That they were going to ‘get back at Victoria’ together.  And the first opportunity she had to throw him under the bus, she did.  She pulled the cord on her parachute and waved to him as he plummeted down to earth by himself. 

And oh, the revenge she’d take on him if he were to return the favor and betray her.  

He felt the two speed bumps leading into her neighborhood, rippling through her densely packed cheek meat, and he knew they were almost home.  The muffled engine ceased its dull roar and everything became still. The sharp click of a seatbelt unlatching broke the deafening silence and the door opened. 

The two fleshy orbs bobbed and bubbled around Michael as Lori waddled into her home. And then there was that sudden but predictable shift. For a moment, everything around him tightened as her bulbous butt cheeks clenched, like if she were trying to hold in a fart.  If that was her goal, lord knew that it’d be the first time she tried all day today to hold one back. Luckily there was no eruption.  Instead, he felt that familiar sensation–the feeling of the thick, dual fleshy walls around him lessened their pressure.  The sticky, sweaty fat of her inner cheeks lost their hold on him as Lori pried her part-fat, part-iron glutes apart.  

The pads of her fingertips brushed against him, gent but firm, and almost continued on.  For a moment, Michael feared that her angelic fingers had only graced him with their presence to address a persistent, unladylike itch. It wouldn’t have been the first time…

But they came back for him, and then they curled around his tiny form, pulling him free.  Cool air rushed to greet him, sharp and biting against his skin.  It was moments like these when Michael remembered just how effective an insulator Lori’s butt cheeks were.  The light was disorienting, prompting the world to spin.  Another one of life’s perverted jokes.  He felt like he’d get used to the intensely warm, humid environment of Lori’s buttcrack before he’d get used to the jarring sensation of being removed from it after an extended stay.  Michael’s body was stiff and aching from the prolonged compression and yet when she set him down on the dining room table, his wobbling knees threatened to give out under his weight. After hours of uniform pressure all over his body, he now had to support himself. 

His eyes had finally adjusted to his surroundings; Michael was right about his location.  He stood upon dark, glossy wood.  This was the very table upon which he stood when Victoria snatched him up during dinner.  He was minding his own business, trying to eat the Oreo Pie, and then he found himself soaring through the air toward Isabella’s ample cleavage.  That single incident is what started all of this.  It’s what brought him to this moment now, cowering before Lori as if she were some goddess preparing to issue judgment.  That really wasn’t much of a stretch. 

To his left, where Victoria normally sat, was a plate sprinkled with the crumbs of some starchy treat, and next to that was a clear empty glass that may as well have been a three story building to Michael.  

He nearly fell backwards trying to crane his neck and look up at Lori.  She didn’t look as angry as he feared she might.  Surely she was still upset about earlier, but the frown on her face suggested more disappointment instead of anger.  Having grown up with a mom, Michael knew that might actually be worse. 

“Michael.  I–”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

She’d just opened her mouth to speak when a bone-rattling buzz cut Lori off mid-sentence.  Lori merely turned toward the sound but Michael thought his chest would explode from the scare.  Everything’s that much harder and scarier being as little as Michael.  

It was the washer…or maybe the dryer, Michael didn’t know. 

 “Oh, I really should get that.” 

Normally, Lori would have just left him standing there while she tended to her motherly duties. She could trust him to stay there and wait–of course she could.  Michael celebrated within himself having earned that trust from Lori. But that was a world of time in the past.  Isabella had destroyed all that which he’d built.  

No! You did it! It was you, not her!  You destroyed it all, not Isabella!

Lori picked up the empty glass at Victoria’s spot and rotated it within her wrist. The upside down glass descended rapidly toward Michael and he fell back, yelping with instinctual but useless panic.  The circular edge of the glass echoed loudly against the wood, even louder in Michael’s ears from his up-close position.  Lori had set the glass down over him, as if he were some spider she was trying to capture.

Lori stood over him like a towering monolith, her face may as well have been as distant and unreachable as the stars…and so too felt any hope of getting back on her good side.

“I’ll be right back.”  That was all she said–and only then did she feel like she could leave him while she tended to laundry.  She didn’t even give him a second look before going to the laundry room, her thunderous footsteps losing power as she moved further away.  Lori must have been supremely confident that Michael couldn’t escape the upside-down glass.  And she was almost certainly right. Micheal would absolutely not be even attempting to try anything that stupid. The absolute worst thing he could have done right now would be getting caught testing the weight of the glass, lest it be mistaken for another escape attempt.  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t just touch it, right?

Michael approached the wall of his prison and reached out his palm.  Funny, it had been a long time since he’d touched glass. So chilly and smooth.  So solid and unnatural.  It was everything that Lori’s butt cheeks were not.

His eyes caught a faint shimmering of light near the mouth of the upside-down glass, which was down near his feet. 

“Is that…a mirage?  Or is that really what I think it is?” His heart leapt into his throat.

The tiny droplets had dripped as far down the wall of glass as they could and now began pooling on the wood of the table, inside the glass prison with Michael. His throat tightened at the sight.  

How long had it been since he’d had water?  And no, he was not counting whatever had filtered through Lori’s disgusting pores, saturating her asscrack.  Was it wet? God, yes it was. Was he required to drink it? Only if he wanted to stay alive. But it wasn’t water.  

The pooling liquid he now gazed upon must have been the remnants of Victoria’s lunchtime beverage.  It was only several droplets; not enough for her to even realize she’d not finished.  But in Michael-terms, there were easily several mouthfuls of clear, clean, life-giving liquid. Michael was literally salivating at the prospect of drinking clean water. 

But was it clean?

Since childhood, Michael had an interesting quirk about him when it came to drinks: he never shared them.  Ever.  The thought of drinking someone’s backwash, no matter how diluted it may be, was akin to nails on a chalkboard for child Michael, teenager Michael, and adult Michael all the same.  

And now here he was, literally trembling with conflicted excitement at the thought of drinking those few orbs of liquid, the very last of Victoria’s drink.

Revulsion and thirst declared war on one another, but the latter quickly won out. Michael felt a tinge of disappointment in himself as he dropped to his hands and knees. But then that weak-willed voice inside all of us–the one that tells you it’s okay to slip up…that voice started speaking to Michael.

When will you ever have another opportunity like this again?  You’ve drank nothing but ass sweat for weeks!

Well…nearly nothing but ass sweat.  Lori had slipped up on the very first morning of his new diet. And it happened when getting into the shower. She’d forgotten to take him out of her butt until after the water came on and a bountiful stream rolled down her lower back and into her crack.  That was the last time he’d drank anything close to clean water.  

Michael would never forget what happened after she stuffed him back into her ass after that first shower.  He expected some rogue moisture to have persisted in the valley deep between her cheeks, and so he explored the depths of her crack for traces of her shower water.  When searching by hand didn’t work, Michael searched by mouth.  Imagine his misery to realize that Lori had deliberately toweled between her bare glutes so thoroughly that there wasn’t a single drop of shower water left over to imbibe. Ironically (and miserably) enough, Lori’s crack was never more dry than right after her shower. Ever since then, Lori was always very careful to keep Michael separated from any form of sustenance that did not come directly from her body.  

Back to today, confined under Victoria’s drinking glass, Michael did a mental tally of just how much of Lori’s perspiration he’d drank prior to being removed from Lori’s ass.  It was about the equivalent of a 20 oz soda bottle. He was plenty hydrated and nourished…and yet, as he stared longingly at the water. His body ached with a false aridity, trying everything to make him drink what was in front of him. His tongue became thick and heavy in his mouth. His vision was fuzzy.  Michael didn’t have the luxury of choice—not in this situation, not in any.  So why should this one be any different?

Slowly, he pressed his mouth to one of the droplets, about the size of a beach ball.  Instantly, the molecules of water latched to his lips and he began sucking and lapping at the droplet like a thirsty dog.

Michael recoiled immediately.  The sensation against his lips was cold…or at least room temperature.  By comparison, Lori’s ass sweat, especially when served right from the source, may as well have been boiling. 

But it wasn’t the relatively cold temperature of the water that bothered him right now.  

It was the taste! Oh, so bitter and sour–as if the water had somehow spoiled.  

But water doesn’t go bad!  So then why does it taste so unappetizing?  

Michael fought through the tast and forced himself to drink. The taste was so powerful that the accompanying aroma actually burned his nostrils, but he’d hate himself later for waiving this rare opportunity. 

Is this dish soap in here?  No, no suds.  And this tastes FAR from too clean.

Michael’s eyes widened and his throat became paralyzed.  And when it unparalyzed, Michael spit and sputtered as much of the tainted water from his lips as he could. He realized where those bitter notes embedded in the otherwise clean water must have been coming from.  

How didn’t he realize sooner?  

They were, of course, the overwhelming presence of Victoria’s saliva. What else could that taste have been?  It may have been awhile since he’d had water but he was pretty sure it couldn’t taste this bad on it’s own! Not even well water was this bad. Still, despite the sour taste, it was doing its biological job.  It didn’t take long before he found himself, against his better judgment, returning to the droplets. Each mouthful brought clarity to his critical thinking and vision, no matter how tainted, and he greedily sucked at the liquid despite the growing negative taste.

As the taste of Victoria’s bitter saliva lingered on his tongue, Michael couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of humiliation. He was so desperate, so utterly dependent on the whims of the giants around him, that he was now reduced to drinking the spit-laced remnants of someone else’s drink. Michael mostly kept his eyes shut, terrified of catching the nauseating sight of floating food particles in the droplet.  But whenever morbid curiosity got the best of him, his eyes opened on their own.  The water droplet was crystal clear, completely void of any impurity.  

Well, that’s weird, right?  …but it’s also a relief.

He didn’t dare keep looking but he also didn’t dare stop drinking.  Michael knew it was the only sustenance he might get aside from Lori’s ass sweat for god only knew how long.

The more he drank, the worse the taste seemed to get.  He blamed Victoria for what would have otherwise been a heavenly experience of drinking clean, fresh water. After swallowing down roughly half of the pooled liquid, Michael had completely lost his appetite and quite literally had to stop drinking or he might have vomited from the horrific taste. The bitterness had engraved itself into Michael’s palette.  It was inconceivable to imagine, but Michael actually found himself desiring anything, even some of Lori’s ass sweat, to rinse this sour, sharp taste from his mouth.  

It was a good thing he’d gotten his fill, because the thunderous footsteps of Thunder Thighs was getting louder…closer.  Lori was back. 

"Michael," 

Low and controlled as Lori’s tone might have been, it was clear she was holding back a torrent of emotions. She’d come a long way since the first time she’d caught him.  That time so very long ago that started with Michael being knocked into the dirty laundry hamper and ended with him pinned under Victoria’s foot. At that time, Michael saw a fury in Lori’s eyes that seriously terrified him. He thought she might kill him out of uncontrollable anger.  

Today, on what was now the second escape attempt that he had no voluntary part in, Lori was guarding her emotions much better.  And that was its very own kind of scary…

"After everything I've done to keep you safe, you would really risk not only your life, but my good standing with RR Labs? Do you know how much trouble we would have both been in if something happened to you?"

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but Lori silenced him with a stern look. He knew that look.  That was the ‘I didn’t ask that question to get an answer’ look.

"You really just don’t understand how dangerous it is out here for someone your size. Do you know what could have happened to you? You could have been stepped on!  A foot isn’t as soft as my bottom, Michael.  Not anywhere close. Suppose one of the girls stepped on you?  You knew that was a possibility and yet, you still chose to try and leave. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"

Her voice trembled with restrained emotion as she continued. “It makes me feel like I can’t trust you.  No, I felt that way a long time ago.  I felt like I couldn’t trust you when I found you in the living room with my girls.” Lori’s voice trembled as that mama bear anger burned brighter, but then she took a deep breath.  “But now…I don’t feel like I can’t trust you. I know I can’t trust you.  Ever again.”

Michael couldn’t let that stand.  He spent months building this tower of trust and compromise with Lori. And even though that tower saw him doing most of the trusting and compromising, it was still better than the way it had been before!  And now he was watching that tower crumble before his very eyes.

“Lori, I want to tell–”

The door creaked open and a cold, uncomfortable breeze of frigid January air rushed in.  But that’s not all that came in the open front door.  Michael’s stomach twisted into a knot of astonished distress. 

There was no way. 

No way that he could really be this unlucky.

~