RR Lori Warren - Chapter 42

PREVIOUS CHAPTER    |   START FROM THE BEGINNING

Reduction & Relocation: Lori Warren

Chapter 42 - Best Intentions

[January 21st, 2006]

Michael couldn’t believe this was happening.  He’d done nothing wrong! He didn’t ask for this!  And yet here he was, pawing frantically at the same soft, elegant fingers he’d been fighting against moments before, but neither her smooth skin nor her glossy nail polish permitted him the traction of a grip.  Michael managed to get his arms and legs around her index finger, straddling it upside-down like a failed trapeze artist hugging a rope between buildings.  Isabella rubbed him off of her grip as if he were a sticky piece of chewed bubblegum and Michael went tumbling into the gaping maw of a bratty teenager’s dirty sock.  As he tumbled into the narrow, dim abyss of Victoria’s footwear, Michael tried to delay the inevitable in any way he could. Isabella’s soft fingers were getting further and further away as he fell, so he resorted to grabbing onto the course threading of the sock walls but nothing would slow his descent. 

The world around him shifted violently and the foul cotton walls surrounding him rippled as he bounced against the floor of the coarse, worn fabric. Immediately, the pungent odor of sweat and grime assaulted every one of his senses. The sock felt damp and sticky, as if it had absorbed the essence of not just today’s sweat, but every sweaty day Victoria had worn it.

As the sock’s gaping mouth closed above him, he managed to steal one last glance up at Isabella, in all her beauty–in all her disastrous and short-sighted selfishness. She looked happy, proud, and excited.   He needed to steady his breathing, for each rapid, shallow breath filled his lungs with more of the thick, heavy scent of sweat and dirt. In response to his weight collecting in the toe section of the sock, the rough and abrasive fabric of the walls pushed in around him like a filthy hammock, pressing against his face and body and pulling in on either side of him.

And then there was shuffling and flipping.  Turning and twisting.  Isabella was pairing the vessel of a sock with its twin.  Suddenly, the world tilted and with no notice nor apology, Michael was jostled roughly. The sock morphed around him, changing shape like a 4th dimensional being and he felt himself sliding deeper into the toe section he’d been fighting like hell to avoid. Down in the lair where Victoria’s toes called home, the smell was remarkably more foul.  The pressure also increased, and he could feel the tightness around his chest, making it difficult to breathe. The darkness became stronger, as too did the ripe aroma of dirty feet as the two socks worked together to dominate him.

The confined space was suffocating. He felt as if he was cocooned in foot funk; swaddled in the smell that Victoria had spent god only knows how long building up in the scratchy fabric. Michael could barely move without paying the price in friction, every attempt to shift only made the fibers of the sock rub more insistently against his skin like some sort of sick trap. Michael yearned to give his nose a break from the assault so he opened his mouth to breathe in..and he immediately regretted it.  The taste of the air inside the sock was bitter and metallic, mingling with the musty smell that seemed to cling to him. 

Now that the sock was paired and sealed, no new air was coming in.  The only air permitted entry had to filter through Victoria’s sock.  He gagged and hacked in response, the oppressive and ever-present taste of Victoria’s feet imprinting itself onto his tongue and pallet.  It wasn’t over yet though.  He felt himself being stuffed into the backpack…and then the very fibers of sock surrounding him vibrated with an epic action from the heavens above.

ZZZZZIP!

Michael's emotions swung wildly between fear and desperation. Despite the continued assault of Victoria’s foot funk penetrating his open mouth, Michael dared to open his mouth to scream, even though he understood how pointless it was.  

He was trapped in a sock…

…inside a zipped up backpack…

…downstairs…

…he was a world away from Lori.

He did his best to remain still now, but the texture of the sock against his skin was a constant reminder of his powerlessness. The fabric was coarse and scratchy against his bare skin, worn thin from countless wearings. He could feel the dampness and detritus seeping into his skin, donated and long since forgotten by an unknowing Victoria. 

Time passed slowly in the cramped darkness. Michael tried to keep track of the minutes, the hours, but it was impossible. All he could do was lie there, enveloped in the pungent smell, and wait.  

While tracking the time was nearly impossible, Michael reached a point where he was quite sure that hours had passed in this hellish haze.  The smell of Victoria’s foot was relentless and a constant reminder of his humiliating predicament. Every breath was filled with the scent of sweat and fabric, and he couldn’t escape it. You’d think that the heavy aroma would subside over time as he continued to breathe, his poor tiny lungs filtering out all that horrendous foot funk to find the fragments of oxygen that had somehow filtered through the sock walls.  

You’d be wrong.  

The scent wasn’t going away.  There was just too much; it lived in the walls, and now it lived on his clammy, abraded skin.  It lived in his mouth, embedded into the tastebuds of his tongue.  It lived in his nostrils, and Michael was sure that Victoria’s foot particles had found their way up into his brain.  

Deep within himself, he felt strong emasculation and humiliation for being forced so easily into this compromising situation; it was a feeling he’d grown quite used to in the passing months.  His blood was rushing and his mind was a tangled mess of nicked wires. But above all else he felt…confusion.  

Why was this…so much worse than being in Lori’s ass? 

Feet were gross of course, and Victoria should have been eligible for some kind of Guinness world record in Michael’s opinion, but it was just an empty sock. Why did it feel like the aroma was killing him? After all, this wasn’t the first time he was forced into the dirty fibers of Victoria’s sock.  She was even wearing it at the time, too! 

So why was it so much worse this time? 

Victoria’s foot was nowhere to be seen, as far away as the sanctuary of Lori’s soft bottom was, and yet his lungs were screaming at him over this pungent cloud of foot odor.  His body didn’t put up this much of a fuss over being in Lori’s ass.  Not even close. He couldn’t believe nor could he understand how much his body ached to be back in Lori’s crack…if it meant getting away from this sock, of course!

He tried to distract himself, to focus on anything other than his dire situation, but there was no stimulation.  No references.  At least in Lori’s underwear drawer, he could hear her snoring.  Not exactly ocean-waves but it was something to distract him from his mind.  From the downstairs laundry room, Michael had none of that. 

With nothing else for his mind to do, Michael thought about Isabella and her plan. Having grown up with two sisters himself, Michael knew a thing or two about Sibling Wars and he had to admit it–Isabella was casting a critical strike here.  She had been so confident, so sure of herself. He wondered what she was thinking now, upstairs in her bedroom and far away from Victoria’s foot funk.  Michael wondered if she had any second thoughts, if she cared at all about what she was putting him through. He doubted it. Isabella’s desire for revenge seemed to overshadow even her own insulation from discovery by her mother.  Concern for Michael’s well-being and comfort was surely tiers and tiers lower on her list of priorities.

As the hours dragged on, Michael was running out of things to think about.  There was one thing he hadn’t spent nearly any time at all dreading, and in fact he actively tried his best not to think of it until now.

What on earth would he do if he heard that deafening zipper again…and then the mouth of the sock opening…and it wasn’t Isabella staring down at him?  

What if instead of being here in the Warren laundry room, hanging on a backpack rack, he was in a noisy and chaotic cafeteria?  

What if he was poured out of the filthy sock like the prize at the bottom of a cereal box…into the eager palm of Victoria?  

It wasn’t impossible…not even close.  He was literally inside of Victoria’s backpack.  He was going to be taken to school with her–he’d be with her all day long.  Isabella seemed rather confident that little Michael would remain undiscovered and untouched but that was an easy wager for her to gamble!

Michael's thoughts became increasingly consumed by the fear of discovery, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed inevitable. Spending the evening confined to this dirty sock was bad enough, but the prospect of ending this degrading experience gave him hope. If Victoria were to find him, it’d be like one nightmare beginning right where the previous had ended. 

Michael knew all too well how obsessed Victoria was, how much she would relish the opportunity to play with him. And the thought of being alone with her…god, it was enough to make his stomach churn.

The fear expanded within his mind with unregulated growth.  What would happen if Victoria opened her backpack and found him? He could vividly imagine Victoria’s reaction, the gleam of excitement in her bright and wide eyes, the delighted smile spreading across her cherubic face. 

Her eyes would light up with a mix of surprise and glee, a wicked smile spreading across her face. "Well, well, what do we have here?" she would say, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. Michael could almost hear her laughter, that high-pitched giggle that signaled she was about to make his life a living hell.

Would she even take him out of the socks?  Knowing her, maybe she’d just unbundle his balled up prison and just put them on. Then he’d have to contend with five plush toes wiggling in to steal away the little bit of privacy and space that he could call his own. The mere idea was terrifying–enough to make even the fattest most disgusting ass crack look like a sanctuary he’d never want to leave. 

Michael's heart pounded in his chest as he thought about what Victoria might do to him. There was pretty much no way she wouldn’t try housing him in her rear.  And he knew she wouldn't be gentle. She was never gentle about anything. Oh, but she’d say she’s just “playing”!  But her idea of "playing" would be more akin to torment and torture, whether she realized it or not. He imagined her enormous fingers wrapping around him, squeezing just a bit too tight, her giggles echoing in his ears as she inspected him up close…as close as she always wanted to get. 

Victoria would shake Michael about in her palm as if she were sifting for gold. Her enormous fingers would wrap around him, and he would be helpless against her strength. "Aww, my sweet little Paddy." she would coo, holding him up to her face and nuzzling him against her stubby nose. "I’m in charge of you now, and we’re going to have so much fun.”

His heart raced as he imagined her deciding on his fate. She would tease him, poking and prodding, enjoying his futile struggles. And then, with a gleam of sadistic delight in her eyes, she would announce her decision. "I know just the place for you, and I’ll betcha you know exactly where I’m thinking!" she would say. "Somewhere super safe and snug…”

Michael's stomach churned as he envisioned her turning around, pulling down the waistband of her ratty, frayed jeans. The sight of her enormous, rounded pale butt cheeks, jiggling with each movement as she dangled him over the cleavage of her crack. He could almost feel the oppressive heat emanating from it, the slight sheen of sweat that would make his situation even more unbearable.

She would laugh as she placed him between her butt cheeks, the soft, fleshy walls closing in around him like the walls of her dirty sock…but with orders of magnitude more pressure, heat, and an unrivaled overwhelming presence. The smell would be staggering, a mix of sweat and her own personal body odor that would assault his senses and make it hard to breathe. He would be trapped, wedged tightly between the massive globes of flesh, unable to move or escape.

Michael could almost hear her voice, taunting him as she adjusted her pants, sealing him in place. "Wow, now I definitely know why Mom kept you down here, Paddy." she would say, giving her butt a playful shake. "It’s seriously the perfect home for a cutie like you.”

Try as he might, Michael couldn’t stop obsessing over this nightmare of a scenario.  Maybe it was because the terror he was inspiring within himself allowed the briefest of distraction from the heavy, humid scent of feet. What if she decided to keep him as her pet? He shuddered at the thought. She might fashion a tiny cage for him and hide it under her bed away from Lori.  That was assuming she didn’t try to follow in her mother’s footsteps and just keep him buried in her butt all the time.  Lori probably wouldn’t be checking there.  She’d eventually give up trying to find him, thinking that he got away successfully.  

Michael shuddered. 

At that moment, he made a vow to himself.  As far away from control and autonomy as he was, Michael would do everything in his power to avoid falling into the hands of Victoria Warren.

But I won’t need to. 

Michael thought, hugging his knees.  

Victoria’s not going to find me…and even if she does, Isabella wouldn’t let Victoria keep me. 

If for no other reason than to get her revenge, Isabella would tattle on her twin sister the second she knew that Victoria had him.

For the time being, Michael understood and accepted that he was going to have to stay positive if he wanted to get out of this unscathed.  And that meant trusting Isabella.  The two were a team right now, even if it was completely against Michael’s will.  Michael’s future and well-being was intimately linked to Isabella’s will.  Contingent on the plan’s success.

That reminded him–Michael had lines he needed to practice.

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

Isabella’s heart raced as she made her way downstairs.  It was morning now so she didn’t have to be as quiet. The bannister rattled as she dashed around the corner of the last stair, her steps still more gentle than the other Warren ladies.  She practically ran from the corner of the living room heading for the laundry room.  Once she found herself within arms reach of the two hanging backpacks, Isabella held her breath.  

It was dead quiet.  In fact, the strongest sound came from the blood rushing through her temples.  But should she have expected anything else?  There was tough backpack canvas, at least a few layers of stinky sock cotton, a few feet of open Seattle air, and her thick beautiful hair separating Isabella’s ears from Michael.  Hopefully he was deliberately being quiet, because if he was trying to make noise right now, he’d definitely have to step it up.

In the background, Isabella heard faint but thumps coming from upstairs, probably from her Mom still looking for Michael. The thuds were far enough away that they weren’t a problem, at least not right now. 

The sound of the zipper was loud and quick as Isabella ripped open the smallest compartment of Victoria’s backpack, revealing the small balled-up pair of ankle socks right where she’d left them hours before.  Isabella cringed as she once again had to touch those disgusting socks, and she tried using as little of her fingers as possible to pull the gross ball of threadbare cotton from her sister’s backpack.  At least they weren’t warm anymore. Except for a modicum of heat coming from the little wriggling lump inside. 

The legs of her dining room chair squeaked against the floor as she took a seat and quickly unpeeled the tightly bound sock ball.  Her upper lip curled in disgust as she felt with her fingers around inside the flattened cotton, trying to rediscover the tiny little lump that was Michael.  

She checked the wrong sock first; just her luck....  

Isabella finally found him near the toe section of the other sock and she promptly dumped him out onto the dining room table. With little grace and less control, Michael tumbled out onto the table and then he went completely still.  For a moment, she wondered if he had passed out or worse…maybe he was dead. Unlikely as it may be, it wouldn’t have been exactly surprising if Isabella learned this morning that the stench of her twin sister’s foot could kill. 

And then her ear twitched. An indistinct whimper of a squeak. She heard his faint little voice. 

Isabella brushed her thick, beautiful hair from her ear and leaned in toward him. Upon closer inspection, she could see that the little thing was not completely motionless.  He was actually shivering and he seemed to be in a daze or a trance or something.  She couldn’t really blame him.  Isabella had noticed the smell of her sister’s socks immediately after opening the backpack; it was hard to imagine the impact of breathing nothing but air heavily filtered by that dirty foot-cotton, uninterrupted for over five full hours…but then again he normally only breathed air heavily filtered by her Mom’s huge butt cheeks so this couldn’t have been that much worse, right?   

The vast swell of her breasts pressed against the dining room table mere inches from the murmuring little man as she got closer to hear. He was nearly whispering; was he trying to talk to her? It sounded monotone and disconnected.

“...her socks and she told her friends she was going to do naughty things with me when she got—“

It took a second for her to remember; for Isabella had forgotten what she’d instructed Michael to say. But it was clear that he had committed it to memory.  

‘Oh, that’s cute…he definitely practiced his lines.’ She extended two fingers and poked Michael, eliciting an immediate response of shock and confusion from her tiny partner-in-crime.  Had he really not noticed her looming over him as she did?  Apparently not. 

“Hey, you okay?” She didn’t wait very long for a response. “Listen, change of plans….you’ve gotta go back to my Mom now.” Isabella’s tone was quick and to the point.  A look of relief and maybe even happiness washed over Michael’s face as he snapped out of his catatonic state.  He was clearly happy this ordeal was coming to an end.  

“Oh, thank god! Thank you, Isabella; thank you! This…this is the right thing.  Okay, let's go..take me to her.” Michael said, standing up shakily and staring up at the towering brunette goddess.  

“Well…there’s just one eensey weensey problem though…” Isabella said, “Our plan to get back at Vicky?  It…uh…kinda fell apart. Mom is up.”

The expression of relief became distant on his face, replaced with shock  as Isabella continued updating him. It wasn’t going to be the good news he was hoping for. 

“She..umm…well, she knows that you’re gone and she’s trying to find you.  She’s actually tearing her room apart looking for you as we speak.”

“How did she know I was gone?” Michael shouted

“Be quieter.” Isabella practically interrupted him. “I don’t know why she thought to look and honestly I don’t really care. Our plan to get back at Vicky isn’t going to work anymore so I’m just going to take you back to her, but you can’t tell her that I took you…got it?”

“That’s fine, I won’t say anything.”  

Was he actually smiling?  About going back to my mom’s butt?  Yuk…

“You snuck me out of the drawer…you can just sneak me back in.” Michael shouted up to Isabella. 

“First of all…shh!” Isabella said. “Second of all, were you not listening to me?  

“Mom.”

“Is.” 

“Looking.” 

“For you.” 

“She already looked through the drawer she keeps you in. I saw it on the ground with all her underwear and stuff taken out.”

The wheels in Michael’s head were turning. It was fascinating to witness, seeing him thinking and trying to problem-solve as if he were a normal, big person. When Michael spoke up again, he nearly exploded with a newfound enthusiasm. 

“Oh! I’ve got it! You can put me in the next drawer down!”

Isabella paused.  “What good would that do? You couldn’t have gotten there on your own, right? Isn’t that the whole problem here?”

“It’s not a problem, not at all!” Michael said.  “There’s a small hole in the back-right corner of your mom’s top drawer…she probably doesn't even realize it's there.  It leads right into the drawer below it; I know because I almost fell into it once.  You can put me in there and I can just say that I fell in there and couldn’t get out.” Michael said.

Isabella paused, mentally double-checking Michael’s work. Shechecked the clock; she’d be leaving for school soon. She nervously bit her lip as she thought more about it.  At the end of the day, Michael could advise until he was blue in the face but the decision was hers and hers alone. 

“It’ll be perfect!” Michael insisted. “It’ll clear both of our names. Neither of us will get in any trouble!”

Isabella had just reluctantly agreed to the plan when she heard those heavy thuds again. Only now they weren’t so quiet and faint anymore.  They were coming from the top of the steps. They were thunderous, and they were drowning out a continued effort on Michael’s part to speak.

“Crap, you’ve gotta be kidding me…it's Mom!” Isabella sharply whispered.  Michael might have been speaking up with another idea or protest, but Isabella wouldn’t know which. She scooped Michael up quickly, eliciting a scared yelp from the tiny naked man as her soft fingers encircled him.  She grabbed Victoria’s gross off-white socks. Michael flinched and squirmed, obviously fearful that Isabella was going to stuff him back into them again.

That may have been a good idea had she been afforded enough time to think, but she was acting on instinct.  She threw the socks onto the couch, positioning one of the couch pillows over top of them.  Her Mom was halfway down the steps as she confirmed that half of the evidence was hidden. But there was still the other half: Michael.  And he might be harder to hide.   

Isabella frantically looked around for somewhere to stash Michael.  She reached to put him in her pocket but quickly realized she was wearing her gray pleated hem skirt.  No pockets!  She thought about tucking him into her waistband. Worked great for her flip-phone but he’d obviously be visible since, just like her flip-phone, the top half of him would be poking out.  And also, what if he slid down?  He’d land with a plop on the floor between her feet, her mom would see him, and Isabella would promptly be grounded into the next century!

Her Mother’s heavy foot hit the last step. It was like a monster movie…steps of godzilla coming to wreak havoc on a small, defenseless town. But she was moving so much faster. Her butt was probably jiggling even more than normal, and there was no little boy in there for those fat cheeks to chew on. 

No pockets, and waistband wouldn’t work.  Isabella knew she was out of options.  

Well…not entirely out of options.  There was still one more place she could put him but she really, really didn’t want him there again.  But it was either hide him or risk being grounded for life. 

~