RR Lori Warren - Chapter 39

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Reduction & Relocation: Lori Warren

Chapter 39 - Best Laid Schemes

[January 21st, 2006]

The moonlight filtered through the gossamer curtains of Isabella Warren’s bedroom, casting a silvery glow over the otherwise dark space. The time on her twinkling pink alarm clock ticked over to 12:55 AM and began chirping its digital song, rousing her from a delicate, dreamless slumber. It would only manage to send off a handful of chirps before being deactivated.  Waking up rested and ready came natural to Isabella so she responded quickly to alarms, very much unlike her sisters.

With a flick of her wrist, Isabella silenced the alarm clock. She pushed aside the satin sheets, revealing to the moonlight her long, smooth legs. One of the thin straps of her white nightshirt had slipped off her shoulder, causing the neckline to dip even further down than normal…which, according to her mom, was already ‘too much’. 

Isabella let out a silent yawn and slipped the slacking strap back where it belonged on her shoulder. She reached for a pair of pristine white socks lying neatly at the foot of her bed. They were as immaculate as everything else in her room.

She went over the plan once more in her head as she delicately grasped one sock and eased it over her toes.  Once her toes were in their snug home, Isabella continued, pulling the fabric over her arch, heel, and up her slender ankle. She ran a hand over the length of her sole.  

Soft, comfy, and bountiful with cushion.

And most importantly, great for muffling sneaky footsteps.

Isabella had always been light-footed and graceful but with a mission as important and dangerous as the one she was about to begin, she would need all the help she could get!

Her large, expressive eyes sparkled with determination as she stood from her bed and pulled on a pair of thin flannel pajama bottoms. No way she was going into her mom’s room in just her underwear!  The waistband hugged her wide hips below her narrow waist as she smoothed the soft fabric of her nightshirt down over her ample chest. After making her bed, she padded across the plush carpet, her sock-clad feet making practically no sound as she approached her bedroom door.

‘The night’s finally here.’ Isabella thought.  

She’d been patient; she’d been pragmatic; and now it was time to act. This plan of hers was weeks in the making.  And it wasn’t a particularly complicated plan so it's not as if it required time to hatch.  No, the weeks of elapsed time were actually part of the plan.  

Isabella crept past Victoria’s closed door and continued toward the other side of the upstairs.  The door to Gina’s room was open and for a moment, Isabella almost panicked but then gently rapped herself on the forehead.  Duh…Gina was off at college, sleeping in her dorm room.

Isabella took a deep breath and very carefully twisted the brass doorknob of her mother’s bedroom door.  It squeaked lightly, but she knew it wasn’t enough to wake her mother. Like Isabella’s sisters, her mother was always a heavy sleeper so there was at least a little leeway.

Her mom also snored so her sleeping ears were probably used to a certain constant decibel value. The cushion of Isabella’s white socks sank silently into the plush, dark blue carpet of her mother’s bedroom as she broke the plane of the door. She was in. 

Isabella's heart pounded as she tiptoed into her mother’s bedroom. A small chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals catching the faint glow of the nightlight and casting faint shimmering patterns on the walls. Her mother lay underneath the chandelier in her king-sized bed, surrounded by a sea of silk pillows.  She wore a delicate, lace-trimmed nightgown. Isabella didn’t recognize the sleepwear but it looked good on her.  ‘Go, Mom.’ Isabella thought.  Maybe now she might cut Isabella some slack. A grand, antique dresser stood against the wall and Isabella’s eyes fixated on the drawers.

She didn’t know which one, but it was one of them.  

All three girls knew that was where he lived.  His ‘home away from home’, if you will. Victoria wouldn’t shut up about it.

The bedroom door would always be locked whenever she’d let Michael stay home. Victoria confirmed that at least a dozen times.  And if the door was unlocked, that basically meant that she’d taken him with her, most likely tucked away in her butt. But she didn’t lock it at night.

Over the past few weeks, Isabella used those opportunities to secretly enter her mother’s bedroom and do a few test runs.  She identified the locations of the noisy floorboards so that she could avoid them when it really counted. She knew to apply upward pressure on the brass knobs of the dresser drawers when pulling out or else a loud metal-wood squeak would fill the bedroom.  

There was only one part of this whole plan she hadn’t practiced yet…and she’d only have one chance to get it right.  

Isabella’s palms were clammy as she reached for the brass knobs. ‘This is it, Bella.  Just like you practiced.’ she reminded herself as she lifted up while pulling the drawer open. 

Each time she’d opened the drawers in the past, Isabella would see a boring blend of muted socks, underwear, and bras.  But now was different–now Isabella stared down with fascination and intrigue; all those items were present with one more ingredient added: Michael.  The only thing that could have stood in her way would have been if her mother had stuck him in her butt before going to bed, but here he was in the drawer…ripe for the picking.  He was cuddled up with one of her mother’s wool socks, and she was taken aback–even impressed, to see how quickly he’d gone from cuddling to running.  

Isabella quickly reached a hand in and gently grasped him.  He felt strange in her fingers and her instincts told her to release him, as if he were a creepy-crawly bug or a mouse…something that would feel gross in her hands.  It was her first time touching him and his naked little body just felt so foreign. 

Despite the goosebumps that spread and sprouted over her skin, Isabella made herself maintain a strong grip against his struggles and she lifted him from the drawer.  It was ironic how much time she’d spent practicing opening that drawer to eliminate the metal-on-wood squeaking sound, because now her mother’s bedroom was filled with a different set of squeaks:  Michael’s squeaks of protest.  

“Quiet!” She quickly pulled Michael in toward her abdomen, straightening her fingers and forcing her palm against her stomach, probably harder than she needed to in retrospect.  Isabella couldn’t see down to her stomach beyond the swell of her breasts but she could feel Michael fluttering against her. He was completely inaudible now, and hopefully not too late. Isabella’s eyes darted over toward her mother, who was sleeping on her back. The snoring pattern disrupted slightly and Isabella froze, thinking she might be caught.  

‘Please don’t wake up…please don’t wake up…’ she chanted in her frazzled mind as her mother’s eyelids fluttered. Isabella knew the punishment for being caught would be severe; and worst of all, Victoria would almost certainly have something stupid to say about the crime. 

But then, much to Isabella’s relief, her mom simply rolled over onto her stomach and resumed her slumber.  Isabella let out a slow, controlled breath as her entire body relaxed. She moved with the grace of a cat, leaving the room just as quietly as she’d entered with Michael still pressed firmly against her stomach. Isabella pulled the door until it was just millimeters from the frame. She paused, listening intently for any sign of her mother stirring. The room remained silent, save for the steady rhythm of her mother’s snoring. With painstaking slowness, Isabella eased the door shut.

As the latch clicked softly into place, a fleeting wave of triumph surged through Isabella.  She had done it.  She got Michael.  But she wasn’t going to celebrate just yet.  That was the easy part.  Her mind was already racing ahead to the next steps of her plan.  The night was far from over, and the stakes had never been higher.

Isabella's heart still pounded as she quickly but quietly made her way to the bathroom she shared with Victoria. Her mind raced with nervous energy, her fingers tingling from the odd sensation of holding Michael. She flipped on the light, the sudden brightness making her squint.

Water rushed down the drain as sabella’s slender fingers played with the hot and cold water knobs until the water reached the perfect temperature. She leaned forward slightly, her long, dark hair falling over one shoulder, and removed her palm from her stomach. Michael lay flat against her open hand, his tiny body trembling violently.

Isabella brought him closer to her face, her chocolate brown eyes narrowing down her button nose as she inspected him. It was still surreal to think of him as a man—the naked, shrunken figure in her hand.  Unlike Victoria, Isabella hadn’t dreamt of a time when she could hold Michael but even so, it was incredibly fascinating to feel the way his tiny little muscles twitched in response to her movements. He was just a little thing, fragile and insignificant in her palm. It didn’t occur to her until now how easily she could have broken him.  But then again, he literally lived in her mom’s butt!  If he could handle her butt cheeks, he could probably handle other stuff too.

“Are you okay?” Isabella asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and mild concern. She stared at the little figure and he quivered under her gaze. His tiny head started bobbing up and down, but his attempts to speak were cut short as Isabella lowered him towards the faucet.

She had been careful to plug the drain first—losing him down the pipes and into the sewers would have been a disaster, and she had no intention of letting that happen. Carefully, she began washing him in the sink. The water flowed over him, and Isabella rotated him through her soapy fingers, her touch firm but gentle.

The soap lathered up, turning Michael into a fluffy white ball of foam as she meticulously cleaned every inch of him. Once she was satisfied, she set him down on a soft and fluffy hand towel she had laid out beside the sink.

Isabella gazed into the mirror and looked down at her shirt. Almost all of her flat belly was covered, save for a small bit under her belly button. She frowned, noticing a prominent collection of wrinkles in the thin, delicate fabric where she had pressed Michael. She lifted the wrinkles up and breathed in gently through her nose, grimacing at the unpleasant odor that clung to the material.

“Great…” She flickered between irritation and disgust as she groaned out loud. This was one of the worst things that had ever happened to her. She didn’t dedicate nearly as much care to drying Michael off as she did trying to clean the wrinkled spot of her shirt  .  “I just washed this.”

As annoyed as she was by the discoloration and wrinkle on her pristine shirt, Isabella knew she would get over it.  There were far more important things to think about right now.  Once Michael was dry, Isabella held him between her fingers and silently crept downstairs, avoiding every little creak and groan. The living room was a sea of shadows that swallowed her and Michael, and now she didn’t have to worry so much about being quiet.  Still, each foot against the carpet was little more than a soft rustle. Isabella flicked on the light of the dining room and the sudden brightness caused both of them to squint.

She set Michael down on the expansive dining room table and took a seat in one of the high-backed chairs. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation, and a devious grin began to spread across her face showing a flash of metal. 

Her mind raced with the plan, playing its success over and over again on repeat. She couldn’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of what was to come. ‘Maybe Vicky will even cry…that would be the best.’

Her fingers drummed lightly on the table in a subconscious display of her excitement. Michael, on the other hand, was visibly trembling. He glanced around, his tiny eyes darting from one corner of the room to the other, as if seeking an escape. But there was none. He was entirely at Isabella’s mercy, but he didn’t need to worry about her.  As a matter of fact, she was going to give him as much of a gift as she was giving herself.

Michael had tried communicating with her a few times since leaving the safety of the dresser drawer and Isabella decided now it was time to actually listen. 

As she leaned forward, Isabella’s large, unconfined breasts strained against the thin fabric of her white spaghetti-strap nightshirt. The cotton stretched to its limits and her round, perky breasts changed shape as they pressed heavily onto the table's firm, ungiving surface. Their extreme heft and size allowed for a subtle bounce as she shifted to get comfortable in her seat.

“What are you doing with me, Isabella?” His tiny voice trembled with concern and fear. “Why are we down here?” 

Isabella’s grin widened, her braces glinting ominously. She leaned in even closer, her breasts splaying and bulging as the table pressed back up against their undersides. Michael couldn’t help but stare; he was no different than any other boy.  And maybe that was a good thing.  Maybe that would help.

The room was silent, save for the sound of their breathing and the faint creak of the wooden chair. Isabella’s chocolate brown eyes danced with mischief. “We’re gonna get Vicky back.”

The fear on Michael's face dissipated, replaced by a growing confusion.

“Get her back? What do you mean?” Michael asked, his voice trembling.

“Remember a few weeks ago when Mom first made that Oreo Pie?  When Vicky basically threw you at me and you went down my shirt?” Isabella gestured towards her prominent cleavage, her eyes studying the tiny, naked man. Armed with her permission, the little man must have felt emboldened to gawk and stare with no restraint. She didn’t blame him; all the boys did.

“I remember, but she… she… umm… I don’t think she meant to do that, though, right? I think she was just playing…and it was really your older sister that started it, right?  When she smacked Victoria’s hand?” Michael stammered. Isabella found it cute, watching someone so much older than her cautiously stand up to her and push back against her logic.

“Well, yes, that’s true…” Isabella admitted, and then raised a hand to emphasize her counterpoint. “But! …she laughed about it afterward, remember? Or maybe you couldn’t tell since you were between my boobs. Whatever..either way, she thought it was funny.” Isabella's face became a mask of seriousness. “And it wasn’t funny… not at all,” 

“I… understand that you’d be upset about that, but… I just don’t think…” Michael began, but Isabella cut him off.

“—anyway, I’ve been waiting a long time for everyone to forget about that day… or at least wait until they thought I’d forgotten about it. And now’s the time.” Isabella smiled. “Vicky knows she’s not supposed to play with you, especially after that night, and anyone that touches you is going to get seriously grounded. So we’re gonna get her in trouble for just that. We’re gonna make it look like she stole you!”

“Oh, Isabella… I don’t think any of this is a good idea. Vicky might… hurt me… I don’t think it’s worth it; I’m sure she’s probably sorry,” Michael tried reasoning with her, his voice edged with panic.

“You don’t have to be scared of Vicky, you fraidy cat. I’m not going to actually give you to her or anything… that would just be literally giving her what she wants. Instead, we’re just gonna make Mom think that she took you.” Isabella's tone was dismissive, almost bored.  Her mind was already well past all this part of the planning phase and it would have been really nice if Michael could just trust her on this.

“But what if something goes wrong? What if your mom finds out? What if—” Michael’s voice rose with each question, his fear palpable.

“--Nothing’s gonna go wrong because I’ve thought this through…and honestly I’m getting a little offended that you think I’d mess this up,” Isabella interrupted. He was starting to test her patience. “Mom won’t find out. She’s not going to suspect a thing, not from me. And Vicky? She’s going to get what she deserves and honestly part of me wouldn’t even mind if she put two and two together.”

“Isabella, please… can’t we just let this go?” Michael pleaded, his tiny voice almost a whisper.

“Let it go?” Isabella echoed, her voice dripping with disdain. “Are you listening to yourself? She disrespected you! And she completely humiliated me. No, Michael. This isn’t something we can just let go. Victoria needs to learn a lesson, and you’re going to help me teach it to her.”

She leaned in so close her chin practically grazed her puffed up breasts. He was still trying his hardest to look her in the eyes; and Isabella couldn’t tell if the lack of eye contact came from fear or an obsession with her huge tits.  “Do you understand what I’m telling you?” she asked, her voice low and menacing. “We are going to do this.”

Michael nodded reluctantly. “Okay, Isabella.”

“Good,” Isabella said, sitting back with a satisfied smile and lifting her large, intimidating breasts off the dining room table. She could practically taste the sweet, sweet revenge. With that, the mischievous teenager scooted her chair out and rose to her feet. Michael came up next, entrapped once more by her dainty fingers as Isabella made her way into the laundry room.  The dim light from a single overhead bulb cast long shadows on the walls that might have made Isabella look like a mad scientist. She approached two backpacks hanging on nails near the washing machine.  The backpack closest to the door was black with lavender highlights. It was stuffed so full the zipper couldn’t even fully shut.  It was Isabella’s backpack.

The other backpack hung limply next to Isabella’s, appearing nearly empty. ‘Just like her empty head…’ Isabella joked to herself. Victoria’s backpack was a pastel green color and it looked like bad music had thrown up all over it.  It was adorned with an array of stickers, iron-ons, and key chains that dangled from every possible zipper and strap. Sharpie marker graffiti from various artists crowded the canvass everywhere, and Isabella wondered how many classes worth of content her younger sister missed doodling all over this stupid backpack.

“So, I’m just gonna unzip this…” Isabella said, her fingers working the zipper of the outermost pocket of the pastel green backpack. It was a small flap meant for things like pencils and calculators. God knows Victoria didn’t keep calculators in there, but it seemed completely feasible that it’d hold a different kind of small thing…

Michael flailed weakly against her unyielding grip as she attempted to stuff him into the flap of Victoria’s backpack. His resistance was pathetic, really; but just strong enough to be annoying.

“...stop fighting me, jeez!” Isabella snapped.

Isabella got her way in the end. She widened the mouth of the flap, forcing his pesky little arms and legs inside. Finally, she managed to stuff him into the pocket.

“Now listen,” Isabella said, settling him down into the bottom of the pocket so that the zipper track was far over his head. “It’s important that you stay really, REALLY quiet while you’re in here, okay? At least until we start looking for you. Listen for me saying your name a bunch; that’s when you’ll know it's time to start doing that baby-bird squeaking thing you do.”

She pulled her phone from between her hip and the waistband of her flannel pajamas. With a practiced flick of her finger, she flipped it open and the blue light from the screen illuminated her beautiful face.

"It's about 1 AM right now…My alarm’s set for 6:30 AM.  That’s when Victoria and I get up for school. Then Mom will get up a little bit after we leave at 8 AM.” Isabella paused, a look of disgust crossing her face as a shiver rippled through her body. “I don’t know when she usually puts you in her butt and ugh... I don’t really wanna know... but I know it’s not until we’re already at school.”

She continued, her voice filling back up with excitement. “Mom will look everywhere to try and find you but she won’t be able to. Nope…but only you and I will know why, right?” She smiled down at Michael who did not share her enthusiasm. “Because you’ll be at school with Vicky until 3:30 PM!  Once we get home, she’ll probably still be looking for you.  I’ll try to help her find you and I’ll make it real convincing too, asking if she looked here or checked there.” 

The teenager tapped her chin in deep contemplation. “Hopefully Mom will look for you in the laundry room; it’d look a lot more natural if she does cause then I don’t have to guide her in there.  Either way, that’s when I’ll start saying your name and you do your little chipmunk thing.  I’ll pretend to hear you…even if I can’t…and I’ll ‘discover’ you in Victoria’s backpack.”

Isabella’s hand rushed to cover a giggle. “Oh my god, I’m just picturing Vicky’s face.  She’s not gonna know what hit her.  She’ll deny it of course, but then you’ll tell Mom that it was her.  That she kidnapped you in the middle of the night basically the same way I did.  And then…Mom will ground her freaking oblivion.”

Isabella's eyes sparkled as she prepared the cherry on top of the dessert. “Oh, and do you want to know the best part of her getting grounded will be?” She asked excitedly, not waiting for a response from Michael before continuing. “Jenna Straton is having this huge party in 2 weeks and literally everyone from school will be there.  It's literally going to be the biggest party of the year, but poor Vicky’s gonna be busy doing chores and staring at the ceiling in her dirty bedroom. She’ll be grounded for the rest of her life so I’ll get to go to the party by myself and I won’t have to worry about her embarrassing me.”

It was such a good plan. Stupid Victoria had probably forgotten all about that day with the Oreo Pie but Isabella sure hadn’t. The only thing Isabella hadn’t decided yet was if she would tell Victoria that it was her that orchestrated the whole thing.

So that’s the plan.” Isabella said, beginning to zip Michael up into Victoria’s backpack.  

“WAIT!” Michael yelled. 

“Ohmigod..What is it?” Isabella hissed impatiently.

“What if your mom doesn’t believe it was Victoria that took me? What if she realizes it was you trying to set her up?” Michael asked.  It was cute, he was trying to do everything he could to get out of helping her with this.  But he actually made a good point though.  Isabella stood there in frustrated silence before unzipping the flap and taking him out.  She held him closer to her face.  

“You don’t think I can be convincing enough?”

“It’s…it’s not that.  You..umm…oh!  You washed me!”

“Uhh…of course I did.  I had to touch you and you literally smelled like a friggin butt.”

“And now I don’t.  That’s the problem!  Think about it!  What if your mom realizes that I’m clean?  That would mean my kidnapper washed me off. Victoria had no problem holding me before, right?  Even though I’d just been…with your mom a few minutes earlier.  What if she argues that she wouldn’t have washed me off first…but you definitely would have?”

“Holy crap…” Isabella’s shoulders slumped. Her large breasts jiggled as she stomped her foot. “...you’re right. Mom might realize that you don’t smell like her butt anymore when she finally gets you back, and gross Vicky probably wouldn't have even thought to wash you off like I did if she actually stole you.”

“That’s what I just said.  I said that–”

“--yeah, yeah.  Be quiet for a second, I’m thinking this through.”  Isabella’s eyes widened.  “That makes it look even more like it was me that did it” Isabella said, staring up at the ceiling in thought. The more she considered how things looked, the more she realized there might be a teensy-weensy flaw or two in her otherwise perfect plan.

“So I think you should just take me back to your mom, okay? Just take me back and we won’t say–”

“--I got it!” Isabella said, cutting off Michael again. “We’re not getting mom’s butt smell back on you…no chance of that.  But there’s something just as good.  I know how to get rid of literally ANY chance of Mom thinking it could have been me that took you.”

“Isabella please, this isn’t gonna work!  She’s gonna be able to tell!” Michael frantically pleaded. He was latching onto anything he could to get Isabella to abort this plan; he just wasn’t as invested in it as she was; he wasn’t looking ahead…he couldn’t taste the sweetness of the revenge.  But she could. “She’s gonna be able to tell that I was washed!” he squeaked.

Isabella chuckled quietly as she approached the staircase leading upstairs.  “Oh, no she won’t.  Not if we make you smell like something else…then she’ll just think the new smell is covering her old butt smell.”

Despite Michael’s incessant begging, Isabella crept silently back up the steps, undeterred, holding Michael firmly in her hand.  

~