A Sibling Nuisance

It was a beautiful day in the northern outskirts of Saint-Nazaire, France, where Jacque Laurent’s small family lived on the borders of the beautiful Brière Natural Regional Park.

Jacque hopped out of the car, the engine quietly grumbling to sleep as it shut down. A duffle bag stuffed with pads and cleats brushed against the center console as he carelessly dragged it out behind him. His number, a bold red number ‘12’ emblazoned across the back of his soccer jersey, with the crest of an eagle across his chest. His own soccer ball was left lazily on the floor of the passenger seat, the lining still a little damp from the sweat of the day’s practice. Normally, Jacque would wipe off his sweaty seat, but his hands were full as he exited the Peugeot convertible.

As he twisted the key in the front door to the cottage, the latch making an audible click as it opened. Jacque dropped the duffle bag directly inside the door, the black canvas lump likely to live in that spot until someone tripped over it, or kicked it aside on their way out.

Down the hallway, some sitcom was babbling away on the television, and Jacque heard the clunk of the recliner’s footrest being lowered as he approached.  He rolled his eyes internally as his sister rounded the corner, a scowl already on her face. He noted her appearance – she wore a slinky tight black top and a pair of very short jean shorts which hugged the curves of her hips and pelvis and prominently displayed her perfect abs and belly button. She’s such a show-off, he thought, Out to seduce some foolish guy, no doubt. He was ashamed to admit to himself that she looked pretty hot.

“About time, loser,” she muttered. “Where’s the key? I need to get going already. I’m meeting a friend at the club for lunch. You’re gonna make me late.”

Jacque reached into his pocket and tossed the key ring at his sister. The metallic jingling curled through the air, his sister barely reacting in time to catch them.

“It’s almost on empty again, Isabelle, and I’m pretty sure it’s your turn to fill it.” Jacque grumbled, glancing down at his phone for a moment.

His sister glared at him, but said nothing in response. She walked past him as he tapped away at his phone, completely ignoring her presence, even as her long blond locks grazed his bare arm, tickling him.

“Jacque, what the hell?” She exclaimed, gesturing to the duffle bag, her neck leaning forward to emphasize her disgust. “Mom told you to stop leaving your bag by the door like that!”

“Good thing she’s not home till Monday then.” Jacque didn’t even look up from his phone as he strolled into the living room, flopping onto the couch and proceeding to ignore his sister.

Isabelle continued to glare at her brother, huffing a blonde lock of hair from her face before turning on her heels and heading for the front door. “Hmmmpf…one of these days, brother…!”, the threat trailing off.

Smiling, he gave her a weak smile, then flexed his arms at her. “What? What you gonna do…?”, he liked teasing his sister. He was a muscled athlete. She might be a toned girl, but her strength was puny compared to him.

“You’re lucky…so lucky you’re bigger than me…”, she said through gritted teeth.

“Rawrrrr”, Jacque continued to tease, mocking her with a cat pawing movement. Than, thoughtfully, he added, “You are bigger than me in one respect though, sis.”

“Yeah, and how’s that?”, she asked and then immediately regretted it as soon as she asked.

“That big butt of yours, of course”, he said laughing. Inwardly, although he would never tell her, she did have quite a nice bubble butt. If it was anyone but his own sister, he would have been drooling over it.

“Aargh, you’d better move your crap by the time I get home, or I’m telling mom!” She hollered down the hallway as the door opened. In reality, though she was annoyed by her brother, she knew that he along with every male would worship her butt if given the chance. She smiled at the thought.

The front door slammed shut before Jacque could utter a response, followed shortly by the car’s engine rumbling to life. Jacque turned his attention back to his phone, scrolling through various posts and images while the television droned on behind him. The thought of a shower dwindled in his mind, the refreshing cool air of the A/C and fan lulling him into a relaxed state.

This was a typical day between the two siblings. Somehow, they tolerated each other’s existence, but there was a lot of angst and frustration towards each other and had been for some years, especially from their mid-teens onward, when there was a constant battle for the family’s resources, whether that be the automobile they shared or the grocery items. Furthermore, neither respected the other’s love life. Isabelle disliked Jacque’s young girlfriend Maura with a passion, considering her meek and timid. Conversely, at 18 years old,  Jacque disliked Isabelle’s ever-changing list of boyfriends whom she seemed to bring home from his visits to the club. They seemed to disappear as quickly as she got them, which had picked up in frequency since she had returned months ago from her year abroad in America. For her part, at 20 years old, Isabelle liked her freedom and disdained her brother’s and her mother’s judgements.

--

After a half hour or so, Jacque reached over and grabbed the remote, muting the screen before him and setting his phone down. His eyes closed for a moment, but before he could doze off, a surge of dizziness washed over him.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Jacque groaned, leaning forward and rubbing his temples.

The room felt like it was spinning for a second, then his vision began to blur. The coffee table before him seemed to stretch on and on, the television seemed distant like a billboard on the freeway. Jacque shook his head from side to side, trying to brush off the weird sense of vertigo, but the sensation grew worse. His clothes felt baggy, and suddenly heavy.

Jacque pushed against the armrest, struggling to stand. Something wasn’t right, the armrest felt... bigger. Jacque glanced around, the room seeming to continue to stretch away from him in all directions. Except it wasn’t the room that was changing size. It was him!

“What the hell…?!” He muttered under his breath, trying to piece together the symptoms in his brain as his adrenaline began to kick in.

The armrest, once level with his knees, was now up to his waist, and rising quickly to pass his ribs. Jacque tried to run for his phone before it was too late. It was resting on the couch cushions, which had already risen up to his shoulders. He stumbled in his ever-expanding clothes, his shirt like a canopy draped over his body. A misstep sent him tumbling face first into the floor, his shorts and shirt fluttering over him as he dwindled down further.

The room spun for another minute, and Jacque lay on the floor, aware that the shrinking process was winding down as the folds of cotton around him were no longer stretching away from him. He pushed himself up, a layer of his shirt providing a boundary between him and the carpet beneath him. The ground was spongy and gave slightly under his foot, like walking on a bowl of Jello.

With sudden realization, Jacque became aware of what had happened – what he thought was the TV remote must have been the shrinking device his sister used for capturing the men she brought home – he had seen her swallow a couple tiny men, boys really, that she’d brought back for one-night stands. His sister had thought herself so sneaky and clever, but he had been aware of her secret, watching from a slit in the door. He just hadn’t found out yet how she did it and how she grew them back (he assumed she eventually threw them back up and regrew them, although, having not witnessed such an event, he wasn’t sure - to assume anything else would make her evil). Did she really eat and digest the tiny men? The thought made him shiver.

Now that he had found out what device was used, he looked up at the tall tower that was the side table where the remote lay. It was too impossibly tall for him to climb at his new size.

Jacque glanced around, deciding to push straight ahead. Hopefully, he could find a way out, and get his family’s attention. He trudged across the uneven surface, spotting a shaft of light ahead of him poking through the fabric. His pace quickened, but just as he reached what was apparently the neck hole of his now soccer field sized shirt, he heard a thunderous boom rippled through the air.

Someone was home.

--

Jacque tried to get a better view and began to scramble up the folds of the shirt, hoping to attract the attention of whoever just came home. A moment after the door slammed shut, Jacque could hear footsteps approaching, each a rumbling thud growing louder as it got closer. The sound changed from a sharp impact to a dull pounding as the footsteps transitioned from hardwood to carpet.

Jacque looked up, awestruck as the person rounded the corner, a tower in comparison to him. A quick calculation told him he must be only an inch or two in height. A smile cracked across his face, and he began to shout and wave his arms above him. It was his mother, and probably the best case scenario for his rescue!

“Mom! Over here! I’m shrunk!” Jacque hollered, jumping up and down with his hands waving frantically in the air. It looked like his mother was home early from running errands: a pair of shopping bags in her hands, and a slight sheen of sweat visible on her skin as her navy blue sundress swayed breezily. Even from the minuscule perspective of the floor, he could see his mother’s gaze lower to the ground, and lock onto him.

It worked! She has spotted me way down here!, he thought, assuredly.

“Ugh, that little brat never learns.”

Jacque paused. That’s not what someone would say if they had spotted their shrunken son. He watched as his mother approached, her footsteps sending shockwaves through his whole body as they landed on either side of him. A colossal shadow fell upon him, and Jacque almost wet himself as his mother’s hand reached down from the heavens and began scooping up the clothes he was standing on.

The movement sent Jacque tumbling through the air, his sense of direction completely lost as his mother hoisted the dirty laundry into the sky. He tried calling out, but couldn’t manage more than a syllable before he was slammed into a fold in the clothing, the wind knocked out of him over and over.

Suddenly, there was nothing around him, and Jacque felt himself in a free fall. He screamed as he saw where he was falling, straight towards the neckline of his mother’s dress. He landed on his side, crashing into his mother’s left tit. The twin mountains of her breasts were soft, cushioning him from what would have certainly been a fatal fall, but Jacque didn’t dwell on that thought long as he felt the squishy flesh beneath him ripple and undulate as his mother started walking.

“Mom, stop! I’m right here!”

His muffled voice was too faint to carry his cries to her ears as his mother traversed the room, but Jacque kept shouting as he tried to regain his balance. The perspiration on her skin made it difficult, and one particularly firm footfall shook his footing loose. The incline beneath him grew steeper as he slipped further between the mountainous breasts, sliding to a halt once he was wedged neck deep. Jacque grunted and tried to wiggle himself loose, but only seemed to be making his predicament worse. Another footfall jiggled the fleshy hills around him, swallowing Jacque between the vast rolling walls of fat. He craned his neck to the side, frantically clawing for a way out as his air supply was blocked by the pliable flesh surrounding him on all sides.

Faintly aware of an irritation on her chest, Jacque’s mother shifted her free hand up to her side, and gently squeezed her boobs. She adjusted her bra for a moment, then hugged one arm across her chest and plunged a finger between her tits. The squeezing motion seemed to cause the itch to subside, but she scratched at it anyway as she dropped her son’s clothes in the laundry hamper. Satisfied the itch was gone, she removed her hands and walked back towards the living room.

Making her way back to the living room, she again felt an irritation as she noticed her daughter’s shrink remote on the stand beside the recliner. Unlike Jacque, Margaery was aware of her daughter’s proclivity of bringing men home, shrinking them down, playing with and devouring them. Isabelle had bought the shrink remote in America, having made friends with her roommate, who had come from immense wealth and connections, and brought it with her when she returned home months earlier. She had found out about Isabelle’s activities on accident on a weekend when she had returned early from a trip to Paris. Apparently, the new technology had been all the rage in America. Although she didn’t partake with her daughter, she didn’t begrudge Isabelle her fun. After all, she bore some ill will towards the opposite sex, her son notwithstanding, after her husband had ditched her many years ago out of the blue. Now, she felt annoyance towards her daughter – for she had told Isabelle on numerous occasions to keep the remote in her room and not to let Jacque know about it.

With a sigh, Margaery picked up the remote with the intention of returning it to Isabelle’s room

Jacque’s head was spinning from being struck by his mother’s colossal fingertips. He had been wedged back towards her sternum, which provide a bit of relief from the crushing grip of her cleavage. He could feel himself slipping further with each step though, and felt a cooler breeze of air across his feet. Soon, his legs were dangling freely beneath him, and Jacque switched from trying to escape, to trying not to fall to his demise. The rumble of his mother’s footsteps, combined with the lubrication of sweat coating his tiny body, proved to be more than he could resist, and Jacque finally broke free from the humid cleavage.

Panicking in his free fall, he looked around and saw that he was falling straight towards his mother’s feet. He screamed and covered his eyes as the skirt flared out, his mother’s leg propelling the canopy of fabric with a single footstep. Jacque was swept up by the skirt, and hurtled across the room. Just before he slammed into something, Jacque managed to curl up in a ball, hoping to lessen the blow from whatever he ended up slamming into. The impact hit him like a truck, sending a jolt of pain through his limbs and he tumbled for a few seconds, his small frame carrying a surprising amount of momentum from the skirt’s launch.

After she had set the remote on Isabelle’s dresser, Margaery had felt something tumble around her legs. Looking down, she saw the tiny naked man near her feet, curled into a ball.

“Oh, the poor dear”, she said, stooping to pick it up. One of Isabelle’s little playthings must have gotten loose and fallen down trying to escape, hurting itself, she thought. “Let’s get you back where you belong.”

Gently carrying the little man, between her thumb and forefinger, she set it within the dish-bowl that Isabelle kept on a table by her bedside. Though she couldn’t make out too many details, she could see the tiny was more a boy than a man. Izzie’s going after younger ones, she giggled to herself. Turning on her heels, she left the room, closing the door behind her. This hadn’t been an entirely new situation for Margaery, as she had found another ‘escapee’ on a previous occasion and similarly deposited it into the bowl. She was just thankful Jacque wasn’t around to observe the shinky.

Jacque laid panting on his back, his limbs sore from being tossed about like a rag doll. His mother had apparently not recognized him and had wandered off. In his pain, he had heard his mom say something, but hadn’t listened too closely. Jacque didn’t care, alone meant he was safe for the moment, and he needed a moment to catch his breath.

Resting his head back on the rounded frame of his greenish bowl-like structure, he hardly noticed the sound of the front door opening and closing again, nor the approaching footsteps moving in his direction. However, the deafening voice of his sister caused him to jolt upright.

“Mom, I’m home!”

--