“Come on, up.” Frances’s tone was all business. There was nothing else she wanted now than to achieve a goal. People either facilitated that achievement or received brief, brutal adjustment. “Roll over, stick your butt up in the air.” With disgust, she swiped the shrunken man from one shy mound of breast.
Jenice blink-blinked prettily at her captain’s uncharacteristic verbosity. “She’s not moving, Frances. She doesn’t wanna cooperate.” She tilted her head and chewed her lip, smartphone suspended in arched fingers, then nodded at the others. Dee-Dee stepped forward again, hands at the ready to mold the shrimpy little woman into compliance, but the redhead shook her redheaded bob at her and raised her eyebrows at Ariana. “C’mon, slacker. You’ve been sitting there looking aghast for far too long. Time for you to join the team.”
Ariana shuddered but rose to her feet, half-kneeling on the bus seat. “What do you want me to do?”
“Get in here. Roll her over, stick her butt in the air. I think you can piece together what’s coming.”
The Latina wanted to protest that there was no room, but Frances had shifted to stand beside Rachael’s weepy head. She looked over at Ariana and raised one eyebrow in the midst of her perfectly symmetrical, unemotional visage, as though to say oh yeah, you exist too. Dee-Dee, sensing the social breeze, stepped to the back of the bus, and nothing was asked of Mona but to wall off the aisle ahead of Rachael’s seat. Ariana rolled her shoulders, stepped into the aisle, and seized Rachael’s slim ankles—so slim, she wondered if they might shatter in her hands out of grief.
“Come on, goddamn it,” she muttered into the spindly woman’s bare legs. “Just roll the fuck over. Quit fighting when you know you can’t win.” She tried to rotate the thin legs, but they kicked, albeit in a drunken slow motion. “The sooner you do what you’re told, the sooner this bullshit’s over with. The longer you fight, the longer it takes, you stupid little bitch.” She leaned painfully upon Rachael’s ankles, digging them into the aged cushions and springs of the bus seat. “Because it’s going to happen, and it can happen now or ten minutes from now, but it’s not going to go away.” She looked up to see Jenice licking her teeth, eyes glowing jade in the crappy bus lighting.
“Listen to you,” she said. “You’re a regular Tony Robbins. You should give us a little speech before every match.”
As was the case when dealing with Jenice, Ariana wasn’t sure whether this was a compliment or a dig. And she also knew the safest course was to avoid a comeback, so she bit her tongue and gripped Rachael’s knees and wrenched her upon her side. This accomplished, she knelt behind Rachael’s turned legs and grabbed her thin, all-too-fragile rib cage and rotated her the rest of the way. It was gross, really, manhandling a fragile weakling like this when they were absolutely bereft of clothing. It felt abusive and brutal, and Ariana wondered at how “womanhandling” wasn’t a term. This level of crudeness and violation belonged to me, and yet here she was embodying it, carrying out the manhandling agenda in the back of a school bus, surrounded by her “team.” This fucked-up team, this false unity… no, it was just conformity. They were united in their dread of punishment, not in their shared vision for victory.
Even as she was aware of this, of all the pieces in play and all the power dynamics that oppressed her like everyone else, she still turned the weakling woman onto her front and exposed her bare ass to the ceiling. She still bent down and gripped those birdlike hips and yanked them brusquely upward, shoving Rachael’s thin knees into place with her own padded, still-clothed knees. “There you go,” she barked at Jenice. “All ready for you. Enjoy it.”
Jenice looked up at her, eyes flashing, and yet that flash dimmed when she saw what was in Ariana’s eyes. The setter pushed the libero and pushed her, provoking her into obeying her every whim, but there was still that unknown field and Jenice had nudged her right up to the border and saw what was in Ariana’s eyes. And Jenice knew she had Frances’s blessing, since she was in charge of manifesting Frances’s vision here as elsewhere, but… something in Ariana’s expression told her now was not the time for a confrontation. It might not go well in front of her captain and the other women. All she could do was shrug and salute the short, fiery woman and dismiss her back to her seat.
“The stage is set, camera’s rolling and we can’t do shit about the lighting. It’s all yours, captain.” Jenice grinned and held up the camera.
There was no indication Frances heard her. Once Rachael was sobbing in a more acceptable position, she draped the tiny man upon her ass, right down the crevice of her slim buttocks. She brought her head down right next to one jutting hip bone and presented the fury of her face to the shrunken man, to underscore her words. “Now you will fuck her asshole, and you had better cum or we’re done.”
In a court case, hypothetical years from now, this would have been pounced upon by defense as vague, indeterminable wording. Who could have known exactly what that meant, “now we’re done”? That could easily mean they’re done hurting him, defense would say, mugging and gesturing for the jury. There would be so many ways to interpret that, most of them benign, harmless, even desirable. That is what the defense team would be banking on, to convince a dozen people who were not there. For the six young, college-age women who were there, plus the one hapless fuck who got shrunk down 40 years ago (though they couldn’t and wouldn’t know that), isolated from their peers on the vintage school bus, there was no question what Frances’s tone carried. None of those six women and fractional little man believed they would simply pack up, clean up, and go to their respective homes if the shrunken man couldn’t perform. None of them believed this moment would end well if things didn’t happen exactly as Frances expected; indeed, they confidently suspected how badly it would go if Frances’s desires were not met above a minimum standard. This is one of the many failings of the US legal system, the inability to scientifically factor the intuitive gray zone of abusive relationships.
In practice, the shrunken man turned miserably to his task, and if his little peen was not hard, he nonetheless nudged it into the pasty, clenching knot of the much larger young woman’s knot of rectal tissues. If that sounds clinical and unsexy, imagine what it was like for the tiny man: not only could he not get hard, and not only did he not want to anally rape this timid, helpless young woman, but neither of these could happen beneath the cold and foreboding scowl of the team captain. Frances stared disapprovingly at the tiny man’s performance while reminding Rachael that she still had a job to do: Frances doused her right foot’s toes in peachtree schnapps, which ran over the green vinyl bus seat and soaked Rachael’s cheek and hair and budding chest, and she crept her perfect toes into Rachael’s anguished mouth. Her twitching big toe demanded the attention of Rachael’s tongue, and it wouldn’t settle until this demand was satisfied, and so Rachael had to drool into the schnapps, mingling with her tears, as she allowed her captain’s big toe to enter her mouth.
The tiny man had his work cut out for him. It wasn’t that the gigantic, frail young woman was unattractive. She was cute, in her plain way, and very sweet and innocent-looking. Once upon a time, when he was normal-sized, sure, he would’ve glanced at her and wondered about her. He would’ve fantasized holding her in his lap, wrapping his comparatively large arms around her, bleeding his bodily warmth into her slim body until her heart pounded faster and her face turned questioningly toward his lips, and he would have commanded her on a brief voyage of satiation and satisfaction. He loved his wife, but his mind still wandered, and little Rachael would have owned her own acreage in his imagination, certainly. Something between a woman and a teenager, frail and yet brimming with…
No, it was no good to think of that now. Now he was an old man placed upon the shitting region of a young, traumatized woman, and a literal fucking demon many hundreds times his size was commanding him to fuck her to completion. It was very different from guiding a naive little woman to her unfettered sexuality. This… there was no other word for it, this was rape. It wasn’t his choice, and she wasn’t consenting, but great harm would come to both of them if he couldn’t complete his task. The last half hour or so had shown him that none of these college-age beauties had any interest in listening to him, so shouting questions or bargains was off the table. All he could do was pinch his floppy little cock between thumb and forefinger and rub it dryly along the slim, shallow fissures leading to her clenching anus. At least she wasn’t covered in shit, he thought distantly. That was true. Rachael was fastidious with personal hygiene, and as a bonus, hadn’t had much to eat before their match and had no need to use the bathroom at the truck stop diner, so she was relatively pristine. At least that, at least the tiny man wasn’t smearing his peen in unwiped fecal remnants.
She really did have a cute little butthole, too. She hadn’t shaved her pubes up front, which were not proliferate but pleasantly downy and limited in scope. Not like his wife’s… Shit, no, I can’t think about that. I can’t think about her right now. It’s all Rachael, it’s all this girl. The tiny man gritted his teeth and dragged his flaccid penis toward the epicenter of the slim giantess’s asshole. Whatever she was going through was reflected in a rapidly clenching little butthole, no denying that. If she sobbed, her butthole clenched. If she breathed, it relaxed and bunched up again. If she was ticklish, up between her pony little buttocks, her butthole fluttered delightedly, danced beneath the shrunken man’s hips. Fuck, for that matter, here was a rare opportunity to cherish a sexual encounter with someone… ha, well under half his age. When would he ever get this again? Trying to block out the gigantic muscular amazon who radiated displeasure upon him, and trying to block out the grinning green-eyed jackal who filmed his every action, the tiny man spat in his palm and slicked up his little cock and thought about how pretty and pink and hairless the frail giantess was back here. He blocked out her name, too. Calling her by name would have evoked memories of their time together, how delightfully she tore off his clothes, how presumptuous she was in sucking him off upon meeting him, all of which were astounding, impossible fantasies she immediately embodied without prompting. In that sense she was perfect, and how he lay between the foothills of her flawless, milky butt cheeks, cradled in the shallow valley on her most private region, with all the permission in the world to place his now-raging hardon into the gummy, clenching knot of her asshole.
And so he did. Her asshole was hot and sticky, with no lubrication to carry him along but the moisture her body created and released from within her hips, but this was enough for him. His needle-dick slipped determinedly into the clenching tissues, and though they couldn’t squeeze hard enough to grip his cock, the friction against her rectal tissues was quite enough, thank you. He closed his eyes, spread his arms to embrace her slim buttocks as well as they could, and his diminutive hips bucked in the dim bus lighting as he nudged his little peen deeper and deeper into Rachael’s butthole.
A voice boomed above him, nearly startling his erection into remission. “Who told you to stop sucking?” Frances glowered upon Rachael’s bedraggled head, snorting in satisfaction once she saw those shallow cheeks puffing and that little ring of red lips nursing the base knuckle of her big toe. It did nothing for Frances, this attention to her toes. It was strictly a disciplinary gesture. Frances felt no betraying tingles in her crotch, no electric ripples up her calves and thighs, not even an intellectual thrill throughout her brain to know that she was surrounded by weak, easily domineered young women who, similarly, would do whatever she ordered, whenever the idle thought occurred to her. This was not what turned her on, and no one on the entire bus knew what turned her on. But for the mild curiosity which she lacked, she could have taken pleasure in that degree of security and privacy, but it was simply too much to care about when she had goals to accomplish.
Things were happening that snapped Frances from her robotic standby mode. Rachael didn’t seem to realize it, but the tiny man shuddered in the valley of her meager ass. He stretched out, limp, and his chest rose and fell laboriously, if microscopically, suggesting that he at least had fulfilled Frances’s desires and dumped his infinitesimal load into the entrance of Rachael’s poop-chute. The act, the approach, and the finish had all been dutifully recorded by Jenice, hovering over Rachael’s ass like a scavenging bird, grinning into her smartphone as though it mainlined heroin into her skull. It was one of those moments when everything fell into place and nothing else could have been asked of anyone.
Frances nodded, then realized with some surprise that her own hand had been stuffed down her shorts, and her own fingers had been thrusting rhythmically into her own vagina. Her brow furrowed and her lips tugged down in a frown. That was unexpected.