Warm. Warm like blankets. 

For a moment as Litea drifted out from sleep, she truly had believed that she was back home then, back in her feather bed, drifting in and out of sleep in her bed chamber shared with her two other sisters. The eldest, she had we own bed while the two slept side by side in their room. She was fourteen again, lying in bed on a late dark morning in the dead of winter. Snows from the Frozen North Sea and the tall craggy peaks of Gabroogna’s nigh impenetrable Gaia’s Wall to the east blistered their lands. The holder of the keep, her dear father, always laid by provisions and fuel to keep both his household and surrounding area unfrozen. One such day as this, her free day to take off from studies, she had decided to lay in bed and simply enjoy the winter wind howling through the keep windows. The shutters rattled even then, and some flakes of snow occasionally got in, but these were quickly dissolved midair by the heat current thrusting from the roaring fireplace and the mound of blankets that she had on top of her. 

Warm. Soft.

Somewhere in the castle there was an incessant clanging, steel on wood. Perhaps her beloved brother, a handsome lad of seventeen, was sparring with men-at-arms even in this ungodly weather. 

Clang. Clang.

Warm. Soft.

Litea shut her eyes again, wriggling her toes and writhing her legs and arms about, feeling for any thing else in the bed with her. Such a glorious feeling.

Clang clang.

It grew louder. A man at arms yelped out in pain, eliciting a chuckle from Litea- her brother had been getting good. Soon he would go to enlist in the stadium armies of the United North and fight against the mercenaries of the south. They'd be hard pressed, she realized, to gain any upper hand on him.

Another yelp, this one a bit more intense. 

Warm. Soft.

Clang. Clang.

Another yelp, more than a little pained. 

Scream.

Something wasn't quite right. She shifted in her bed (bed?) and tried to get comfortable again, willing herself against reason to ignore the clanging, the occasional scream. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, in hopes to continue this... This thing she hoped wasn't a charade. 

No, no. No. Please no.

Litea opened her eyes and it was gone- the dream had melted away like the flakes of snow vanishing in the heat current. The screams and din grew loud and more pained and even fearful as she came more to, her eyes trying desperately to adjust to the dark.

The dark.

Dark. Moist. Tight. 

She tried to wriggle her legs and arms again, only to be pinned back to the hard leather, yes, leather she remembered, to the back of her.

Why leather?

Oh, no.

It came piecing back together for her, not unlike a patch of snow in the intense sunlight peaking over battlements. She squeezed various bits and parts of her, trying to get bearings and orient herself, all the while swimming through the haze and muck that accompanied slow and bitter remembering after a deep slough of sleep. 

And, maybe, a... Concussion? But why, why would she have a concuss- oh. Oh goddess above. 

The deep pit had welled in her stomach- the sneaking in, the close encounter (nothing compared to now, she realized), and the failed spell. 

Pressure built on her, then suddenly, then just as quickly left. It ha just dawned on her how often that occurred- the rhythmic pulsation of pressure and release, covering the whole of her body like, yes, like a warm blanket.

The clangs outside were deafening. She was now fully aware of herself, and it dawned on her with creeping horror where she was. She began to push with her arms and legs, pressing against the swollen flesh of Gwyne's buttock. Each time she did, as she moved and shifted, she was pressed back against the leather padding, her appendages screaming in pain. 

A sudden yelp, this time sounding like it came from very close- it resonated through Gwyne's body and shook Litea's hands and arms as she desperately tried to push herself up. There was a feeling of freefall, followed by a shocking jolt as Litea's head slammed into the back of the padding, straining her neck and making her cry out. She felt on her back, while the entirety of the knighterrant’s weight rested almost all on her, saved only by sheer luck and distribution.

With mounting pressure of Gwyne’s ass came a fear to accompany it: Litea realized how dire the predicament was- she was trapped in this… this armor that protected (ironically) Gwyne’s nethers. Under the very woman she was trying (or rather tried) to murder. The irony of it was stunning- seeing as how the woman didn’t stop or try to dig her out of the back side, Gwyne probably hadn’t the slightest that Litea was there, and even by the sounds of the raucous of battle that raged outside, she would not until either it was over or…

The idea horrified her- at any moment, her life might end. Gwyne might shift, and smear her across her ass. She might bump into someone and break her back. She might die, and cause Litea to be poisoned by refuse and decay. Or, and she couldn’t tell if this would be a better alternative or worse, she could be discovered.

Another bump, a pull, and Litea felt Gwyne shift her weight- suddenly the pinning that held her loosened, and Litea slide screaming down her ass into the crack.

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

Gwyne drove her sword in to the man’s gullet, shearing the chainmaille with its tip. It was a hard thrust, one that wasn’t possible by arm strength alone- Gwyne had been knocked onto her ass by a rough butt of the spear wielded by the man she had just killed. Using the ground a leverage, Gwyne was able to plant her back hard into the patch of semi-dry dirt not churned into mud and lock her elbows, allowing for an extension that drove the point home. 

The sword pushed through the now screaming man, whose life blood poured from both the wound and from his mouth, down and staining his beard. The point pierced his back just nicking the spinal column, causing exquisite stinging up and down his legs and brain, like a bow across a violin string. It came out and cleared the shirt but instead could not pass the second layer of maille, causing the man to hang and yell, for which Gwyne was grateful- had he falledn on her she might not have been able to rise again. 

Pushing him off with her foot, Gwyne rose up and started again for the thick of the fight, seeking a new enemy to slay- the battle had been going exceedingly well, and was close to finishing. Alas, Gwyne, like other less reputable sellswords, was no slack- she fully intended to wage this war until the finish, and earn both the heftier bag of coin and the even more valuable earning potential of reputation. 

Spying a pesky archer wearing the unfortunate colors of her enemy, she jogged towards the lad and raised her blade to strike.

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

Litea had about stopped breathing as she slide down, her screams pushing all the air from her lungs. The air grew more dank, more musky, if that were even possible, and she realized that she was between butt cheeks. He miasma of odor, the sweat of adrenaline and the rank pungent stench common to all backsides of both men and women and beast alike filled her nostrils and made her gag, close to vomiting- she did not, for which she was thankful.

The churning thighs that now flanked Litea on either side pumped furiously, slowed only by the scale of things. She thanked the goddess above that Gwyne's thighs were taut and well-muscled muscles enough to fill the leg holes enough and disallow any further slippage- it would have been a messy fate indeed to be smashed behind a pumping knee. However, as she stopped short, she was now right under the shelf of Gwyne's ass, the crack tight and closed, but still quite smelly. 

She had to get out of there, she knew- her life depended on it. Dealing with Gwyne was now absurdly optional and the idea of revenge was now ever so far from Litea's mind, her idea giving heed to the amygdaloidal imperative of fear and survival. How would she get out?

Her Jade. Her Jade, of course! If she could only get to her medium, she would be set free, able to teleport out of the there and back, with all hope, to normal size. 

Litea attempted to reach down to the knapsack hanging at her side, but it was a hard go- with the shifting muscles around her and the sudden open and close motions that were quite now frequent in Gwyne's movements in battle, it was near impossible- she tried to move and orient herself but was continually blocked by fleshy wall or overextension. At one point she moved her head and got a facefull, but rather unfortunate accident, or Gwyne's asshole. The smell was excruciating. Coughing and some bile escaping her mouth, Litea cranked her head back away from it and started to gag, thinking there had to be another way. How was she to gain purchase and able to move herself to here she could palm the stone?

She began to climb out, up the slope that she believed led to a more open space, just above the shelf of Gwyne's rear. 

The leather, worn and rough from years of wear and tear, had little notches on the inside where it had frayed (as opposed to the outside where it had only smoothed out with time. With these little strings Litea was able to climb up slightly- not by much, but by just enough. Even with the walking motion, the space just above was bit more open, facilitated even further by Gwyne's leaning forward to charge. 

Finally able to prop herself against the giant's skin and pants by pressing on it with her foot, Litea hurriedly dig into her pack, pushing aside and even in some cases throwing out unnecessary items to find the stone- where was it. Where was it? 

She looked through the back again, her world still quaking all around her. She realized that she had never put away the stone, hadn't she? No, no. No, it was in her palm the entire time she fell, fell into the armor. 

She sobbed, realizing just then that she had begun to cry. When she blacked out, only the goddess knew where the stone went. It must have slipped- how long was she out? Minutes? Hours? Maybe longer? It might've rolled out and slipped into the grass, or might have been swept up and away when Gwyne actually donned her armor. 

Litea put a delicate hand to her mouth. 

No, no. 

This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. It was just too cruel. Without  the stone, her medium, there was absolutely no way to get her back- all the resources, items, or potions she needed to grow back to normal size all resided back at the Port Lein academy. Hundreds of miles away from here, and her only an inch or so tall. 

She could never make it, not at this size. Not unless-

A violent shake tore Litea from her thoughts- again that feeling of free fall, the kind that made her stomach leap and bound. She lost her foothold on the leather, and found herself colliding with the leather face first, only to feel the wall of warm sweaty ass fall down on her, the sound of her scream muffled by the clothing. 

Again, some jerk had knocked Gwyne in the head with a blow from either a spear butt or shield- te helmet had taken most of the force, as well as Gwyne seeing it and bringing her own blade to bear and catch it, but all still still didn't prevent it from whitewashing her vision and momentarily disorienting her. 

She was able to remember where she was and right herself up just before her opponent struck again- she saw through her periphery movement that resembled reeling back and began to shift hard to the right, bringing her opponent on that same side into vision. A big, burly, bear of a man, he wielded a long axe and a scowl to match. He swung down hard and despite his attempts could not shift the momentum of his weapon, which planted harmlessly in to the mud half a foot away from Gwyne's armored leg. Gwyne cranked her right sword hand up and over and aimed the blade for his grip, hoping to sever his hands and at least give her time to get up onto her feet. The man deftly yanked the axe handle away from her, the blade slicing through the air. The yank had loosened the axe head somewhat, and the man was able to pull it free from the mud and rock, hefting it into both hands and finding where his opponent had gone. Gwyne used the brief lull to push herself up with all fours to standing, pulling her dagger from left hip sheath and brought it to bear akin to its long sword brother. 

*********

When the pressure released, Litea sucked dirty and smelly air into her lungs by the liters. She nearly gagged when she realized what exactly she was smelling- the fear and sudden upshot of adrenaline had kicked her senses into overdrive, and as such everything was amplified- her skin felt the sweat, the erector pili of Gwyne's follicles. The short an sharp heartbeats of both herself and the woman she was stuck against.

The good news, she realized, was that she could more effectively move about now that Gwyne had realized her. Quickly, Litea scrambled up her crack, pressing against the leather and gaining hand and footholds like a rock climber. She made good progress, for a change, and was nearly out of the space between her two cheeks.

Gwyne reeled back and swore at the strike. The man had dealt a vicious blow to her helmet and knocked it clean off of her head. Her ears rang, her vision blurred, sending her into a mild panic. The man had intended to bury the pick side below her neck, but she had cranked her head left at the last half second. 

Still, it had grazed her, nicking the ear and pulling the helmet off. 

"Bastard," she wheezed, redoubling her grip on the weapons all the while trying to focus her vision. The man had flipped his axe a few times, no doubt in sour confidence of a close victory. 

Gritting her teeth, Gwyne charged and tacked the man, sending them sprawling to the muddy ground below. 

The sudden shift had again knocked Litea out of sorts, and sent her sprawling to the skin below her, face first. Then Gwyne rose, setting her back at an angle and making Litea slide down the slick skin, again down the crack.

This time she passed by the anus, and further down down down. The smell all at once became less bad and more heady, and Litea was reminded of... Something. Of herself, perhaps. 

She slid down along the leather padding, coming to a sudden and shuddering stop when her arm dove inside a wet flap of skin.

"Nnnnngaaa..." Gwyne moaned, dodging the shield and trying to get purchase on the man's axe. What in the hell?

Litea realized just where she was, and where her arm had just run into. She blushed to herself, despite the obvious situation. She recoiled her arm as quickly as she could, but too late- the thighs around her, fleshy pillars of muscle, closed in and squashed her to so as to not move. She was trapped.

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

Perhaps it was the battle fatigue, but gods have mercy, Gwyne felt... Great. Better than great, in fact. She realized this as she pulled the dagger from the throat of the man she had finally killed, and pressed her legs together. 

Litea was rubbed then, getting smashed into the wet mess of flesh that was Gwyne's vagina. Pungent lubricant spilled out onto her, and she screamed. This was unheeded, however, and she only felt the violent shaking of a pleasured Gwyne. 

The pressure mounted still. The continual force on her back and face pushed the breath from her lungs, her legs squirming still. She desperately pressed up and up, scraping with her hands and clawing desperately. 

She couldn't breathe. No. No no no. 

Is this how she would die? Smeared across the thighs and pussy of the woman she was trying to kill? Oh what a mess she had often herself into. 

Just as the darkness of Gwyne's pants grew even darker, the struggling getting weaker and weaker, it stopped- the thighs parted and once again Litea sucked air, tears forming in her eyes. She could breathe. 

Delightful as it was to sit there and apparently pleasure herself in a way she never had, Gwyne's attention had wen commanded again by another person- the battle cries of several others, some four grynocs away, had turned bloody and the enemy's banners had gained more prominence. A short blood curdling cry of another man dying and coming towards her, sword in hand. 

Cursing, and wishing she could stay longer and enjoy the pleasurable pressure between her legs, Gwyne rose up and gathering together her own sword and shield, ready to meet this other man head on. She could scratch that particular itch later on. 

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

Litea didn't think twice about moving on- as soon as she was able, she began to climb out of Gwyne's underwear and small clothes, pulling herself up with more speed and dexterity than she thought herself able to muster.

Then again, this situation was unlike anything she had ever encountered before, and she found herself more coordinated than ever before. Some of the healing priests at the academy's medical division theorized that the gods had made the body able to accomplish great feats in times of danger- for example, the story of how the human mother stopped the careless earthborn's foot from crushing her family. 

'This one is much bigger than an earthborn to me, however,' she thought morosely.

Still, the fact was apparent- she had to get out of there now, before she once again got caught under Gwyne. She might not be so lucky to avoid death the third time around. 

She climbed on, while, outside in the tumultuous and large world, Gwyne continued to fight for her coin and life.