NEGLIGIBLE QUANTITY
John Mableton had always been a man to reckon with. His reputation in his career environment was firm and well established. Having started as a mere technician in the optic industry, he had played his cards well, used his competence, and eliminated his rivals, till he acquired a management position. From there his ruthlessness in the business started to earn him a respect mitigated with a general dislike from his peers. He quickly ascended the ladder before establishing himself as a competitor of the very company that taught him the ropes of his business. He was about to buy them out of his way. A success story, in brief.
Generally speaking, John had also an overbearing personality. Loud, brash, and a bit of an extrovert, he could only feel at ease when all eyes where turned on him. In a party, he was either the show piece or he was leaving. Being unnoticed seemed to be the worst possible nightmare for him. Wherever he went, be it business or pleasure, the lime lights had to be centred on him.
……………………….
John was enjoying his vacation (unofficial, his wife and kids thought him to be on a business trip) , and was perusing the streets of Manila like a lord checking on his estates. Like many Westerners before, it wasn’t long before he succumbed to the temptations of the place. Sexual tourism was one of his many endeavours. The girl he had picked up in the seedy bar was just the way he liked girls. Petite, rather shy, very sexy, and speaking as little as possible. He did enjoy visiting the city with her at his arms, submissive and unobtrusive. She seemed very naïve to him, even at time trying to engage in serious conversations with him, who couldn’t see the point of communicating with her in any way other than the physical one. She was to him totally expendable and unimportant. With his business friends, all sharing the intoxication of the capital, she was a quiet shadow, and he could continue to parade his looks and opinions to all, without hindrance. Of course, he lied her from time to time, telling her how he would bring her back to his home , how they would get married, the usual lot of lies he thought appropriate to keep her interested.
He wasn’t too surprise when she looked at him with furious eyes when he gave her a little present at the end of his sojourn and closed his door on her, as if sending off a mere room service employee. Not surprised, and not caring at all. Aimee, as for her, was very naïve indeed. She had been well aware that the bullying and loud man she had been following for the past week was by no means an excellent prospect (she had been looking, like many girls like her, for the catch, the Westerner that would fall in love with her and take her away to a life of luxury) , yet she’d never expected the sheer coldness of the parting, the total disregard and even scorn that that closed door had meant. The boorishness of John Mableton was something she was not prepared for. To be treated like a mere object was just too much to bear to the young woman. Her subsequent reaction was fuelled by hurt feelings that could not be soothed into mere disappointment and even less into forgiving.
She spent the following night locked in her tiny bedroom, raging against the ugly rebuttal, and working away on a strange little statuette, she was forming out of a very special clay. Someone close enough to her room could have heard some very weird chanting being performed by a high pitched and oddly distorted voiced. And whoever would have heard this would have been very wise to stay clear from interfering. What went on that night in Aimee’s bedroom was not for everyone to see or understand. The morning after, at dawn, Aimee went back to the hotel and, knowing some girl at the desk, managed to sneak back into John’s room and collected him.
She went back to her old work place that day, that hateful place she was so keen on never entering again.
John had some difficulties coping with the situation. Sure the pain was at last receding, leaving him drenched in cold sweat but finally able to breathe. Yet his circumstances had hardly improved. Everything around him had turned into a hellishly distorted chaos of gigantic forms and it seemed to him the world had just gone mad. (It never crossed his mind he could have gone mad). He had spent the last three hours of that night sitting on the vast plain of the bed sheet, staring useless at the dimly lit room, a universe of enormous proportions. He was no higher than half an inch. Later, when the first rays of lights had started to penetrate the immense place, tracing a huge rectangle on an impossibly vast wall, he hard heard the clicking noises of a key entering his door. A staggering human shape had entered the room, and it is only when the huge face came level with him, a ferocious smile showing formidable teeth, that he recognized the little Filipino woman he had spurned so viciously the day before.
After a short trip in the confines of her breast pocket, tossed around by her walking, sweating in the early heat of the morning ( and the proximity under the flimsy fabric of the warm giant breast), he started to hear the din of voices and machines. Lots of machines and a lot of voices. From the uneven slit of the pocket opening, he could see the hard light of overhead neon bars passing by, as Aimee was walking in what sounded like a sort of warehouse.
John wasn’t able to see much indeed, stuck as he was at the bottom of that pocket, on the blouse Aimee was wearing as she walked into the ugly sweatshop of factory, where dozens of girls were toiling over sewing machines, making for a handful of coins very expensive products sold all over the world.
After a while the huge fingers entered the pocket and John screamed as they took hold of him and deposited him on a soft pinkish surface. All he could see was the huge finger tip pressing him in the fabric. He beat his tiny fist against the hard skin, in a desperate struggle, catching only a few glimpses of a massive chest and face, as his tormentor fixed him intently. He screamed and trashed under the rounded flesh of her finger, but to no avail. Near him a strange mechanical device was pumping away an enormous cable in the fabric that surrounded him and was moving in his direction.
It was a work of precision. Aimee had no intention of hurting the little man, as she started the sewing machine, applying her deft fingers and the best of her skill to her task, slowly encasing John in pink thread and blending his little form into the slightly padded texture of the piece of cloth. It took her some minutes (she had to cut him out and restart once). But after some efforts, she had him neatly caught in the web of threads. It was good workmanship, and the fabric was top quality. This was invisible and would last for years. She made sure of that.
“Good by, John Mableton. It was not that nice meeting you. Remember your name, John Mableton. This is the last time you‘ve heard it. Have a nice life. I hope it will teach you a bit of the humility you have never been able to show.”
John felt the sudden lift and fall, when she took the article of clothing and deposited it on the small conveyor belt near her.
John watched in terror as the article he was on was travelling in front of enormous women, under the neon lights. He tried to call them, his tiny voice lost in the humming of the machines and the chatter of the Filipino girls. He passed right under their indifferent eyes, another article among thousands. He felt the sudden drop, as his vessel carried him off the conveyor belt into a large box. He could see the tall brown walls of the cardboard box for a second before another piece of fabric appeared on top of the rolling edge far above and fell on top of him. A minute later the box was full and carried by someone (he could feel the walking gait) and a few minutes later, in spite of all his screaming, huge feminine fingers picked up his vessel of fabric and neatly folded it, cutting all vision for the little imprisoned man. John guessed more than he saw the transparent plastic film into which he was being inserted and the vibration of another conveyor belt shook him for a few second. A searing heat came from somewhere nearby, as the plastic was thermally sealed with a great clank of mechanical power. Another conveyor belt followed. Another box.
Lost in darkness, John Mableton screamed and screamed, fighting against the pink threads that pinned him to the fabric, while more and more weight slowly piled on him. Two or three hours later, he heard the clear hammering of nails in a great wooden box. His travels were starting….
………………………………………………………………………………………..
Absolute darkness. Nothing to eat, nothing to drink. John Mableton was expecting the end to be quite painful and not too far away. He hadn’t given up. All day long he struggled and struggled against the thread that kept him both hidden and trapped on the fabric. A whole day under the heavy pressure of all the fabric stocked upon him. A whole day of calling for help. What was happening was beyond reason. He had fallen asleep last night with a last check up of the things to do before catching the plane home. He had a last visit to pay to a friend, who had renounced his family to remain in Philippines and re-start his life. He had been looking forward to hear his tale. He had brushed his teeth, applied cream on his face, he had leaned back with delight on the soft pillow of his bed. And now, a few hours later he was trapped in utter darkness, inside a mere wooden box, inside a flimsy plastic film, somewhere on the floor of an anonymous factory, ready for loading. No one could be prepared for this.
His frantic mind had been looking for an explanation all day. Drugs. That had to be drugs. But the passing hours only seemed to confirm the grim reality. No haziness came to point at another reality. No sudden awakening. Just darkness and weight, and thirst.
No one had seen him, no one could possibly know he was here, half an inch of despair in a sealed wooden box. None of his friends knew the name of the girl that did this to him. And even if they did, how would they ever get her to confess such an incredible act? For all purposes, he was truly lost. He fought , and fought and screamed in the confines of the plastic sachet.
Hours passed and some motion occurred. Loud manly voices, some lurching right and left, lifting and falls, engine noises. Truck noises. John could well hear the traffic outside as the truck that carried his box was travelling through the busy capital.
He was nothing but ears at this stage, drinking in the slightest clues as to his environment. He heard the porters, workers, cars, hauling equipment one hears on a busy portuary zone. His box was seized by something and deposited. He kept listening to everything….. It took no more than eight days before he started to get over the hunger and the thirst.
John had no exact idea when the actual shipment took place. It was pretty sure he had been no more than three weeks in the box, when the first lurching motions started and the outside environment was replaced by the dull humming noise of the boat’s engines. That left him plenty of time to reflect upon things, to despair and to remember. Remembering his life, his wife, kids, family. Remembering every single detail of the last days with Aimee. He had nothing else to do, but remembering. He tried, during the long monotonous dark days inside the boat to remember the detail that would save him. Each time he awoke in darkness, he tested the thread around him, tried to sense any change in his condition. Nothing changed. The thirst, that had been an absolute nightmare for the first week had at last disappeared, and John had come to the stunning realization he wasn’t going to die from it, neither from hunger apparently. His life was nothing more than a succession of day-dream and awakening. Telling one from the other was not easy.
John’s mind had drifted into a permanent haze, when, a month later, the cargo had reached its destination. He awoke that day feeling the box’s motion and hearing English spoken around him. Loud voices everywhere, shouted orders, conversation about shipments and cargo. And after a day or two, a truck came to pick him up .
When the box was opened at last, a dim light penetrated down to John. He could feel the weight slowly diminishing as objects were removed. He felt lifted out of the box and it took a good minute before his eyes could adjust to the bright light. Feminine voices around. Talk about prices and labels, idle chatter. He could make out the conversations quite clearly. Apparently he was home. A ripping noise announced the opening of the plastic film he was encased into. The cloth was unfolded, providing John with fresh air for the time in two months. A strong perfume pervaded the air. Violent movements took place as the article was unfolded. John got to see the immense shape of a woman, her gargantuan fingers manipulating the pink fabric around him. The little man screamed and called out incessantly. The eyes of the woman were fixed upon him, but unable to see him apparently. A long plastic contraption was attached to the fabric. A piece of paper, attached to a long thread was fixed upon the article. A casual hand tossed him in a small box and all was covered again.
After a short trip, John was left alone. He was more comfortable now, horizontal at last and he was no longer buried in the folds. Above him the complex geometry of the fabric (a lacey sort of thing, flimsy and see-through) hang like a large drapery. Layers after layers of identical articles also hung nearby. It wasn’t difficult for John to recognize the place he was in: the light, the rows of clothes, the labels, the soft music. He knew well enough what was happening indeed, as he lay tied to the padded gusset of rather sexy and expensive panties, in the lingerie section of a trendy mall. The vast shape of the employee disappeared in a thundering succession of echoing steps. It was early morning. The shop would be opening soon. At long last , John Mableton knew exactly where he was heading…
The first day was nightmarish to John. He saw gigantic beings come and go near him, feeling the passage of their unbelievably heavy frame shake the air around him. Girls and woman of all ages passed by totally unaware of his existence, looking at the lingerie articles, chatting, comparing. John was situated knee high. Although the space in front of him was obstructed by the fabric of the panties, he had a good view left and right but in fairness, he wished he hadn’t. He could see the giant legs passing by, could fathom the incredible size of the women, and correspondingly, his own abysmally small stature. All day, they came and go, on their huge legs, filling the shop with their loud voices. At times, one enormous girl would bend down and let her huge fingers rummage through the panties surrounding him. He was then rocked forwards and backwards, while the fleshy pillars manipulated the lace. Sometime an article was unhooked and brought high above closer to the eyes of the giantesses. John Mableton screamed again, calling for help, calling for anyone just to notice him. No one ever heard him.
Towards the end of the day, a young woman, tall and slender, with bluish tights and a skimpy skirt fondled the row of panties he was situated in. After a moment she unhooked the pair he was in. John felt the sudden lift in the air, as a vast and yet beautiful face examined the article. He tried desperately to remove his arms from their thread shackles but to no avail. The girl put the panties back on the hook, and her sumptuous legs took her away from him at an incredible speed. John was now in the front line, with nothing between him and the passing legs of the giants but the flimsy veil of the panties. For two more hours he watched them pass by, hearing them comment the merchandise.
Gradually, less and less people entered the shop. Finally a last employee came and re-arranged the articles. He was put back in the middle of the serialised panties (probably sorted by size) and after a few minutes, the lights went off and the last noises died away.
John spent his first night in the empty store, in a mixture of despair and confusion. He had found life again, after so many weeks of dark deprivation inside the large wooden box. But to this life, he was inconsequential, negligible and the very proximity of all these colossal human beings was indeed negating even more his own existence.
The second day was very much like the first, an endless parade of huge bodies and a turmoil of manipulation and total disregard for his presence. The giant pictures of pretty girls were hanging everywhere in the shop, awakening also in the tormented little man a hunger of a different kind. It seemed to him he was lost in a world of women, so infrequent was the presence of males, and the overwhelming smell of all their combined perfumes gave the whole experience a strange erotic appeal that was confusing to his overloaded senses.
A third, day passé by, with no improvement for his shattered hope and the nights between were abysses of isolation and loneliness.
On the fourth day, a young woman picked him up. John was lifted towards a very pretty face, with long blond hair and deep green eyes, whose iris were larger than he was tall. His heart beat hard in his chest, his protest unheeded. He was brought by the young woman in a small cabin. There, he was hung onto a high hook, and through the meshes of laces, he saw the giant girl take off her jeans. Long fingers detached the plastic apparatus above him and he was brought close to her knees. The top of the panties was stretched opened and John screamed as an enormous naked foot came crashing into him, the toes squashing him for a second, before they disappeared on his right, replaced by a descending column of flesh. A second foot loomed above and was inserted on his left. He started a vertiginous ascent along the ever widening pillars of flesh of the long thighs towards the approaching crotch of the young woman. He called for her, to notice him, to stop what she was doing, but she never realized his presence on the article.
She was only trying the panties on and had kept her own. In a second , John felt himself sandwiched between the two layers. On his body the heat from the intimate parts of the young woman was permeating through, as she applied a finger on his back and pressed him further against her panties. He could positively feel the overwhelming mass of her body over him, as she turned right and left to check for the effect. A womanly smell gave John an instant hard on, in spite of his current panic.
A few minutes later, he was heaving and crying , in the crotch of the panties, as they were set back on the hook in the middle of the row. The young woman had gone. Leaving him here to be “tried” on” by others. John watched the huge asses and crotches of the passer-by with renewed awe and despair. He knew it wouldn’t be too long before he was buried alive under one of these jeans, trousers, skirts, to be carried off wherever and whenever by an unaware hostess.
Two other women tried him on later that day…. He was on an expensive piece perhaps, as he was left hanging, literally, till night came up again.
It is only ten days later that she came. She was one of the most beautiful girls he had seen so far in the shop. Her face was a wonderful oval, with full luscious lips, and her hair was black and short, spiky in places. He had seen her before , as she had touched briefly a pair of bras not far from him a week before . Even in the midst of his fear and confusion, he had remembered her long legs and toned body. She had come suddenly to the row of panties, letting her fingers sort them quickly till they had closed on his fabric ship. A second later he was held near her belly, as she walked decidedly towards a cabin. John had watched her hitch her short miniskirt up, revealing long naked thighs (and cute panties with teddy bears on them) coming to the full bloom of perfectly shaped hips. He found himself again near the floor, as she inserted her feet, her big toe smashing in his face with the force of a moving car. He started the ascension towards a ceiling of smiling teddy bears. She kept him there for no more than a minute.
Later John lost all visibility as he was inserted in a plastic bag. She paid with a credit card, unknowingly purchasing the tiny little person within her sexy new panties.
An hour later, the long fingers opened the bag, and took him out. He felt her gaze through the lace, as she smiled contentedly. He hardly had time to understand the layout of her small flat, so large were the objects around him. But he got time to take his breath back while she left him on her bed to answer a phone call. Her voice was cool and soft. She was beautiful…and dangerous. She had approached the bed during her conversation and as her hand touched the sheet near him she started to sit down. He watched in terror her beautiful bottom coming down , projecting its shadow on him. John would have like to at least try a protecting movement. Her left cheek missed his tiny body by half an inch, as she squashed the bed under her formidable mass. She was talking to a friend and commented briefly on her new lingerie with a giggle in her voice. When she hung up at last, the panties were folded neatly, a screaming John Mableton inside, and carried away. John could not help letting out a last desperate shout for help, as he watched the drawer close and a familiar darkness came back and began an entirely new life…
Her name was Lucy. She was a teacher of sorts, perhaps even a lecturer, in spite of her young age (John thought she was in her late twenties). Her best friend was Laura. She had a brother who called her often on the phone. And she was contemplating dating this guy Richard from work. All this, John learnt during the first two days with her. Not that he saw her. For him the world was a large grotto of wood, traversed by a vast plain of fabric, and lit through the slit of the drawer opening. But from outside this subterranean universe, an other world was audible, where an enormous being was pacing by, shaking the ground, having conversations, taking a shower. He heard her laugh and talk, heard her eat, smelled her dinner, and heard the closing of the front door. He spent the days in near darkness in the quiet room, waiting for her return. At time, she would open the drawer, and he would get a glimpse of her as she bent forwards, her vast hands passing nearby. (on the third day, she placed a dark garment on top of him, and darkness got final).
On the fourth day, she came back early from work, perhaps around noon. John heard the door open , and immediately heavy steps came closer. The drawer opened, the garment above him was removed and long fingers came approached him. The panties were extracted and placed neatly on the top of a chair. John’s heart was beating fast. He knew the time had come. He was going to die. He saw her discard her clothing and walk naked into the small shower at the back of the bedroom. The splashing noises were frightening in their intensity, like every noise she made (or anything made for that matter). When they stopped, a wet looking girl walked out. John had a perfect view of her long body, her flat stomach, her high breasts. Her face was peaceful, as she dried her short hair with a flashy orange towel. She walked to him. The enormous mass of her belly came level with John, a vast plain of smooth skin, with a navel large enough for him to stand into But is fair to say, what he gaped at was her perfect short- trimmed bush, and the neat cleft it announced, a place where he knew he was destined to be buried alive.
This time it was not a panty-clad crotch he was ascending to. As Lucy pulled up her new panties (cautiously), John shouted his throat raw. The enormous cleft that came closer and closer, was so much larger than him. Miles above it seemed, the gentle face was turned in his direction, unseeing and uncaring for his coming ordeal. The labia were well defined, protruding slightly, the flesh around a healthy looking pink. She had no hair at all in those parts. In a second, his face and thread-covered body came to nestle in the folds of her right labia, penetrating slightly on the inside of the mucous cavity of her sex. The intimate smell of her inner flesh filled in the air and the heat rose immediately. John’s scream was instantly muffled by the rosy wall of flesh that pressed into his nose and mouth. Soon enough, the rustling noise rising from under him announced the coming of the tight jeans he had seen her wear in the shop. The pressure in his back increased suddenly, and he was pressed harder into the flesh, all light killed.
So it was that John got to go back to university. Lucy was an assistant lecturer in palaeontology. John heard her give her afternoon classes, unwitting student and companion. He has suffered intense bouts of panic as her immense body had sunk him into the saddle of her motorbike. He had expected to be turned into a bloody jelly inside her pants when she had sat on him. After twenty minutes of silent asphyxiation and horrifying crush, he had come to the realization, yet again, that, no, it wasn’t going to be the end for him. He had fought the claustrophobic panic, as she walked in the campus, her humongous thighs brushing past each other below him. He was aware of the world outside, the intense chatting of the students, the birds, the traffic. He heard the noise of Lucy’s boots on the wooden floor of the old university hall. He heard all the tremulous life of the campus, a life he was so close to, and yet so irremediably cut from. Much closer to him were all the biological noises of Lucy’s body, her smell, her flesh, her heat. He belonged to her totally, the world outside nothing but an illusion.
He heard very little of the conversation she had with her friend Laura, lost as he was under her crossed legs, in immediate danger of being rubbed into oblivion against the fleshy convolutions of her intimate parts. Every minute lasted an hour to his crushed body. The immense weight settled on his body each time Lucy sat down in her classroom or in the teachers’ room
The only respite came from a brief visit to the ladies, when for a minute he watched Lucy’s face high above him, far beyond the twin columns of her calves, a shining cliff of white ceramic towering over him. He called out and wriggled, trying to take advantage of the new situation. But the next minute, he was pressed hard into the soft flesh of her outer labia, a definite smell of urine lingering in the small pockets of air. A zipping sound , and darkness came back. Time for more classes for his busy hostess.
The return trip on the motorbike was excruciating to John, as Lucy sat her full weight upon him
That evening, Lucy did not go back straight home. Instead she met with Richard. John was privy to their flirting, as they sat in a restaurant, hinting at each other’s desire, but never crossing the final line. All in all, they had a great evenings it seemed. Richard was very good at making her laugh. And they were very pleased with the food. To John, the evening was less pleasant. He had been a straight eight hours already under the flesh of Lucy’s sex, and it seemed to him he was getting in deeper by the hour.(he was, actually) He had listened ad nauseam to the flirting couple’s evening, himself no more an human being, but a mere inanimate object, and the very joy he could hear around him was a sharp blow that highlighted his own desperate state.
John had been soaked during the day with Lucy’s intimate sweat, in the heat of the tight-hugging jeans already, but as the two lovers danced late at night in a warm embrace, the fabric around John started to get saturated with a very different moisture. The smell from Lucy’s inner self became stronger and stronger, and some squelching noises, inaudible to anyone but him told John more than he needed to know about her state of arousal. Some discreet seepage started to inundate his face and body….
When she got home, (alone, she had gently refused Richard’s invitation to more) Lucy quickly undressed, casually discarded the soaked panties and rushed to get a shower. A sobbing John was left in the folds of her garment, while loud watery noises exploded nearby. A few minutes later, John watched horrified huge nostrils come closer and closer as a refreshed Lucy, coming back from her shower, had sniffed her panties, smiled, and dropped them in a small plastic basin. John had never been so close to her face (to anyone’s face, in fact) but even his loudest shout had remained totally ignored. When he saw the water faucet loom above him, he closed his eyes, awaiting his imminent drowning. The huge fingers massaged him and bruised him under a torrent of water for a few minutes, but John was no longer surprised when he came to rest, un-breathing but still alive, at the bottom of a lake of soapy water, where he stayed for the rest of the night….
And so John had completed the first day of his new life as Lucy’s secret companion. Days passed by, during which, John was left alone, an unheeded witness to Lucy’s busy life. Three or four times a day, the drawer would open, and the young woman would take something out or put something back in. John was buried under various layers, sometimes deep, sometimes closer to the light. He discovered her passion for painting, her love of soul music. He got to know some of her friends who visited (Allen was an eager visitor, but John knew from some phone calls he did not stand a chance). But mostly the days were made of a silent wait inside the drawer, while life was happening elsewhere. John survived on his memories and day-dreams.
And then there was the days when she would come for him. Days of crush and sweat and biological intimacy. Days of pain and frustration and humiliation. Buried alive under Lucy’s womanhood, John witnessed her social life , her work life, between bouts of silent crushing under her impossible weight. His own conscious life started to distort, his rage a powerless lifeline to sanity. When spring came, Lucy wore a skirt more often, making the ordeal slightly less painful. He could then feel the passing air in his back, which ran between the gigantesque thighs under him.
John got to witness some intimate moments of Lucy’s life, as the time she was writing that letter on her laptop, John neatly tucked under her skirt. John had suddenly felt the sudden pressure of a finger gently stroking his back forcing him deeper within her folds. Above the keyboard had stopped longer clicking, and after a few minutes, a loud breathing was audible in Lucy’s room. The definite smell of arousal had risen within the fabric enclosure, as John was being massaged against the sensitive flesh. After a few minutes of intense stroking, Lucy had walked calmly to her bed, giant fingers had entered John’s jail. For a few painful minutes he had been battered by the back of a long finger as it penetrated into Lucy’s vagina. Above him, a clitoris of monstrous proportion was emerging from its fleshy hood. Juices spurted from the orifice nearby, soaking John in a sticky embrace. Lucy’s moans had eventually erupted, seemingly miles away, yet powerful as a deep thunder… John felt like a little fleck of nothingness in the presence of a goddess.
It was three months later that Richard and Lucy finally made love. Richard had been away on a trip to the University of Freiburg, Germany, and their relationship had somehow blossomed electronically. When he came back, he went straight to Lucy’s house. Lucy, of course had decided to wear her best lingerie for the occasion. As for John, the desperate but negligible factor of this strange triangle, he knew well he was about to go to hell.
Less than an hour after Richard’s arrival, John was feeling the heavy fingers of Lucy’s man press against his back. Lucy’s labia were swollen and flagrant, and John was already lost in a liquid inferno. More commotion occurred, as the young man’s hand invaded the frail panties. And it wasn’t a long wait till both lovers reclined on her bed, laughing and eager. John was dismayed and humiliated like never before, as he heard their kisses and sighs and groans.
Suddenly, he found himself pulled away from the opened sex of his hostess, now swollen and engorged and dripping. John watched the long legs pass by, as the man above him gently removed the flimsy underwear. The two giant lovers were naked now, and the impossible geographies of their bodies totally crushed John into more insignificance, a feast he’d hadn’t thought possible. He did not know where the man body started and where Lucy’s ended. He saw a flash of skin , huge curves flying under him, as the panties were casually dropped on the bed. John could only watch as the mountainous bodies became intertwined.
After a few minutes, Lucy’s ass cheek came dangerously close to John. He screamed, of course, but the rounded cliff of flesh kept being pushed closer, and closer, to the rhythmical assault of the giant man beyond. John watched in horror, as the spasms of their love-making carried Lucy right on top of him. A last push and her ass covered the screaming little man, while she struggled to reach her orgasm. Crushed beneath her, John carried on screaming in his mind…..
Six month later, Lucy was getting married and Richard had insisted on her wearing this sexy lingerie of hers for the occasion. That night, they danced till exhaustion. Lucy carried her tiny uninvited guest through the ceremonies and the dances and the fun, and right into her nuptial bed where Richard and her made love like never before. In many ways, for John, trapped in the moist darkess below the radiant white dress, it was a day of agony.
He screamed and struggled vainly through the quiet preparations of the morning, suffocated under the weight of the bride during the meal, drowned in her sweat during the evening dances, before being discarded as usual in a corner of her bed, deafened by her moans and suffused with loneliness and rage, in the midst of all this joy.
Lucy got her PhD validated that year and the young couple was able to move to fashionable residence near the university. They talked of raising a family, now that the long cursus of Lucy’s studies was coming to fruition.
To John, desperately clinging to his sanity in spite of the isolation and frustration inside Lucy’s drawer, the coming year was not a great experience. As Lucy got pregnant, she stopped using her sexy panties. And John spent the next six months in the drawer without ever coming out. He came to a point when the wish to be reunited with Lucy turned obsessional. The worst humiliation was better than this relentless seclusion. He had learnt to love his torment, and every day, when Lucy opened the drawer, he begged her to take him with her.
After the birth of their daughter Clara, Lucy’s social life flourished again, as did her sex life. She was delighted to get new things to wear, to go back into the seduction mode she so enjoyed. Although she got new items, she never purchased an item as expensive as the one bearing John, and he could tell in her eyes, as she bent forward to grab him, that she was always delighted to wear it.
Five years later, John was beginning to doubt his memories and the very core of his life. By a natural movement of his heart, he had fallen in love with the joyful Lucy and jealousy was now adding its weight to the general ordeal of his life. The days of wearing, which had been so full of torment were turned by captivity in days of worship. Slowly, John Mableton was losing his mind. The second pregnancy of his hostess introduced him to yet another year long of deprivation in the depth of the drawer. Darkness swallowed his world again….
When Lucy came out of her third pregnancy two years later, she had put a bit of weight. She was still a delightful sight but the time had come for her to part with some articles.. John felt her pick up “his” panties, and his heart went racing with anticipation. He was coming out at last! He screamed when he saw the inside of the sordid wooden box rushing to him. He was screaming long after the box has been brought to the attic. Lucy was a keeper….
Time passed slowly for John.
Clara was rummaging through the old box, checking for souvenirs. She was about to leave and start her palaeontology studies, following her mother’s footsteps. She was amused to find some lingerie her mother use to wear. But to her surprise, it was in perfect shape, the lace just good as new, the colours vivid and lovely, and not a single thread was damaged. (No one in a million year would ever make the connection between this un-ageing piece of cloth and a certain curse that took place many years back in the Philippines). She smiled and went back to her room to try it on. She had inherited the beauty of her mother and she spent a minute parading vainly in front of the mirror. The high V-shape of the panties highlighted nicely her long thighs. Very sexy indeed, she thought. And decided this one would come with her to university . She covered the pink panties under her skirt.
Pressed against Clara’s young flesh, feebly calling for a help that would never come, John Mableton was introduced to yet another life... Unfortunately, not his own...
the end
nostromo