Chris, 1:36 PM

You continue to massage the lotion into Susan’s shoulder blades, the pleasant hum of the television still reaching your ears. You've scarcely covered the matriarch's colossal back; your progress on rubbing the moisturizer into her tight skin turns out to be quite a pathetic showing. You've barely moved from the start.

Suddenly, a hand comes sweeping in, only to effortlessly brush you aside to rub the remaining lotion into her skin. Susan proved to be pretty flexible. You fall flat on your ass, momentarily perplexed by the interruption. Had she roped you into this to humiliate you? There's a knot in your stomach, and it won't stop growing. Ever since you and Alexis had arrived, something felt off. Malicious intent is practically radiating from Susan's very being. But what could you possibly do? Fight back? Please, you can barely rub lotion into her skin.

Squirttttt

More lotion oozes from an unexpected bottle high above. Though, curiously the amount she squeezes out is substantially less than before. Maybe Lexy’s Mother had noticed how badly you've been struggling? Or the more likely situation, she was impatient. Not willing to put up with the inherent struggles of your reduced size.

Still, the dollop looks like a handful. Or rather, half a body's worth. Coming up to just about waist height, it would take your entire frame to even attempt and cover a portion of this lady's back!

"Hey, hon?" She glances over her shoulder, her gaze piercing. The very act of her head-turning feeling like a threat. "Could you get that for me?" She lets a shy smile slip before returning to her show. You look between her and the creamy white glob before you. Already, you were exhausted, dreading the remainder of this forcefully imposed chore. What would happen if you said no? After some deliberation, you think it’s best not to chance it. She’s entirely unpredictable.

Deciding it's best to play along, for now, you can't help this sinister feeling in the back of your mind. Would Susan really go as far as she claims? And was that whole situation with her husband some sort of scare tactic? You can’t be sure.

Walking up to the white substance, you decide to tackle it head-on, closing your eyes and nearly dropping face-first into the mess. Embracing your whole body like a paintbrush, you rub everything thoroughly into Susan's tanned skin. It's sensual, and you can't pretend you aren't already hard as a rock. The feel of her skin is just too overwhelming, lower parts begging for attention. But you don't have time to stop, your massive effort still barely equating anything in the grand scale of her body.

It takes far longer than you would have liked, but after a few more minutes, you manage to buff in most of the gooey stuff. You feel somewhat proud of the accomplishment. Susan, however, doesn't feel the same. She looks over with a lazy stare, only half paying attention to your activities. Something tells you this mother couldn't care less whether you rubbed any of it. She was just enjoying making you work. And even then, she didn't seem to get much out of it. 

Susan seems like she's barely paying you any mind. Meanwhile, you’re working your hardest to do a fraction of what she can do with a single well-placed finger. What's this woman playing at? You wonder as she lets one of those powerful digits trace a spot on her lower back.

"Another spot needs your… services." She says breathily, prompting you to walk further down the arch of her back, closing the distance between you and this 'spot.' It’s reached it in record time, though you’re at a loss for what to do. It's not like your 'massage,' if you can even call it that, was making much of an impression. You're pretty sure standing still would accomplish the same result. But you wouldn't dare. Not under Susan's watchful stare.

Her very presence is unnerving, bordering on frightening. There's an apathy behind that bright motherly exterior that unsettles you more than you care to admit. So, without any further fuss, you bend over and knead the spot she'd highlighted for you. By now, your hands ache. And what do you have to show for it? It's obvious she can't feel much of what you're doing. You decide to put on a front, pretending to put your full force into it. But in all honesty, you're just rubbing superficially along the surface of her skin. It works, and Susan isn't any wiser, as far as you can tell. It's a welcome break. Not a long one since you have to put some effort into keeping appearances, but you're glad to be using less of yourself in this dumb game she seems to be playing with your life.

"I don't see my daughter much," Susan uncharacteristically speaks up to give you more than a loose set of directions. "But you know, she talks about you sometimes." Lexy talked about you? It's only natural, you guess. Your parents knew all about her from secondhand stories alone. Regardless, it's hard to not wonder what was said.

"Sorry to say, honey, but it's the only reason I didn't press you right between my fingers the second she left," Susan says, lazily mimicking a twisting motion with her thumb and index finger. It's such a matter-of-fact statement for her, so casually making a threat to your life. Would she really have the nerve to go through with it, though? Or was this massive mother just once trying to intimidate you? The more time you spend at her beck and call, the closer you feel to answering that question.

"You may think me cruel, but the family secret is more important than whatever frivolous little game the two of you are playing. Sorry, dear." She looks down at you with what you can only describe as a disingenuous look of pity.

"But here's the deal," Susan continues, sinking further into the couch as she gets more relaxed. "I could use some TLC here and there. But, I'm a busy woman, as I'm sure you can see." She smirks, likely thinking the very same thoughts as you. A stay-at-home mother with her children out of the house and husband out of the picture? You call bullshit, though not directly to her, of course.

"Think of it as a trade. You fulfill your end, and I'll graciously offer my services as a witch!" She speaks so confidently, so sure of herself. Susan is in total control right now, and she knows it. Lexy's Mom soaks it all in.

"Speaking of places that need a more delicate touch…." You stop kneading momentarily, watching nervously as a pinky finger snakes further down. It traces the tightly closed waistband of her gray sweats, forcing you to look at Susan for an explanation. Did she actually expect you to lift this behemoth? Apparently so, judging from the look in her eye.

Well, you aren't getting any younger. Set up to fail from the very start, you walk down the unstable arch of Susan’s back. The smooth skin combined with the dip in elevation makes it difficult to navigate without falling flat on your face. However, you slowly work your way down, reaching the monumental waistband.

It nearly stretches up to your waist and is practically glued to Susan's waistline. There isn't a chance in hell you'll be able to lift this. Still, you need to try. Bending your knees, you grab onto the elastic, lifting with a heave. Nothing. It doesn't even budge. The revelation is surprisingly gutting. You knew being small made you weak, but being unable to lift a pair of pants? It manages to feel like a new low.

You pivot back towards Susan's unamused glare. With a disappointed sigh, she brings a hand down and lifts it up for you. The band effortlessly complies, stretching and bending handily to create a cavernous opening. Cautiously, you step inside, seeing the vast canyon between her cheeks just ahead.

Something about this bug-sized boy is really getting you going. Truthfully, you aren't all that upset about the mite being unable to scrounge up enough strength to crawl under. You never expected Chris to lift it in the first place, but you wanted to see him fail. So pathetic and so very weak. Yet, he was still following your every beck and call. Not smashing him into dust outright had been a tough decision, but one you're happy with so far.

He'd been outrageously slow, however. And your patience is starting to wear thin. This is precisely the kind of situation that lead to your last hubby getting lost. Hopefully, for his sake, he'll pick up the pace. Otherwise, you aren't entirely to blame for what might happen. After all, a lady has needs!

You lift your butt into the air slightly, a slight change in position, but one sure to make your ass pop. You want it to look big and intimidating. It seems to have had the desired effect as well because Chris simply stares. You groan, aggravated by his perpetual lack of speed. Why do Men always get cold feet when it comes to a lady's butt? No matter, you manually slide him over your skin with a careless finger, pressing him somewhat forcefully into the plump warmth of your ass.

The television is still going in the background, but truthfully you'd stopped paying it any attention long ago. You're focused on Chris. What he might do, and what he will do. After a few seconds of pressing him into your plump behind, you let go, retracting the hand below your waistband and snapping him into relative darkness.

You’re rolled around relentlessly, smeared, and pressed into the wonderfully warm mound of Susan's rightmost cheek. She toys with you, ensuring the cheek is intimately acquainted with the feel of your body. But shortly after, it pulls away, leaving you coughing from the lack of air as you're thrown into darkness.

Her sweats press lightly against you. It's stuffy, as expected, but some light is able to find its way through the fibers of her pants. Roving hills of flesh that stretch towards the fabric walls limiting your world. You're small enough to see the individual cellulite spots on her rear, occasionally dotting the otherwise perfectly smooth landscape. It isn't the first time you've been up and close with a butt recently, but seeing it from this angle provides more perspective. It gives you complete freedom to really witness the extent of it. 

Curiously, you push lightly against the ground, the flesh giving some resistance. You weren't going to be able to do much. Not like it's a big surprise. With your shameful lack of strength. The air itself is drenched in this woman's scent. It's overpowering, practically able to taste whatever body wash she'd last used. You try to keep your whits, but even with danger looming just out of reach, the joke of a back rub she forced on you left your lower half excited.

There's so much to love about being trapped in here. You can't stop yourself, and it's almost as if you're reverting to a more primal state. Your brain flips some sort of a switch, drastically degrading your mental capacity as you hump away at hot flesh. Your hips shoot forward, dropping exactly where you stand, grinding as you take in Susan's scent, sights, and warmth. Gyrating away, you fall into a rhythm. You feel so stupid, so base. Yet the smells flood your nostrils, and your cock stays painfully as hard.

You hear a condescending giggle far outside Susan's pants. It snaps you out of the weary dream-like haze. "So pent up! Well, get it all out, honey!" Her tone drips with smug satisfaction. You’ve never been so humiliated, unable to control your most animalistic urges, faced with the temptations of this youthful-looking mother's rear end.

“Mmm, just like that, sweetie,” She coos, a shadow snuffing out the small amount of light you were previously allowed. It takes far too long for you to realize it's Susan’s hand. Her palm flattens you from outside the fabric and presses down eagerly. You’re shoved deep into her flesh, her scent only intensifying as you’re pressed and slowly dragged around her backside like a brittle toy. It's not much longer before you finally release, spraying a pitiful amount of seed across her bottom.

She owns you at this very moment, and you know it. But much more frightening is that Susan seemed to take so much pleasure in it. It's not long before you hear a yawn crack overhead, and the pressure mercifully relents. “Well, playtime is over for today. But feel free to do whatever you’d like. I’ll do my best to not forget you back there.” She says with a tone so casual it’s outright startling. The vibrations of her giving one last good stretch course through you before Susan goes still.

Sweaty, spent, and ashamed, you look across the field of flesh. The downtime provides you a moment of stark realization. You might not make it out of this one.