Susan; 6:17 PM

            The water runs down your legs, gliding across the smooth surface and directly into the drain. The ferocious whirlpool of suction swallows anything in its way, lightly gurgling as you let out a sigh and run your hair carefully through both hands. 

You’d always liked the modern look your shower gave the bathroom, even if it was a little square for your liking. Nothing fancy, but the lightweight tempered glass had been an excellent choice to have the late hubby install.

Delicately, you smooth the locks of hair and let it all hang behind you, feeling the water drip down your back. “Sorry, honey!” You start practicing the excuse you’ll be delivering to your irrational daughter. She’d never see it your way if you’re honest with her—the girl’s stubborn, just like her father! But on the other side of the equation, Alexis has fight in her. Something her Dad always lacked. A coward to the very end. 

“I did everything I could, my dear.” You don’t sound invested enough. Clearing your throat, you give it another try. “Magical overload, honey. Same as your father.” Too direct. You decide then and there that you’ll let your daughter lead the conversation. Much easier that way. No need to get yourself worked up over any of this, Susan.

             Working your way down, you apply some face wash before moving further below, ensuring it's clean of any lingering stickiness. As usual, the combination of lube and moisture made quite the mess.

             You take a rag from the white caddy sitting on the side and lather it up with that lavender body wash you’d gotten the other day. A low hum escapes your mouth as the scent reaches your nostrils. The rich aroma of lavender is irresistible!

            Working gently across your lower body, you wipe away any signs of sexual acts. Any indicators that you’d cum harder than you had all month are gone in a snap. Well, save for the toys. But those would get a proper wash long before Alexis heads over. 

Finishing up on your sparkling clean exterior, you ring out the rag and hang it over the shower head. You make sure to thoroughly clean up even the deepest parts. It only makes sense after having some dirty fun! 

Soon, the once pleasant warmth of the shower is beginning to overstay its welcome. So, with a creaky turn of the facet, you step out and hastily dab off with a towel before reaching for the lotion.

The smell you wake to is potent enough to burn your nose. It takes a few disorienting moments for you to remember what happened. Right, still stuck to Susan's well-used toy. Fortunately, the smattering of sticky fluids rapidly starts to dry and flake off. With one strong grunt of effort, you break free, forehead smacking into the moist, but thankfully not adhesive, spot amongst the towel.

Picking yourself up, the minor exertion is enough to confirm what you initially suspected. It took everything out of you to make that effort, and now your entire body is screaming in alarm. Each muscle feels sore, and several bones are bruised by the earlier forces. You’ve never been hit by a car, but if you suffered anything permanent, it's sure to be the excuse you’ll use.

Despite being so powerful, the intensity of the scent has seemingly faded over time. Though, maybe, you’ve started filtering out the smell like frequent smokers, oblivious to the odor that’s invaded their clothes. It’s hard to know. Having spent so much time in such an intense area of Susan, maybe you’re getting used to the pitfalls of being so easy to abuse. 

Regardless, you’d be freezing right now if the spot of cum you’d fallen into wasn’t still so warm. Caked in several layers of god knows what, the collection of dried-out fluids flakes off your skin as it dries. It's hard to hold back the disgust, but you manage it. Wiping and tearing off what you can, you know there isn’t any time to overanalyze the situation. Susan would be back, and even if you’d escaped the death grip of her butt beads, you don’t want to be caught in the next load of this lady's laundry when she inevitably goes for the towel.

It takes you some time to stumble across the damp spot, away from the oppressive toy that had nearly claimed your life. How long you end up walking exactly, you can only guess. A few minutes at most. Startling how long it takes you just to make the edge of a person's linen, you accomplish exactly what you set out to do. Just as a distant rhythmic thumping catches your attention.

The door is pushed open casually, and a force of destruction heads through. She knows exactly where she’s going and shows no hesitation as she clears the immense distance gap in only a few strides. It's impossible not to stop and watch something that powerful simply be. Your legs refuse to move, forcing you to hunker down and marvel at her movements. 

            Susan’s wet, most notably her hair still somewhat frazzled and weighted down with water. She’s thrown on some generic at-home clothing, gray sweats, and a cheap white tank top.

She comes in too fast for you to really soak in the details. It hardly matters anyway, and soon you’re eyes are growing wide at the tremendous showing of force as she effortlessly picks up the black beads and wipes the fluids vigorously off and onto the towel. 

Thousands of small bristles run along the toy's silicon surface, removing the black beads of anything easily discernable. It's odd to watch, almost like you're watching a death that could have been. A nervous chuckle rises from your dry throat. What if you hadn’t woken up? Lingering on a question like that seldom helps the situation, but it's so jarring. Yet another close call with death. You wager it's likely the tenth time today. And that’s probably being reserved.

“Time for a wash,” Susan mumbles under her breath. A sequence of words you aren’t thrilled to hear in conjunction. “No!” You yell out instinctually, legs finally deciding to give you back control. But it's too late, and she’s already grabbing for the end farthest from her. Humming the whole way, she folds the messy part of the towel by lifting it, sending you hurtling towards the massive swaths of gray making up Susan’s pants.

Pure terror is the only way you can describe those few seconds spent desperately paddling at nothing. At any time, you were ready for it all to stop and life to fade. But you only get the all too familiar feeling of pain as you impact something stretchy, grasping at it with your hands in a panic... It bends to you, allowing you to kill some of the inertia during the fall. However, it's not enough to stop the wind from being knocked from your lungs.

You groan, hanging over the side of what can only be Susan’s waistband. A lucky fall and an even more unexpected set of circumstances. With a heave, you throw some lingering energy behind your arms, your body hurting in too many places to keep track. It takes some effort, but you can rest on the waistband itself. Not big enough to straddle it, you cling to the top shakily as she walks into the other room. Each step she takes clears miles relative to your size, and generates an expected amount of force. It has you clinging so tightly your fingertips are starting to go numb.

ThumpThumpThumpThump

Her socked feet continue to hit the floor one after the other, nearly bucking you off in one of eight possible directions. It becomes quickly apparent that it's only a matter of time. All you can do is hope for the best.

Sure enough, as Susan turns the corner to the laundry hamper, you’re chucked cleanly off the side, rolling into a sea of soft skin as you slip under her waistband. It's the last place you want to be, but maybe it's better than getting swept off the ground like some crumb. Still, it's hard not to feel like all this effort was adding up to a big waste of time. All this struggling, all this pain and near-death experiences… and for what? To be scraped off this bitches shoe?

Lavender grabs your nose as you lose yourself in the lightly tanned ocean of flesh around Susan's waist. It presses you against her band as she bends over to pick up a stray pair of socks. Both skin and elastic assault you, not giving you enough breath to eke out a desperate scream. You fall through as she stands back to her full height, the rapid absence of space sending you on a forced adventure through her pants.

The descent itself is miserable and hot. Not to mention full of Susan’s oppressive lavender-scented lotion. Disoriented by both heat and chemicals, you feel like you’re baking in an industrial-sized oven. It wears you down, pressure coming from any side at any time, only working you further downwards.

It's tempting to close your eyes and let the controlled fall take you. You’re exhausted and tired of the frustration from being so minuscule. You push forward anyway; too many people would be hurt if you gave in to this circus. You’ll fight until the end if that’s what it takes.

Shuffling a stack of papers into a cheap green folder, you slip it into your purse and leave it hanging messily out the top. However, you aren’t concerned with something so small right now. Not anymore.

The scene has been replaying since you’d dropped him off. And your unease has only grown since. Something’s horribly wrong, and you’d been so desperate and emotional at the time that you weren’t looking closely for any of Mom's old tricks. The sweetness in her voice was almost sickening, an unexplainable unease coursing down your back at the time. She was in rare form yesterday, likely because that psycho is up to something.

Your pace has been picking up since you decided to head back to the family, nearly in a jog by the time you leave your study space in the library. How could you have possibly thought you had time for homework?

Furiously running down the stairs, a thought you hadn’t thought of in a long time pops into your head.

Tears pour down your face, standing alone on the night of the Senior’s Ball. It's jarring. You’re Mother scoffs, forcefully wiping the wetness with her sleeve. When your mother offered you a shoulder to cry on, you expected comfort, only to get a cold and calculating response.

"Confidence, honey. Don't you dare let that boy see this side of you.” She says with a steeled look. She didn’t bother looking at you anymore, staring off at something only she could see. “Once he sees how he can hurt you, thats how he'll reel you in! Don't be a fool, dear."

Mom's response was perplexing back then, and in time you grew to learn it was a result of an entitled woman who had gone unchecked for far too long. You'd been over Mom's bullshit for years, absolutely fed up with her taking every opportunity to micromanage your life.

Although there's some familial love that'll forever remain with you, most days, you barely want to even look at her, let alone have a prolonged conversation with the lady. It's a big reason you'd been so eager to get out on your own, even if staying with Mom was the infinitely more affordable option.

Even with your Mother's history of being herself, you can't seem to bury this awful feeling deep inside. You don’t have any way of knowing what’s going on behind those closed doors, and the suspense is driving you insane.

Mom never was the gentle type. Deep down, you don't think she'd outright hurt Chris. But, maybe she'll be too careless! The female embodiment of tough love, the woman, often felt that lessons were better learned. What little support you received was often from your Dads side. Before Mom pushed them out, that is.

Family history aside, you can’t waste a single second. You need to reach that house. Throwing open the last pair of doors leading to the lovely campus exterior. You’re in a full sprint by the time fresh air registers. You wouldn’t have stopped in the first place if it wasn’t for the steep stone stairs leading down from the west wing exit. But you’re forced to stop as a set of three descending stairs and a ramp sits ahead, each one making its way down to a half-filled parking lot.

            Taking a deep breath, you collect yourself. A small part of you is left hoping you’d return to find Chris re-enlarged and sent on his way. You shake your head at the very thought. It’s doubtful, a panic-inducing realization.

“You’re the knight in shining armor this time, Lexy’,” You say with a pinch of disbelief, reverting to chewing on your bottom lip nervously. However, letting anxiety get the best of you wasn’t an option here. 

You scroll through your contacts furiously, but nobody you can think of that would be able to grab you on such short notice. Think Lex, think… Although you pride yourself on staying in shape, it would take even a seasoned marathon runner a good chunk of time to make it across town. You need to use your head and not your legs.

 Already going through the steps of ordering an Uber, your mouth nearly falls as Heather nervously shuffles past you. Her entire demeanor is less intense than it used to be, and she comes off as almost timid. She continues walking, hoping against everything that you wouldn’t pay her any mind. You sigh, knowing how poorly this conversation was bound to go. Quickly heading after her, you’re halfway down the stairs when you call out, “Heather! Wait up!”

            You stride forward with a renewed sense of self-worth. You’re positively glowing after everything is said and done! It's always been clear you were cut from a different cloth, and you’ve always regarded yourself rather highly. But the ease of the runt's disposal has just been another example of the vastly unfair playing field mortals are trapped in. The entire situation resolved itself with only as much effort as taking a nap.

             Shrinking is a powerful tool indeed. Perhaps far more potent than you could have ever imagined. It's gotten you thinking. Why? Because magic has limits. The most considerable being energy. A dynamic of give and take that even the dullest children raised around magic understand.

             You recall a spell potentially capable of generating a raging inferno! The catch, is it's often seen within the community as a cheap parlor trick. Something to light candles or cigarettes without a lighter on hand. But shrinking seemed so much different. The strain on your abilities is surprisingly tame compared to some more advanced spells you’ve uncovered. 

             It’s only an estimate, but you gamble it's possible to shrink five or six fully grown men out of existence before exhaustion catches up. You’re sure that with this in your toolbelt, you’ll be able to make quite the shake-up given the proper planning. And perhaps a hint of intimidation when needed.

            With a grin sunk into your face, you head into the kitchen. Even with the massive potential shrinking could provide, the dishes weren’t going to do themselves. Not without an army of small ones, at least. However, it occurs to you that you forgot to set the scene!

With some urgency, you reach over the kitchen table towards several stacks of books. All ordering catalogs and magical nonsense, but without looking too closely, your daughter would never tell the difference. For your purposes, these are “research materials.” You give yourself a mental pat on the back for the last-minute trickery. Thankfully, both the spines and covers had long since faded.

            You adjust the various books carefully and scatter around a few pens and pads of paper for added believability. The stage has been officially set. Now, to do some tidying in the meantime! You grab the broom from its space in the cozy side closet and get to work!

             It's dim. The light peeks through Susans's sweats as she moves rhythmically with the broom. Each renewed motion threatens to throw you into the panty prison, to be possibly lost within the humid darkness. Or worse, hurled to the ground below. In the interim, you’ve managed to grasp hold of yet another waistband. A second chance for you to hold on tight. And in all honestly, you think it might be doable! She has to be close to finishing, you figure. And she is. Susan’s ready to sweep the mess right into the dustpan. 

Unfortunately for you, she bends over. The area where the stomach meets the groin touches briefly as she wipes the debris. Unknowingly, Susan’s slathering you between islands of flesh and fabric, both equally suffocating. She bends, moves, and turns in place, ensuring everything is neat for her daughter's arrival.

How you survive Susan laying into you so thoroughly is anyone's guess. A result of luck and your small size, possibly. Standing up to her full height creates a brief window of space just around her band. It's impossible to avoid sinking even deeper yet, and soon, you find yourself somewhere much scarier.

            Darker even still, your eyes adjust to the light quickly, though you don’t need sight to know where you are. It's evident from the same musk you’d been subjected to in spades earlier. However, it's far more subdued this time, and you’re glad not to be choking on each lungful of air.

            Focusing on the details is challenging as you cling to the thin, unassuming fabric making up the gray cotton of Susan’s undies. The entire garment is loose but self-contained. Leaving you to be whipped around by unmatchable g-forces. You’re flung against stretchy walls, only for Susan's next step to send you flying back.

Not privy to the immediate world outside, all you can do is your best to place yourself within Susan’s panties. And judging from the colossal crack fissure up most of your vision, you’re on the backside. Fortunately, you can keep a moderate amount of distance this time. That is, until Susan decides to bend over.

You’re entire life flashes as her left cheek comes for you, the panties bending around her ass while she grabs some inane item. The fabric presses heavily into your face, furthering the feeling of being crammed into a putty. Rammed against the unending gray, you scream into muffled fibers. It isn’t so much painful as it is intensely claustrophobic.

And it refuses to let up. Susan shakes and wiggles her ass to the tempo inside her head, smearing your already roughed body into the inner fabric of her modest panties. Air becomes a hard-sought resource, her ass crushing the life from your insect-like body. You couldn’t possibly know what she’s doing, but it quickly drops from your list of worries as the shallow expansion of your lungs isn’t enough. You lose consciousness, surrounded by a cozy blanket of Susan's tush.

            The harsh cleaning chemicals waft through your nose, and a sparkling kitchen stands before you. Satisfied, you let the dish towel drop delicately into the reflective basin. It's a relief to have it out of the way. However, all the sweeping, swiping, and general cleaning has your panties quite literally in a twist. Not one to censor yourself in the sanctity of your own home, you take them by the sides and thoroughly adjust the plain-looking garment, ensuring they’re a snug fit along the contours of your body.

            Soon after, there's a knock at the door, sudden but not at all unexpected given the time. “One moment!” You say, rushing to put the cleaning supplies away.

            “Mom?” Alexis questions faintly from behind the smoothed-over wood of the front door. You try to put on a face that screams sympathy and head for the entryway. It’s time to let her down gently on the consequences of toying with her birthright. Maybe next time, she’d think twice before using what she failed to first pay proper respect.