The day's just ending, a new night rising from its weary ashes. Steam creates a healthy fog across the sliding glass doors of the shower as Kim finishes scrubbing her body clean. It's been long enough that you struggle to gauge how long it's been since you had a normal body. The ability to eat, run, and talk. These days, you're nothing more than a trinket decorating her ass.
Recently, everything seems to be going right for your captor. A few weeks have passed since Kim got her new job, starting what you figure will be her future long-term career. Some comfortable sales position that you can’t argue she doesn’t deserve. She’d put some serious effort into going after it. You’d know better than anyone, being stuck to her ass and all. With nothing else to occupy your mind, you’ve become an invisible observer in her everyday life, through the ups and the downs.
Kim steps fresh out of the shower, her feet hitting the linoleum tiles. She dabs off some moisture and hangs the towel; moving to trace her ass gently, your host lets her a few inquisitive fingers slide over you. There’s a smile on her lips, probing at the familiar tattoo with a digit, watching the fat of her butt sink as Kim presses down. “Never gets old,” she says with a short laugh, talking more to herself than you. Really, you don’t get much acknowledgment from her these days. The only time Kim ever speaks to you directly anymore is to tease and lord her power over you. Either out of boredom or to get herself off. It’s maddening to think your life has been reduced to some sick sexual gimmick.
Most days, you feel like a passing thought for this girl of Asian-American descent. You’re a constant reminder for Kim of how powerful she is, kept on a total whim. While you were left downright ignored most days, she’d frequently use you to get off, reveling in the unbridled power and control she has over you before promptly covering you up with tight panties. Or, if it was a lazy day, a long t-shirt. It's a fate you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy, the feeling of being less than human.
"Are you sick of all the ass you get yet?" She asks rhetorically before answering her own query, "Dumb question. Doubt that's even possible for a guy." Kim starts getting dressed, humming to herself, and occasionally checking her texts. She’s giggling as new friends send her inside jokes within their group chat. It’s hard for you to fathom someone who seems so normal being capable of this. Are you so unimportant that you don't warrant more than a snide remark now and again?
"Yesssss!" She squeals rather suddenly, hurrying to her closet. "Finally, I get a chance to wear this cute thing!" She grabs an over-shoulder summer shirt from the hanger, mixing it with a pair of cutoff short shorts. She's positively giddy, shaking her hips to an invisible celebratory beat, ready to have fun and show off some skin.
Kim slides over to the mirror and lets the outfit hang in front of her. With the help of a full-body view, she envisions herself with it on before smugly holding it behind and giving you a half-baked peek at what she'll be wearing tonight. "Whatcha, think? Any objections?" She snickers, knowing you can't possibly respond. "I didn't think so." Even after all this time, those comments sting. If only she knew how badly you wanted to respond. Being beneath her is frighteningly lonely.
“Hmm…” Kim scrunches up her face, thinking, “It definitely feels like a thong night.” She reaches over to a nearby drawer and slides it open, grabbing the first one she sees—the salmon-colored elastic slides right up her legs, resting snuggly on her hips.
Next, Kim begins the humiliating process of slipping on unreasonably tight jean shorts. A method you know all too well by now. They glide up effortlessly at first, coming to a roadblock around her more muscular butt and upper thighs. She has to shimmy them up, finessing them forward as the skin covering her glutes molds with the restrictive waistband. You, of course, are displaced and stretched with the skin, your tattooed form warped as she desperately tries to fit into a size too small.
“Shit, these things are practically welded to my butt.” She says, amused as you finally disappear into the darkness. Finagling them up to her waist, you hear the pop of a button, shutting you away for what will assuredly be a long night out on the town.
Whenever Kim puts on pants, loneliness becomes a constant—separated by an additional layer from the world. The sensation of isolation is one you’d gotten used to long ago. The environment is often muggy and stifling, but worst of all, it's sickeningly empty. Devoid of most stimuli that your starved mind craves. Yet you’ve learned to adapt out of necessity. Primarily for your sanity, coping with extended hours in the dark is an essential skill you've been forced to acquire.
Regardless, Kim continues to shuffle around, straightening her hair, applying makeup, all the usual rituals you typically associate with the average girl getting ready for a night on the town.
She directs her attention toward you one more time before heading out. You feel her hand press against the outside of the denim, a firm pressure followed by a light pat. “How is it? Snug? Warm?” Another question you couldn't answer. She runs a hand across the outer fabric, and you hear a distant clinking of metallic keys in her other hand.
Her phone buzzes without warning, vibrating her entire cheek as it rattles around her back pocket. The rhythmic pulses of an active call cause the very skin around you to light up with activity. It's an uncomfortable feeling, thousands of tiny pinpricks hitting you all at once. But Kim thinks nothing of it, and she squeezes a hand in with some difficulty before answering just in time.
She throws out a greeting, and a voice you can’t discern blares excitedly on the other end, “Mhm, you know it! Can’t wait; I’m totally ordering that daq' Kelly was talking about the first chance I get! Yeah, I’m just leaving now.” She continues a rather superficial conversation where you find yourself only privy to one side. You aren’t quite sure how long she’s on the phone. However, you know she's met several friends since her move and employment change. She isn't a big shot or anything, not exactly. But she'd been making connections like no tomorrow. The girl moves fast, and despite the circumstances, you have some vague respect for her hustle.
She hangs up the phone just as the latch of a car door can be heard, jamming her hand roughly down her pants again, pressing the fabric into you as the rectangle is forced against her backside. It rides against you for the entirety of the trip, poking and jutting its way into the tattooed skin of Kim’s glutes.
"Oh my god, heyyy!" Kim greets her new friends as the club's loud music overwhelms you. Even with the buffer of this constant prison, the song itself is absurdly loud. You're practically able to picture the atmosphere. People of all kinds, dancing, drinking, and above all else, having a good time. Something you no longer have the luxury of enjoying. You’ve never been a fan of crowds, but it's hard not to be envious. Before all of this, you had such a lackadaisical attitude towards life. So much time you’d wasted not living it to its fullest. Maybe it's true what they say; you don’t know what you have until it's gone.
"So glad you could make it!" Says a voice you can't place. Truthfully, with most of your days spent in the dark, you sometimes have difficulty distinguishing these superfluous connections Kim’s been making recently. Identifying people by their voice alone is a skill you’ve gotten better with over time, but it's still something you find exceedingly tricky. So many people come and go that the whole memory game becomes a struggle without faces.
"So, you girls do this every Friday?" Kim asks casually, sitting down and causing you some initial discomfort as her butt shifts around the booth, trying to get cozy. Her phone continues to thrust its bulky frame into you, jamming itself into what was once your mouth.
An entirely new voice speaks up this time. There’s a lazy drawl to it, with a hint of pretentiousness. "Oh, not every week, but we do try! Unfortunately, this town can be dreadfully boring if you don't know how to keep yourself busy." The song changes, obnoxiously loud; it further dilutes the conversation to the point of it being unintelligible. Kim, of course, continues to grind impatiently into the seat. You know by now that it wasn’t even meant to tease you. It's simply a nervous habit that she didn't care enough to correct—a lifetime of careless fidgeting that worsens your situation.
They catch up on the week, talking about mundane work-related gossip. Eventually, after some chatter, the song changes, and the first voice to greet your host speaks up, "Okay, time for drinks! First-round is on me, ladies!"
Kim leans forward across the table, excited, causing the muscles of her ass to stretch. Your body feels close to tearing as the skin bends you effortlessly around her butt, conforming you to its lovely shape. You feel the strain, each muscle and ligament beneath you working together to make the movement possible. You can't help but marvel at what her body is capable of. It's such a simple action, but it requires so many moving parts to work correctly.
Kim’s friend, who you now suspect might be Kelly, hastily takes orders for the table and heads to the bar, leaving the remaining ladies to continue their conversation uninterrupted.
"So, tell me! How are you liking it? New job, new apartment, is it tough?" Someone asks with a measure of concern.
Kim shrugs it off, "Oh, it's no biggie. It's been a lot to take in, but I have my tricks to keep cool." She clenches her butt in response, a gesture that had, over time, become something akin to a wink. A subtle nod towards the predicament you’re trapped in. Although, the entire cadence of the conversation is suddenly interrupted by an unseen event just beyond the walls of denim. Kim leans further forward, reaching for something. The action rubs your stretched body relentlessly against her tight shorts, smearing your face into the straining material.
"Thanks, Kelly!" Kim says as the clinking of classes indicates she's returned. The drinks are doled out, and the girls start sipping on them without skipping a beat, gossiping, and getting increasingly giggly as the night wears on.
From your position beneath her, you can't help but subconsciously start to block out the droning of Kim and her friends. It's all so frivolous. Just a bunch of small talk with a few inside jokes tossed in. Kim has had more than a few glasses, and being the short Asian-American lightweight she is; the girl is probably feeling it.
"Oh myyyy god! No way! I love this song!" Kim suddenly blares, oblivious to the level of her voice amid the deafening atmosphere of the club. You're thrown upwards, her butt once again forcing the fabric, and you, to bend toward its will.
She starts to move, her rapidly degrading balance noticeable as she rises to her feet. She's off-kilter but still more than able to dance. Her stride feels loose, and you can feel the friction of her derrière as both cheeks lightly brush against each other with each step.
Your time beneath her has been absolute hell, but you hate when she walks most of all. The very motion of her legs stretching and twisting your entire body uncomfortably. But that was old news, something you’d quickly become accustomed to no matter how much you hated it. Though, you’d never seen her dance before. Not like this.
You're thrown around left and right, her entire waist moving with the music, shaking and gyrating to the song. Even in the darkness, it makes you dizzy, tiny traces of light poking through the jeans now that she’s soaking in the intense rays of the dance floor.