"...and above all else, please make note of the dates and deadlines outlined on the syllabus. It was provided to you on the first day and nothing has changed!!" Professor Jensen carefully annunciated.
The frowning teacher’s tone suggested that she anticipated several questions at the end of class about due dates, and she would later be proven correct. The 48-year old professor looked down at her thin, feminine wrist watch, ignoring the clock on the wall. The band was stretched tight, the metallic pin snug into a hand-carved notch since the prefabricated notches were too small for the full-figured woman’s large wrist.
"Alright, people. You should have all read pages 117 through 155 of the text. Please open to page 156.” Professor Jensen said loudly. The large lecture hall echoed with the brief symphony of fluttering page turns and then nothing but the sound of Professor Jensen’s voice.
“In the assigned reading, we began by looking at Islamic sacred art and its usage of geometric patterns. However, it should be noted that geometric patterns--"
The silent students turned their heads in unison from the lecturing professor to the sound coming from the top of the steps of the lecture hall. It was the sound of a big, heavy door opening.
The poor, tardy girl felt the giant door’s weight push firmly against her butt, as if deliberately trapping her in this uncomfortable moment. She almost ran away after seeing all those heads turn in unison, and the most important one at the bottom of the steps was fixed on her. If she had better reflexes...her ‘fight or flight’ instincts might have kicked in. Flying would have been throwing the door open and running away. Fighting would have been owning the tardiness and walking in confidently. She did neither of these things. She neither flew or fought. She stood red-faced with her back against the door.
"Oh, thank heavens. Students! She has finally arrived!" The professor said of the confused girl up the steps. The time was 10 minutes after the class started, and the students saw a smile sprout amongst the landscape of frown wrinkles. It was as if the scornful professor’s efforts to grin pulled comfort right out of the air, replacing it with uneasiness and tension.
"We can finally begin!” Her speech up to this point had been dripping with sarcasm, but it melted away along with the smile.
“Miss.." She said sternly. The aggravated teacher lifted a chubby, well-manicured finger and curled it just once. "Come down here."
You could hear a pin drop as the girl began her long walk down the steps. Professor Jensen eyed the girl up. Her hair was a long chocolate brown, gorgeously thick and voluminous, but it was messily harnessed into a barely contained bun. She wore a light zip-up hoodie along with orange and blue plaid pajama pants. The material was visibly loose and thin, and the judgment in the older woman’s eyes spoke of her generation’s disdain for the lack of respect. At her feet were a pair of orange and white polka dotted flip flops. The lecture hall had a single, uncontested heartbeat: those flip-flops slapping the red-faced girl’s bare soles as she made her way hesitantly down the steps. Finally, what felt like years later, the girl had passed the few remaining empty seats in the lecture hall and the sole-slapping stopped. It was quiet again. So very quiet.
The embarrassed, red-faced girl stood next to her professor and was invited to turn to face the class.
Professor Jensen watched the girl's left hand rush to her mouth..a nervous tick no doubt..and 5 bright orange tipped fingers shielded her quivering, nervous lips. The professor’s eyes wandered down the car wreck that was this young girl’s attire. The pajamas were slightly too long as the bottoms were actually covering the girl’s heels and even the back half of the flip flop. Only the front halves of her feet were visible, five toes on each foot painted bright orange to match her fingers. The pant legs were too long or she was wearing them too low like some kind of harlet.
"What is your name, Miss?" the professor asked, sounding progressively more aggravated.
The timid girl paused for a moment, as if she had forgotten her own name...she seemed nervous enough; perhaps she really had. This wasn’t Professor Jensen’s first unpleasant encounter with her, but with so many students it was difficult to remember their faces, let alone their names. Finally, something leaked out of the tardy girl’s lips and from between her fingers..
"Becca Young".
"Its so wonderful to formally meet you, Miss Young." She said, the sarcasm had returned and it was practically dripping off the walls now. The professor placed a chubby hand against her large, matronly chest and as she did so, her bare tricep jiggled more than it should have. "I'm Professor Jensen. We're all so happy you finally decided to come."
"I'm really sorry, professor. I overslept and then I went to the wrong class by accident and I didn't--" Becca’s nervous fingers had slowly begun to lower from her face as she explained herself, but a harsh, brief 'shh!' from Professor Jensen slingshotted those fingers back over her lips and widened her eyes.
Professor Jensen continued. "Before you interrupted all these responsible and time-conscious students, we were discussing the three nonfigural types of decoration in Islamic art. The first nonfigural type of course being…”
Professor Jensen’s double chin accentuated as she looked down at Becca over her horn-rimmed glasses, waiting for a response.
“...Geomet…” said, painstakingly stretching out the final syllables in a tone that suggested she wanted Becca to answer...Becca chewed on her fingers nervously in silence.
“...tric patterns....right, Ms. Young?" Professor Jensen finished.
Nothing from Becca.
".......The second is....." Professor Jensen said, her ellipsis audible and Becca's silence deafening. The professor sighed heavily and dramatically.
"Miss Young…please tell me you reviewed the required reading for the first day of class that was CLEARLY outlined in the syllabus."
Becca's eyes were tearing up and it was getting difficult to see. The thin sleeve of her forearm came up to clear the tears before they had a chance to wet her already puffy red cheeks. ‘This is not where I belong..I can't do this..I"m not cut out for this…’ she thought, unable to even repeat the question, let alone the answer.
As if reading her mind, the professor said, "Perhaps you thought you could just come to this university and practice finger painting, hmm? You’ve done a wonderful job painting those fingernails and toenails but I doubt those efforts will translate academically. And your choice of attire this morning is quite alluring. What do we call this getup? ‘Hangover by Becca’? I suppose you thought that you could just flirt with boys, go to parties, and pass these ridiculous, unproductive, unchallenging classes while only completing a third of the assignments, hmm?
Tears were now streaming down Becca’s face as the crowd of students watched on. The shaking girl could feel her heartbeat in her face and she slammed her dampening eyes shut.
"Miss Young!" Professor Jensen shouted, removing her horn-rimmed glasses incredulously, "Are you even--
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
--listening to me, dude?" Krystal said, her dark eyebrows wrinkled up in confusion as she sipped her twice refilled drink. Krystal waited for a moment and then spoke again. "Did you hear what I said?"
Becca appeared startled, her mind having drifted off elsewhere; for how long, she didn’t know. She went to speak, but her voice was froggy from listening and thinking...she tilted her glass back and shook it, feeling the last melted ice cube slide out and hit her warm tongue. She definitely needed more water.
Becca cleared her throat, "...Yeah…I heard you.." she said in a contemplative tone “$200 for a week…”.
Krystal nodded, "$200 for a week."
Becca's heart was still recovering from the last time Krystal said it only 30 seconds ago, and the statement still hadn't lost any of its power. $500...to keep a shrunken boy between her butt cheeks for a week? Could this really be real? Why in the heck was this a thing? Why did anyone care enough to even organize this, let alone pay someone to do it? Another humdinger…probably the biggest of them all…why would someone let themselves actually be shrunken down and put in a girl's butt? The world was a strange place, sure…and pretty girls could make boys do all sorts of silly things…but come on…living in a butt?
When the mild sense of dizziness left her cloudy head, Becca managed to say, "I just...oh I just don't know, Krystal. I mean...how long would I have to keep him…ya know…down there? And what do I have to do while he's there? And how does he eat? And what if he gets hurt...and what if--"
Krystal cut her off "--whoa whoa...Becca...I don't have the answers to all these questions. Like I said earlier, as soon as I told that intern about going to Japan, she practically hung up on me after thanking me for my interest; she wouldn't answer any more of my questions." Krystal tapped her index finger on Becca's phone, the picture of the bathroom stall wall still on her screen. "If you wanna know…you're gonna have to call."
Her friend was right. Becca was just going to have to call..but just the thought of all this brought so many strange feelings; feelings to her head and her heart...and as strange as it sounded...to her butt. She shifted uncomfortably on the seat, scooting her wide hips left and right. The teenager felt her cheeks lightly part, and then mash back together as she rebalanced her weight on her hips. What girl paid attention to that kind of thing? And if there was a tiny boy in there...what would it feel like for him? Would her ass cheeks squeeze the tiny life out of him? Would he survive it? Would he..oh god..enjoy it? Would...she..enjoy it? Someone would…but surely most girls out there would hate the feeling of a tiny little thing moving around down there...what if she was one of them?
What embarrassed her the most was the thought of it all being a joke. What if she nervously dialed the number and said "Hey...I wanna keep one of your boys in my booty for money" and the other end of the phone erupted in absurd laughter? Thank god she didn’t go to classes anymore because she’d be the laughing stock of the school. Could anyone ever live something like that down?
But she needed the money…good lord, did she ever need the money…
$500 would go incredibly well toward some things. Sure, she wouldn’t be paying off her sizable debt...and certainly not the family debt she incurred from the failed semesters or the 2 months of late rent that was stacking...but some groceries? Maybe she could eat something other than Ramen and canned vegetables. Maybe she wouldn’t have to sheepishly ask if Krystal could cover her bill when they went out to eat like she was going to have to in a few minutes. Maybe she could buy a nice dress for some fun out on the town before the weather got too cold...or a nice skirt because god knows her wardrobe hadn't done her any favors at her last several job interviews. And honestly...if she really thought about it...would having a tiny something...down there...really be that bad for her?
"Well....I mean...I..I guess I could try calling.." Becca said timidly and Krystal practically cheered, gripping the girl’s hands and squeezing them.
"That's great! Alright alright, do it!" Krystal said, opening Becca’s Razr phone. Becca quickly snatched her phone back and stuffed it down into the pocket of her tight jeans. The teenager laughed nervously, "Oh no no no..I'm doing that by myself, thank you very much. No one is going to be around for that phone call."
"Pshhhh" Krystal scoffed, "'cept for the CIA listening in…probably the Russians too! Hell, maybe that's how we ladies will avoid war: just stick 'em all up our butts!" Krystal and Becca exploded in more girly giggling and despite Becca's nervousness, she couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of their time at the pub. By the time they grew tired of the scene, it had begun to start attracting some of its more conventional dusk/evening visitors, so they discretely excused themselves. On the way out the door, the two girls passed the handsome waiter who smiled warmly, "You two have a great night!"
He flashed a princely smile and when they weren't looking, according to a very giggly Krystal, the handsome waiter snuck a quick glance at Becca's ass. Krystal was certain because his eyes quickly darted away when he was caught.
"Oh god...the waiter guy was totally, insanely checking out your butt...if he ooooooooonly knew…" Krystal teased as they walked out the door.
“Shut up!” Becca said with wide eyes, a smile on her lips, and a healthy red rose on each cheek.
Becca and Krystal hugged out front of Becca’s apartment.
“Thanks for paying again.” Becca said, her chin resting on Krystal’s shoulder.
“No problem, girl.” Krystal assured her as the hug concluded. “You’ll get the next one right? With all that butt money?”
Krystal giggled and Becca rolled her eyes.
“You’re still gonna call, right? Krystal asked.
"Ughh...yes, nosey. I'm gonna call later tonight." Becca replied.
Krystal smiled, "Good! Cause seriously. If you end up doing this..." she looked around jokingly but seriously to ensure no one was around to hear her, "...I'm curious as fuck how that would go." It was a good laugh to end the hang-out session on, and with that the girls went their separate way for the evening. Krystal had plenty of studying to do and Becca....well...
Becca deadbolted the door behind her and slid in the chain. The brunette teen unbuttoned her jeans while walking toward her bedroom. She kicked off her sneakers, replacing the clop of rubber soles with the swishing of sock-clad feet. She breathed in deep the pleasant aroma of white linen and vanilla. Sure, it was a candle, but she was in college (or…well…you know). Becca made a quick pitstop in the kitchen to set out a tiny pot of water to boil for some Ramen. Would she have chicken? Or perhaps beef? The possibilities were endless! Too distracted by the events of the day, she forgot to even turn the burner on, walking away from a cold pot of water on the stove. She slid the tight jeans down her hips and over her ass, which required a bit of rhythmic shimmying.
She slid them down each of her thighs, the task becoming easier the further down she got until she left the finishing touches to her feet, kicking the bundled-up denim expertly into her half-full dirty clothes hamper. At this point, Becca could have changed into her nylon shorts, put on sneakers, and made her way to the gym. Taking care of her body was basically the only thing she did that was responsible these days, but Becca was feeling particularly lazy today.
She removed her socks and they joined her jeans in the hamper. Her bare feet quickly found their home in a fuzzy, orange pair of slippers. Initially cold, their temperature conformed quickly to her warm toes. This would do just fine until she put on some clean socks for bed. Becca turned and looked over her shoulder into the closet door mirror and looked at her ass. Like...really looked at it. Under those jeans she had been wearing a thin pair of baby blue cotton panties. The undergarment had done a bit of drifting up throughout the day so it was difficult to read, but across the back of the panties were the words "Fries before Guys". Below the text was a picture of a small serving of french fries and an emoji girl with hearts in her eyes.
"Hmm.." She said in a strangely proud, almost approving tone...the noise one makes when their lips kind of curl down in a frown, but they are really saying something along the lines of "That'll do just fine". Her bare soles briefly broke contact with the orange fuzz in her slippers as she lifted her heels several inches off the floor. She allowed gravity to take them back down...and as a result, her partially exposed ass cheeks bounced tremendously.
She did it again, studying the way her large cheeks rippled and gradually returned to rest.
She did it again, deep in thought.
She did it again.
Becca wondered what that experience would be like for a tiny boy. To her, it was just her butt bouncing a bit…but to him…geez…it would be like earthquakes reverberating through two soft planets. She didn’t know how small he would need to be, but if he was small enough to fit between her butt cheeks, it must be really really small.
It was all just so silly.
The teenager returned to the kitchen, actually turned the stove burner on this time, and prepared her Ramen for the evening. She retrieved her single bowl and single fork from the dish rack next to her empty sink and filled the bowl. Becca then carried the warm treasure to the living room and set it down on the coffee table.
The teenager felt goosebumps on her thick, pale, exposed thighs and luckily she’d left her folded laundry on the couch from last night. She pulled up a pair of pajama bottoms...orange and blue plaid…to keep her warm. They fit snugly on her hips and butt however they were loose and long down below her knees. They hugged her legs well enough, but she thought an extra blanket might be needed as she curled up on the couch.
The temperature had dropped off significantly once the sun set, and Becca was excited. She would have much rather slept in the cold. To celebrate, she unpaired a clean pair of wool socks from the folded laundry. The red hearts and kisses all over the cloud-white socks stretched and warped with the necessary widening of the mouth as it accepted the teenager’s bare foot. The sock swallowed 5 chubby toes and the rest of her curvy foot followed until she tugged the back up over her tendon…what a nice, warm sock.
Becca yawned as the movie credits began to roll; she was ready to head off to bed when it finally dawned on her. "I was supposed to call and talk to that intern!" She felt her heart skip a beat as the thought of all that money and...well... (oh, its fine...no one's around!) scary excitement of the new experience flooded back into her consciousness.
She folded up the blanket, placing it in her closet and went to brush her teeth. The whole time she was telling herself it was too late to call…trying to convince herself to just abandon the idea entirely. However, a part of her...the part that seemed to advocate for this…a part of her that she really didn't quite understand...reminded her that Krystal apparently had called at 11pm. The unicorn clock on her nightstand that she'd had since she was a little girl said 9:03pm.
"Oh...,” she said deep in thought, absent-mindedly twirling a lock of her thick brown hair in her fingers, “… what the heck..." she abruptly said to no one as she marched back to the couch. She took a seat, shifting her weight off her left side and bringing her right foot up underneath her butt to sit on as she dialed the numbers...and then before she knew it...she heard a ringtone.
One tone.
Two tones.
Three tones.
No one was going to answer; it was probably going to go to voicema--
"R&R Lab Studies; Participant contact line", the feminine but robotic voice on the other line said.
Becca was almost certain it was one of those automated machine things, so she felt silly talking to it.
"Yes...Hi...umm....my friend gave me this number to call. She said she spoke to someone about an experiment going on there? I think she said it was an intern?" She sighed in relief, having gotten the words out, and quickly added, "Is there any way I can speak with her?"
The voice responded, "The interns have all gone home for the evening; I was about to head out the door myself when I heard the phone ringing.”
“Oh, its okay. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Becca replied quickly, but the voice resumed without missing a beat. It was professional and robotic, but there was a certain charm and warmth to it.
“...but as the lead scientist of R&R Laboratories, I'm sure I can answer any question you might have about participating. My name is Dr. Katie Walker. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
~