Green Day


My ButtyJuly17 entry.

The group of Borrowers all stood underneath the nightstand, listening to the shower in the next room and waiting for Jerzy to finish his descent from the top of the bed. They weren’t really Borrowers, and apart from their size they didn’t have much in common with the characters in the children’s books, but they had become used to indulging others’ conceits.

Not quite three inches tall, Jerzy was nevertheless strong and agile with close-cropped dark hair and a darker smile. After rejoining the others, he did his best to break the news gently. “Green,” he reported impassively.

Selena grunted as if she’d been punched. She had deep brown skin and her voluminous hair was wrapped in colorful fabric. She looked back up at the top of the bed.

Nicole’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure?” asked the tiny blonde carrying a two-inch rod with an X-acto blade mounted on one end.

“Climb up and look for yourself,” replied Jerzy testily.

Selena started shaking her head. “She hasn’t put the green out since Kit—” she said softly, trailing off.

Pale and lithe, Rumi screwed up her face. “Yeah, well,” she said, “if he’d had his mind on that crow’s pecker instead of his own, he’d be here today to take this one. But he didn’t and he’s not.”

Nicole turned to Ben, the tallest of them at nearly three-and-a-half inches. “You’ve done it before, right?” she asked hopefully.

“That’s not the way we do it,” replied Ben. “You know that.” She looked back to Jerzy, who was already retrieving the twigs from his pack.

Selena hugged herself and they all watched Jerzy display the five equal-length sticks in his open palm, then turn his back and snap one in half. When he turned back to face them, only the identical top halves of the twigs protruded from his fist.

There was a loud spatter from the shower as the occupant shifted and redirected the spray against the door.

Ben took a deep breath, then reached forward and pulled a full-length twig from the clutch.

No one else moved for a couple of seconds, then Rumi sighed and plucked a twig. It was half the length of Ben’s.

“Did, did it break just now in your hand?” she asked weakly. Jerzy opened his fist to show only the three other intact twigs.

Selena stroked Rumi’s back between her shoulder blades. “You can do it,” she soothed.

Rumi squared her shoulders and turned to face Ben. “I don’t think I can.”

“We explained all this when you got here,” Ben replied. “All of it. You told us you understood and accepted the terms.”

“I was in a bad way then,” said Rumi.

“We all were,” said Nicole. “You saw her unloading the groceries last night. We’re having salmon fettuccine.”

“And Pinot Grigio,” added Jerzy.

“You wanna go back to ditchwater and discarded Lunchables, be my guest,” snarked Nicole.

Rumi looked off into the middle distance for a moment, then whirled back to Ben. “What if she goes on a date?” she asked.

“Then you’ll have a sausage appetizer,” quipped Nicole. Selena smacked the back of Nicole’s head.

The running shower sounds abruptly ceased.

Rumi looked around at the others’ eyes and saw resolve but also patience. Slowly, her shoulders slumped in resignation. She tried not to tear up as she removed the blouse and jeans that Nicole had hand-stitched for her upon her arrival. Nothing she had ever worn had matched as well or felt so comfortable.

When she was wearing nothing but her close-fitting briefs, Ben grasped her upper arms and pulled her to face him. “Think of it like a baby being swaddled,” he said.

“That would make more sense if we were talking about her bra,” muttered Rumi.

“Don’t forget to hit your marks and say your lines,” he said. “You don’t want her to have to prompt you.”

He hugged her tight until she returned his embrace. Then he stepped back. “Up you go,” he said with smile.

Rumi quickly glanced at each of the others, then turned to grab the lace-fringed comforter, conveniently suitable for climbing. As she ascended to the top, the others faded into the shadows underneath the nightstand, all except Ben, who watched her disappear over the edge of the mattress.

Rumi tried to survey the flat and tidy bedspread, but of course she homed in on the giant pair of emerald green silk panties laid out in the precise center of the foot of the bed. Jerzy would never have lied to them, but the visual confirmation nonetheless gave her chills. The underwear could easily have blanketed her and all of her companions including the departed Kit, but now she alone was on the bed.

Her legs felt weak as she drifted towards the foot of the bed, her gaze darting back and forth between the panties and the bathroom door. Her feet touched the sheer fabric and she remembered the array of scraps, sorted by color and weight, from which she had selected the components of her current wardrobe. Rocking her stance between her heels and her toes, she knew she could never return to looking like Bag Lady Barbie.

Then the bathroom door opened and out stepped the Lady of the House.

Rumi knew her, of course. She had been formally introduced to her, conversed with her, and been handled by her. Rumi had seen her in all states of undress and had witnessed her indignities and indispositions. But she had never felt so on the spot, so caught, as she did on the foot of the Lady’s bed, watching the colossal woman advance upon her.

The Lady’s eyes lit on Rumi for a half-second, then shifted away as she veered towards her closet, her robin’s-egg-blue robe billowing out behind her. A moist breeze washed over Rumi, smelling of soap and amaretto. She remained frozen in place, marveling that a being so large could move so quickly.

The Lady stopped in front of the closet with her back to Rumi, then let her robe fall from her shoulders to her feet. Rumi craned her neck back to look at the larger woman’s hair, long and dark, not unlike her own. But the Lady’s hair was clean and fragrant, and of course Rumi could get lost in its tangles. Drops were still falling from its strands, and Rumi finally forced herself to follow them as they plummeted down to dapple the Lady’s indomitable ass.

It heaved and floated above her like a thunderhead made flesh. It radiated heat and humidity and inertia. Rumi watched it from below on the bedspread, transfixed as a sapling on a floodplain.

It was easy to be in awe of the Lady’s body. Her stride and reach dominated whichever space she desired. Her swells and sinews enchanted the eye as surely as they commanded deference. Rumi and her companions all knew that the Lady did not lack for amorous attention in any realm.

But beyond the Lady’s immense body itself, Rumi admired the comfortable way the Lady inhabited her titanic frame, her confidence in her attributes and her indifference to the judgment of others. This poise came so naturally to the Lady that Rumi had no doubt it extended to encounters with people of the Lady’s own scale.

The Lady canted her derrière at a jaunty angle, and though it was well beyond her reach, Rumi found herself stretching a hand up towards the inviting slopes. What person of any size could resist such a scrumptious squeeze?

A slight hum from the Lady dispelled Rumi’s fascination with the twin carnal masses suspended above her. She dropped her hand and looked up to see that the Lady was stroking her chin, ostensibly selecting an outfit, and Rumi belatedly realized this was her cue.

“Oh no!” she cried, far louder than she had in weeks. “I sure hope she doesn’t see me! I came up here just to Borrow a few things, but now it might be the end of me!” Kit was always better at improv, she thought.

“Hmmf,” muttered the Lady. “I just can’t seem to decide what to wear.” She perched a hand on each hip.

“Ack!” shouted Rumi, tugging her foot against an imaginary thread. “Of all the times to get my foot stuck in a knotted thread!” Her limbic system was demanding her retreat with increasing urgency, but she kept her head down and focused on her pantomime.

“I guess I better sit down and think for a bit,” said the Lady. Rumi started hyperventilating and she couldn’t remember if she had any more lines. Then, with her extremities singing with adrenaline, she looked up.

Searching for the Lady’s face and some hope of reprieve, Rumi found only the cascade of hair as the Lady continued to face the other way. Then the towering woman bent forward and Rumi’s vision was eclipsed by the Lady’s wide buttocks spreading wider as they came. Her giant haunches jiggled as the pliant flesh shifted, but there was no concealing the powerful muscles at work in the Lady’s thighs and her gluteus maximus itself.

Terror-fascination seized Rumi again as the Lady’s cheeks opened to either side of her and she glimpsed the brown pucker coming straight at her. Absurdly, for a moment she half-expected it to open like a maw, and then it was upon her. There was nothing contrived about Rumi’s scream piercing the lingering shower steam only to be abruptly muffled as she was engulfed by the Lady’s giant rump settling on the mattress.

Darkness and heat and, most of all, pressure. Rumi’s ribs felt like they would snap if she so much as tried to breathe. She knew she should have taken a deep breath when she had the chance, but now it was too late. She had been worried about the smell, but now she doubted there was room to smell at all.

The world rocked and the landslide of flesh rolled over Rumi again. Her stomach argued with her inner ear as she thought she was being lifted. The Lady’s terrible muscles writhed and the pressure on Rumi shifted to different angles. As dominating as the gluteal grip was, Rumi noted the softness of the enclosing skin, the delicacy of the minute hairs brushing her face.

Another lurch and shift, and Rumi awoke to the necessity of getting her head as close to the surface as possible. She summoned all her strength to try to reorient herself up and out, but it only provoked a punishing clench and contemplative moan from the Lady. It was all Rumi could do to re-inflate her lungs.

Then the Lady took a couple of steps and Rumi, almost imperceptibly, began to slip downwards. Rumi wriggled her torso and neck to push her face ever so slightly out from between the Lady’s cheeks. She barely had time to draw a breath and adjust her eyes to the light when she saw the tent of green silk rising to enshroud her.

As the world shimmied and dimmed, Rumi at last registered the odors and perfumes of the Lady’s rear end. They were warm and floral and not a little intoxicating. Secured in that velvet pinch, Rumi squirmed and nuzzled the sensitive skin surrounding her. The massive flesh immured her, but it also protected her. The Lady’s heartbeat found her, and when the walls clutched her again, she felt only reassurance.

They were ready to face the day.

Originally posted:  29 Aug 2017

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s