RR Lori Warren - Chapter 37 (Patreon)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER    |   START FROM THE BEGINNING

Reduction & Relocation: Lori Warren

Chapter 37 - Water, Water Everywhere, Nor Any Drop to Drink

[November 28th, 2005]

Michael found himself in the throes of another vivid nightmare. This time, the dream started as an exhilarating skydive.  He felt like an invincible superhero, soaring down through the air–until he reached for his parachute.  

His heart skipped a beat when he realized he wasn’t wearing one.

Panic surged through Michael like unregulated electrical current and he flailed in the air, desperately checking his shoulders for the straps and sure enough, there was no parachute strapped on his back.  It wasn’t just the straps of the parachute missing from his shoulders.  He’d apparently forgotten to put on clothes, too!  And so Michael plummeted toward the earth, the wind rushing painfully against his sensitive and vulnerable bare skin. People rarely survived falls from this high, let alone people that were stark naked.  The vague and blurry terrain racing up toward him came into a sharper focus.

Sprawled across the landscape beneath Michael was a colossal woman. Her expansive flesh tracts of flesh, from her brown hair down to her upturned, wrinkled soles were unbroken and uninterrupted by clothing.   Her enormity transcended forests and farmland, rivers and cities.  She was lying on her stomach, and Michael could see the extra padding around her stomach bulging out on either side of her, swallowing up several city blocks. The earth near her chest now carried two indentations–craters now as deep as her breasts were voluminous.  She lay in wait near an impressive mountain range, but they were absolutely nothing compared to her mountains…

No jutting peaks on her mountains.  In fact, they resembled easy-to-climb mounds, smooth with a gentle incline but only relative to her immense size.  The curvature of her immense bare buttocks created a deep, shadowy valley that only so much of the near-end day sun could reach.  The skin of her buttocks was dotted with dimples earned with age, wisdom, and just a tad too much dessert.  

As he hurdled downward, the giantess shifted slightly, causing tremors across the landscape…but also across her landscape.  The giantess’s triceps jiggled as her arms lifted, and she placed an open hand on each of her expansive buttocks. 

“I know what’s best for you, Michael…” 

The voice was so awesome and overwhelming that Michael thought the feminine voice might blow his eardrums out.  She looked over her shoulder and up at Michael.  It was Lori Warren!

“...you have to trust me.”

Just the movement of her arms paired with the slight pressure was enough to slosh her huge butt cheeks as if they were practically liquid, rippling and quaking as she began prying them apart. 

“Please, no!  Lori, don’t do this!” Michael pleaded. His panic turned to sheer terror when he’d determined where his impact zone was going to be.  Not only was he being pulled directly toward those cheeks, each one the size of a city, but he was more specifically going to fall between them.

With the laborious parting of those dense spheres of fat, Lori revealed a dark, gaping hole, directly in his path of falling.  The sight was surreal and terrifying, and Michael began flailing against the rushing air, trying to change his fate.  

The asshole twitched and pulsed, as if excited for Michael to make contact…and he was getting so close to the earth.  Close to her.  If he had to guess, he was 1,000-ft high, and he could already smell the putrid aroma emanating from the pulsating, dark sphincter.  

At 500-ft, his skin began to absorb warmth emanating from her spread-open crack…and at 300-ft, the heat was at excess.

Michael screamed, his earlier calculations proving to be 100% correct in where he would fall.  He was only 200-ft from impact, and Michael saw the muscles of Lori’s body, the few visible through soft, rolling hills of fat, begin to deflate.  At that moment, she sighed and it appeared as if she was deflating–relaxing.  And then her tight asshole opened up and belched into the air a toxic blast of gas.  The fumes were scalding hot to the touch and carried a foul humidity.  Michael fell through the horrendous growing cloud and dropped through Lori’s parted buns and fell directly into her welcoming asshole.

Just as the ring’s tight muscle squeezed over his head, sealing him inside Lori’s muggy bowels, Michael awoke screaming from the nightmare.

It was another nightmare…

But the true nightmare was waking to a reality far worse…

His screams of terror, as always, went directly into the soft, sweaty ass flesh of his psycho torturess. Even if his mouth hadn’t been nearly sealed around the square millimeter of butt flesh in his face, his cries and laments stood zero chance of finding their way out of her deep, sound-absorbing crack. Even less chance of reverberating out from the boundary of cotton and denim…yes, she was wearing jeans today…he could recognize when she wore jeans…her fat butt cheeks were always so much more compressed when she wore jeans.  Her ass probably looked horrible in them.  

Normally, he’d occupy his mind by counting.  He’d count her steps.  He’d count the minutes in her car, how many times she used her blinker. He’d count how many times she scolded her daughters, noticing that Victoria was often the one who got scolded the most.  It was a great way to make the seconds feel like minutes instead of hours, but even counting just took too much effort, he’d decided.  It took too much brain power and right now, 100% of his brain’s efforts were dedicated to screaming at the rest of his body for not feeding it.  

Michael was woozy and nearly delirious.  He felt the intensity and pressure of his surroundings lessen and he knew that Lori was taking off her tight jeans.  But instead of seeing light, he heard fabric against skin and her cheeks hugged him again.  This fabric was thinner…it slid and stretched more gracefully over her skin.

Oh no, not today.

Michael heard the terrifying series of beeps he’d quickly come to recognize.  And then Lori’s heavy footfalls gradually picked up speed.  

It was a treadmill.  

The motor gradually roared to life beneath him. The heavy thuds of Lori's footsteps reverberated through her soft body and the vibrations traveling through the thick layer of flesh eventually rippled around him like violent dense jello.

As her walk graduated to a slow-paced trot, the jiggling of her butt cheeks grew more intense. The rhythmic motion pressed him deeper into the sweltering, sticky depths of her humid backside. Each impact sent waves of motion through the fleshy expanse, compressing him from all sides. He felt like a rag doll caught in the throes of a relentless, grotesque machine.

Within minutes, the heat became unbearable. Rivers of sweat began to trickle down, pooling around his tiny form and saturating him from head to toe. The salty liquid seeped into every crevice, soaking Michael completely. It wasn't long before he felt like he was drowning, the sweat coating his skin, trying to fill his mouth and nostrils with its acrid taste and scent. He gagged, trying to expel the foul liquid, but there was no escape.

Michael's muscles burned with the effort of trying to move. He struggled to bring his hands to his face, desperate to shield himself from the onslaught. His tiny arms trembled as he cupped his sealed lips, trying to keep the sweat from entering his mouth. Each breath was a battle, the air thick with the stench of her exertion.

Lori’s motion atop the treadmill continued relentlessly, each step amplifying his torment and chipping away at his resolve. He had lost count of her steps and his biggest fear was that it had not been hundreds, but dozens.  Michael’s cracked, dried lips screamed as the salt of Lori’s ass sweat burrowed into dehydrated crevices.  Still, he kept his lips sealed.

Michael was not going to allow even a droplet of ass sweat to pass his lips and touch his tongue.  Had it happened before this whole vitamin thing?  Yes, plenty of times.  How much could one really avoid it?  But it felt so different now.  It didn’t feel like he was just living through the ordeal of her perspiration.  It felt like she was doing this deliberately.  She was trying to feed him–with her disgusting body.  No person deserves this…and he was still a person!  

He had to hold strong.  As starving as he was, as fuzzy as his thoughts and emotions were, he had to hold strong.  

He heard several beeps and then the motor beneath him begin to slow.  The sweltering fat that consumed him had him positively drenched.  Michael felt a tremendous, epic, deliberate jiggle of the fleshy wall to his left.  Again.  

Then he felt two matching jiggles from the hefty right glute.

Another flesh-quake from the left.

Right.

Left. 

Then nothing.  Michael knew what Lori was waiting for.

It was the sign.  The signal.  Lori had taught it to him weeks ago.  It was how she checked up on him to make sure he was okay whenever his stay between her ass cheeks was, as she put it, ‘tougher than normal’.  Judging from his humid and soaking wet surroundings, she must have just finished her run and Michael must have dazed out of consciousness.  Her cheek jiggling had brought him back.  Again, Lori went through the sequence of cheek jiggles, communicating the question to Michael again: “Are you okay?”  

He was expected to say “Yes, Lori!” by squirming and struggling against her sensitive flesh, but he spitefully and miserably remained perfectly still.  Lori asked the question one more time, with more intensity, and her dense butt cheeks bounced with epic, jello-like intensity.  And Michael remained still. He was going to make her take him out.  He wasn’t going to let her just check on him and then forget him, carrying on with her day.  

Sure enough, he heard the familiar heavy footsteps, the vibrations resonating through the tight, dark confines of Lori's profusely sweaty crack. The pressure eased momentarily as her fingers reached in and plucked him out. Blinking against the sudden brightness, he recognized the surroundings—a private stall in the ladies' room at her gym. He squinted up at Lori, his eyes taking much longer to adjust than normal.

"Michael..." Lori's voice was soft, laced with concern. Her enormous face hovered above him, and despite his condition, he could see the worry etched in her features. Her breath washed over him, warm and slightly minty, a stark contrast to the cold, circulating air of the lavatory that was already pulling the heat gifted to him from Lori’s crack.

"Oh goodness… you look so frail. Michael, please… you have to stop this. Look at you! Please stop doing this to yourself."

She opened the stall door and held him over the bay of sinks, up to the mirror. The sight was more than he could bear. The reflection staring back at him was almost unrecognizable. His cheeks were sunken, his ribs protruded sharply, and his limbs had lost their former muscular definition. He looked like a shadow of his former self, every ounce of strength sapped from his tiny frame by the lack of food.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he gazed at his reflection. The man he used to be was gone, replaced by this frail, pitiful creature, soaking wet with ass sweat. He turned his head slowly, looking up at Lori with a mixture of desperation and hope. He needed her to understand, to see the depths of his suffering and relent. His hunger strike had to work; it was his last shred of defiance–the last thing he had the power to do.

Lori's face softened further, a pained sigh escaping her lips. "This is what's best for you, sweetheart. I know you'll change your mind. You must. This is what's best for everyone. It's this… or nothing."

Her words cut through him like a knife. The finality of her statement crushed his fragile hopes. He sobbed, weak and broken, as she gently but firmly lowered him back into the oppressive heat of her crack. The damp, sweaty flesh enveloped him once more, the familiar scent and warmth wrapping around his frail body.

As Lori pulled up her damp yoga pants, stretching the material over her plump rear, the pressure intensified and pressed him deeper into her buttocks. Despite his revulsion, the warmth was a welcome relief from the cold of the lavatory. His weakened state left him no choice but to find solace in the very place he despised. The humiliation was almost unbearable. He cursed himself for the shameful comfort he found in her body, knowing that without the oppressive warmth of her fat ass cheeks, he wouldn't survive.

The rhythmic motion of her walking resumed, each step jostling him within the tight, slick confines. He could feel the sweat starting to seep around him again, the salty liquid mingling with his tears. He had failed. His body was wasting away, and yet he was still trapped in this demeaning existence, a tiny, powerless being lost in the vastness of Lori's body.

As Lori continued her workout, Michael clung to the last vestiges of his dignity. His hunger strike had not brought the freedom he craved, and now he had to endure the ultimate humiliation of finding comfort in the very thing he loathed. The warmth of Lori's buttocks, the rhythmic motion of her steps, and the inescapable sweat were his reality now, a constant reminder of his insignificance and powerlessness. He had to hold out.  He had to make it another day. Lori would see how serious he was.  Michael would never have thought a cause existed that he would die for…but this was it.  He just had to make it long enough for Lori to realize it.  

Another day passed.  And another.  And another.  Nothing changed…well, nothing of Lori’s routine, anyway.  Michael’s condition continued to worsen.  His poor little body was beginning to shut down.  His senses were dulled and so was his ability to think critically.  With so little resources left, his body was prioritizing only the most important processes, triaging best it could with what it had left.  

Would she really let me die in here?

No, there was no way.  She’d get in trouble with RR Labs, at the very least.  Unless…unless she was sure that Michael would fold.  But he was just as sure that Lori would give in.  If that were the case, and they weren’t going to back down,  then Michael knew that he was doomed. He would die here.  He would die in the fat, bulging ass of this overweight older woman without ever getting out of this godforsaken experiment–without ever kissing another woman, drinking another beer, or eating another cheeseburger.  For the first time, a quiet voice within his mind told him to give in to his thirst.  That same temptation a castaway might feel surrounded by an ocean…and everyone knows you don’t drink the ocean water.

Pride had carried him this far, but apparently pride was not as far up on the priority list for brain-power.  It had been seven full days and Michael was knocking on death’s door.  

No, Michael was banging on it. 

But before death herself answered and swept him away to some other reality that couldn’t possibly have been as bad as the one he lived now, the quiet voice inside was getting louder–and it told him that enough was enough.  

This wasn’t him speaking…it was something else.  Michael wanted to fight it, but he didn’t have the strength anymore.  He’d fought for as long as he could but the fight was over.  Lori won.  

He opened his mouth just enough for some of Lori’s ass cheek to touch his inner lips.  The slippery wet cushion of fat had been waiting patiently this entire time and it rushed between his lips the moment the opportunity presented itself. 

He caressed it gently with his dried tongue and his taste buds shrieked.  Despite the crippling humiliation he felt as the sweat seeped into his cracking lips, Michael found the taste to be uncomfortably and disgustingly pleasant.  He didn’t know if it was something from the vitamin or if he was truly just that hungry and thirsty, but the taste of Lori’s ass sweat was closer to pleasant than terrible.  He allowed a half-a-shot’s worth of perspiration to accumulate atop his tongue, and then he swallowed.

For the past few days, he’d felt as if a thick, cloudy pane of plexiglass separated the two halves of his brain. The moment he swallowed that tangy, boiling droplet of sweat from Lori’s glute…it was like the cloudiness of the pane dissipated by 50%.  He knew he lost.  He knew it was all over.  Good news, he wasn’t going to die.  But the bad news…he wished he had.  The flood gates were open now, and his biology knocked him aside in its chase for survival.  

He lapped hungrily at the never-ending wall of fatty flesh, swallowing down mouthful after mouthful of life-giving perspiration.  The first load of ass sweat sent down to his belly removed all the cloudiness of the plexiglass pane, and after a few more mouthfuls, the plexiglass pane was gone.  His senses were back and the pain in his stomach was gone.  And yet they could not stop.  He kept swallowing, lapping and licking, sucking and imbibing.  Greedily, he continued. Insatiably, he persisted. 

No one else was there with him but he swallowed and nursed directly from Lori’s soaking wet buttock as if he had competition.  As if someone would ingest the precious sustenance before he could.  

Lori opted to leave Michael encased in the flesh of her rear for the rest of the day as well as overnight.  He’d been removed only briefly while Lori did her business in the bathroom but he was promptly returned to the depths of her backside moments after she’d risen from the toilet. Michael figured she couldn’t bear to see him malnourished and starving again. 

What a pity…maybe if Michael had held out just a little bit longer, Lori would have broken.  He’d never know now.  That next morning, the oppressive pressure of Lori's massive, jiggly glutes finally relented, and Michael felt himself being lifted out of the dark, humid prison. As the world came into focus, he found himself staring up at Lori's enormous face, her eyes bright with relief and joy.

"Oh, Michael! Your eyes aren’t sunken anymore! You look alert! You look healthy! You look so good!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine pleasure.

He had succumbed to her demands, giving in to the grotesque necessity of consuming her sweat. The taste of it still lingered in his mouth, having swallowed several mouthfuls moments before being extracted from her fat bottom. His eyes began to water, tears of humiliation and despair welling up as he faced her overwhelming joy.

"You did it, didn’t you?" Lori asked, her smile widening and her eyes sparkling with pride. “Tell me, Michael. Did you?”

"Yes…" Michael’s voice broke. "Yes, I did."

The words were barely out of his mouth when Lori's enormous lips descended, engulfing his entire naked body in a kiss. The softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath, it all felt like a cruel mockery of the situation. He was a grown man, reduced to this pitiful state, receiving kisses as if he were her pet.

"I'm so proud of you, sweety," she cooed, her voice vibrating through his tiny frame. “And now I feel like we’re closer than ever. Don’t you agree?”

As Lori pulled away, she continued to smile down at him, her eyes filled with affection. To her, he was thriving, adapting to the life she had imposed upon him. But to Michael, each moment of her genuine joy was a crushing blow. It solidified the reality that his will had been broken, that he had been reshaped into something that could survive under her rules.

Tears streamed down his face as he lay in her palm, trembling. He wanted to scream, to rail against the injustice of it all, but he knew it would be futile. He was too small, too insignificant to change his fate. The taste of her sweat lingered on his tongue.

Lori’s expression softened further, "It's okay, Michael. You're going to be fine. The brochure says the hardest part is starting.  It will get easier; I promise," she assured him.

But Michael knew better. This was not for the best. He was pretty sure Lori knew that but maybe she really was just dumb enough to believe those psychos at RR Labs.  Either way, the imposition of her perverted will was a slow erosion of his identity, a gradual wearing down of his spirit until he was nothing more than a compliant, broken shell. 

As she lowered him back into the familiar, oppressive confines of her crack, pulling up her yoga pants to seal him in, Michael's tears continued to flow. He closed his eyes, feeling the overwhelming heat and dampness engulf him once more. The rhythmic motion of her steps resumed, jostling him within her flesh…and then he resumed feeding.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Time was a blur after that horrible day.  With the nutrition from Lori’s ass sweat now coursing through his veins, Michael’s senses were back to normal.  Reinvigorated by his new fuel source of perspiration, Michael found that his body was returning to some semblance of normal–physically normal, of course…mentally, he would neve be the same, even once he got out of this experiment.  

When he was tired, he slept.  When he was hungry, he ate, and when he was bored, he counted.

He counted Lori’s steps.  

He counted the minutes that she sat for lunch and dinner.  

He counted how many times she tried to let off a little gas without her coworkers noticing.  

While the taste of Lori’s sweat would fluctuate, probably dependent on what she’d eaten, the biggest influence of taste came when she had gas.  Michael had become quite accustomed to the common hurricanes of wind though he never quite acclimated to the trauma

Depending on how close he was to Lori’s asshole, which he always did his best to stay away from, the sensations were hot and painful, stinging and burning…not to mention even one blast was enough to appallingly taint an otherwise ‘fresh’ food supply. It reached a point that when Michael would feel the deep rumbles of an impending blast from her digestive system, he knew all the sweat surrounding him was about to expire.  Michael would begin frantically lapping at the dripping walls of Lori’s ass cheeks like a dog, trying to swallow up as much sweat as he could before all of it was contaminated.