Eye of the Storm
Shrunken First Semester
chapter 15
by
maximally
One year later...
It was an overcast Saturday morning in late September, and Max was just waking up after a very long, restless night. As usual, Jordana had kept him up until around 3:00—specifically, by loudly hooking up with Brenda on the bed beside him, their mountainous bodies slapping together like thunderclaps as the Brazilian titan's gargantuan ass smothered her rival-turned-lover into the mattress. By the time they'd called it a night, the air had positively reeked of their mutual musk—and the several hours of predictably constant snoring and sleep farts that followed hadn't helped.
Now, as he rubbed his eyes and hunched up into a sitting position in the terrarium on his giant captor's desk — a cramped plexiglass prison lined with Jordana's crusty thongs and sweat-stained wrestling singlets — he felt even more burned out than he'd been around this time last year, waking up in the common room of House Diana with the worst and most consequential hangover of his life. A faint whiff of Jordana's gas still lingered in the terrarium, no doubt expelled when she'd rolled over at dawn to spoon Brenda's equally massive frame.
Thinking back on how he'd ended up here, the tiny sophomore couldn't help shuddering. He could still remember the events of his first shrunken weekend last fall like it had all happened yesterday—especially the journey back to Lady's Mount. Cooped up in Jordana's gym bag, struggling not to cough as the Brazilian titan and her teammates hotboxed the whole bus with Taco Bell farts, he'd spent most of the seven-hour drive in a state of total terror, trying to imagine the new life that awaited him in Storm Valley. Of course, nothing could have prepared him for what he'd found when they arrived.
The next few months had made all the trials of Max's time with Ursa and Min seem like heaven. Once Jordana had smuggled him back into her dorm, he'd found himself largely confined to a repurposed hamster terrarium in her room — the same one he now occupied to this day, its walls stained yellow from years of Jordana's airborne toxins — with nothing but a few pairs of the Brazilian titan's dirty socks and underwear for company. Aside from Jordana's game days, when his captor would stick him back in the seat of her leotard for good luck, this was where he spent most of the rest of her fall semester—wasting away the hours and trying to avoid the ire of his captor or her friends. Brenda in particular took sadistic joy in "testing" his durability, often plucking him from the terrarium to stuff him between her pillowy breasts or post-game pits.
By the time Jordana headed home for the holidays, he'd abandoned any hopes of ever getting away from her—just in time to meet the rest of her family. Unfortunately, against all odds, both her mother, Sheila and little sister, Lillian, seemed to have no problem with the fact that Jordana arrived home with a three-inch-tall human being in her backpack — both of them, apparently, being quite familiar with the ins and outs of shrinking through Lillian's friend, Blaise. Worse, because the Brazilian titan had forewarned her shrunken captive not to explain the true nature of their relationship he'd had no choice but to play along with her cover story — that he'd fallen head over heels in love with her and had mailed himself to her dorm room in an ultimate act of devotion. Over the following several weeks, Max had ended up under the rumps of all three bottom-heavy amazons more times than he could count—and returned to LMU eager for the relative solitude of Jordana's dorm room.
After another whirlwind semester, the main highlight of which had been Jordana and Brenda finally becoming an item after months of will-they-won't-they flirting and hookups, Max's giant captor had officially closed the book on college for good—and by extension, so had he. They'd been back home with Sheila and Lillian ever since — what Jordana called "her last summer vacation" before she started applying to jobs and looking at apartments — and Max's life hadn't gotten any easier for it, even if his captor had gotten a little more lax about confining him to the terrarium. While she'd also grown fonder of keeping him in her ass whenever she left the house — claiming his constant struggles "helped her focus" during job interviews — she now often left him to his own devices for several hours at a time. The only downside of this newfound freedom was that it left him deeply vulnerable to intrusions from Jordana's mischievous little sister, and this morning was no different
BBBRRRAAAAAAPPPPPPP
"Wakey wakey, Max!"
Startled awake, Max rubbed his eyes again and grimaced. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. When he looked up, sure enough, there was Lillian — who shared his captor's emerald eyes, milk-pale skin, and waist-to-hip ratio of a fertility goddess in a slightly smaller package at 6'3" and 230 pounds — hiking her neon pink yoga pants over the edge of his terrarium. The spandex strained audibly as she bent forward, the twin globes of her ass casting a shadow over Max's prison while the sour tang of her latest fart seeped through the airholes. Over the last four or five months, she'd woken him up like this at least two or three dozen times, each "alarm clock" more pungent than the last. "Good morning, Lillian," he grumbled, pressing his face against the least-stained patch of glass to gulp marginally fresher air.
"G'morning. How'd you sleep?" Lillian wiggled her eyebrows, her hips swaying hypnotically as she adjusted the waistband digging into her muffin top. "Sounded like J and B were goin' at it pretty hot and heavy in here last night."
"Yeah..." Max sighed, recalling the way Brenda's considerable bust had jiggled dangerously close to the terrarium during their romp, each impact shaking the glass. For all the indignities that his new life entailed, the part of him that remained a total virgin didn't mind being forced to watch his giant captor and her new girlfriend fucking—although another part of him really wished they'd consider including him some time. Scanning the rest of Jordana's room again, he found the same mix of wrestling trophies, awards and piles of dirty clothes — but the two amazons who'd kept him up all night were both conspicuously absent from her unmade bed. "I, uh... I didn't really get that much sleep, to be honest. Where'd they go, anyway?"
"I think they went out to breakfast with Ariadne." Lillian shrugged, her own D-cup breasts jiggling beneath her Sailor Moon crop top at the mention of Blaise's sister. "Sounded like they were gonna hit the gym after, too. You know how J gets when she's near a squat rack." She mimed Jordana's pre-lift ritual — a dramatic hip thrust that never failed to rip seams — and giggled. "Anyway, look who's here!"
Gesturing toward the door, the Brazilian amazon beckoned another figure into the room—a tall, tan-skinned, black-haired, brown-eyed, athletic-looking 18-year-old wearing gray sweatpants, slide sandals and a faded red My Hero Academia t-shirt.
"Oh," said Max, waving half-heartedly. "Hey, Blaise."
"Hey, Max." Offering a wave of his own, the lanky Mexican-American high school senior shuffled up next to Lillian and wrinkled his nose. "Ugh... Lil, was that you?"
"Guilty as charged," Lillian giggled, biting her lip as she pressed a hand to her softly gurgling stomach. "How does it smell?"
"How do you think it smells?" Blaise glanced between the terrarium and his best friend — whose ass currently eclipsed half the desk — and chuckled nervously. "Bad. Very bad."
"Everyone's a critic." Following Blaise's eyes down to Max, Lillian grinned again, her hips swaying as she tapped a manicured nail against the glass. "What do you think, Max?"
"I think I'm gonna have to agree with Blaise on this one," said Max, feeling emboldened to speak his mind in the presence of the one regular-sized human being in his life who didn't treat him like some kind of sentient fart sponge. The terrarium's walls vibrated faintly as Lillian's stomach issued another ominous gurgle. "Not good. Like, really not good."
"Want a close-up for the next one?" Standing up and pressing her wide-set hips against the glass, she gave Max an unrestricted view of her huge rump — the yoga pants creasing audibly as they fought to contain her cheeks. A faint damp spot marked where she'd been sitting earlier, the fabric clinging to her sweat-slicked skin. "We've probably got a couple hours before Jordana and Brenda get back." She winked, patting the shelf of her ass with a slap that echoed through the room.
"Give him a break, Lil," Blaise scoffed, though his eyes lingered a beat too long on Lillian's backside. Max didn't miss the faint blush creeping up his neck — the same one he got whenever their other friend Jen "accidentally" brushed against him. "I'm sure he's still drying out from your mom's pool party."
"Yeah," said Max, grimacing. Of all the pranks Lillian had played on him to date, she'd really outdone herself the previous weekend—slipping him into the back of Sheila's bikini right before her friends showed up for several hours of sunning, swimming and day-drinking. Trapped between Sheila's sunbaked asscheeks, he'd endured a sauna of sweat, coconut oil, and the lingering aftermath of her "pre-pool" bean dip binge. When Sheila had finally noticed him during a particularly vigorous cannonball contest, she'd mistaken his screams for enthusiasm and rewarded his "forwardness" by leaving him wedged in her bikini bottom for the rest of the weekend—dismissing his repeated protests as "performance anxiety." By Monday, he'd smelled like a Brazilian landfill. "I think I'm good."
"You keep saying you 'think,'" scoffed Lillian, shaking her head. "Makes me think you're not telling the truth." Feeling a gurgle in her stomach, she turned to Blaise and giggled. "Brb."
When the Brazilian amazon bounced out of the room — her ass jiggling with each step like twin waterbeds — the two young men were alone. Taking another step toward the terrarium, Blaise leaned over the desk and offered Max a conciliatory smile. Max caught a whiff of Jen's vanilla perfume lingering on his collar — she must've hugged him earlier — mixed with the acrid tang of Lillian's latest offering.
"So," said Blaise, scratching the back of his neck in that awkward way he always did when tiptoeing around Jordana's antics, "how'd this week go for you?"
"Well..." Again, Max sighed. "Yesterday I got stuck with Jordana while she and Brenda went out clubbing. And the day before that, I somehow ended up in one of Sheila's shoes right before she went to yoga. And then the day before that, Lillian talked Jordana into borrowing me while you guys went to the beach..."
"Lillian had you with her that day?" Blaise squinted, brow furrowing. "I don't remember seeing you."
"That's because she had me in the back of her swimsuit," said Max, resisting the urge to groan.
"Huh." Blaise shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Jen's H-cup breasts and "friendly rivalry" with Lillian were clearly fresh in his mind. "I guess that explains why she was so dead-set on having a twerking contest with Jen... and why Jen kept 'tripping' into my lap afterward." His ears turned pink.
"Yeah," said Max, grimacing again. "Anyway, speaking of... have you had a chance to talk to your inventor friend? To see if there's a way to get me back to normal?"
"You mean Zuemy?" Blaise shrugged. "Nah, my bad, dude. I keep forgetting to do that."
"No worries," said Max, letting out another sigh. In truth, this was at least the tenth or eleventh time he'd pushed Blaise to investigate this for him—and in spite of the lingering part of him that still had some limited hope for getting back to normal, he was starting to get the impression that it wasn't going to go anywhere. Either that, or Blaise didn't want to risk crossing his best friend's big, bad older sister. Jordana's wrath was the stuff of nightmares — a fact Brenda had learned the hard way after "borrowing" her favorite protein shaker without asking.
"Blaise!" Lillian's voice echoed through the door, followed by the telltale squeak of her yoga pants as she bounded up the stairs. "C'mon down! Jen and Cindy just got here! You GOTTA see these new booty shorts Jen's rockin'."
"Coming!" Calling back, Blaise brought his hand down into the terrarium for a fist bump. "I guess that's my cue. Hang in there, dude."
"I'll try," said Max, half-heartedly tapping his tiny fist against the giant's hand and feeling his shoulders slump.
"That's the spirit." Already ducking out the door, Blaise offered Max a final conciliatory smile. "Maybe I'll see you later?"
"Maybe," said Max, mostly to himself, as Lillian's booming voice demanded Cindy to "stop hogging the bean dip." He slumped against the glass, watching Blaise's retreating figure. "It's not like I'm not going anywhere."