Queen Bea Calls Mama V Shrunken First Semester chapter 4 by maximally

With the amazonian president of Ventus looming over him expectantly, Max felt smaller than ever—especially as he began trying to think of an answer to her question. Of course, he had no one to call. No good options, at least. Zeke would laugh in his face, and the few other acquaintances he'd made in his first month at Ventus wouldn't care enough to help. He didn't have any siblings, his biological mother was out of the picture, and his father was halfway across the world on business. Unfortunately, that left just one person: his stepmother, Victoria.

Max swallowed hard, his mind racing through memories of her suffocating affection, her constant unintentional put-downs, the way she'd smothered his independence under her well-meaning but overbearing control. Ever since she'd married his father four years ago, she'd been the bane of his existence—and her goblin of a daughter, Izzy, didn't help. The idea of being at their mercy now, when he was three inches tall, sent a shiver down his spine.

"Well?" Bea's voice cut through his thoughts like a whip. "Is there someone you'd like me to call?"

Max hesitated, then exhaled. "My stepmom. Victoria Vasquez-Calhoun."

"Your stepmother is Tori Vasquez?" Bea raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow—like she'd been trying to place where she knew Max from, and she'd finally figured it out.

Max blinked. "You know her?"

Bea reached into her desk drawer and pulled out her phone, scrolling through her contacts with a smirk. "I suppose you could say that."

Max's mouth went dry—but before he could ask for more details, Bea was already dialing.

"Tori," Bea purred into the phone, her voice dripping with familiarity. "It's Bea." A pause. "No, no emergency. I just have someone here who'd like to see you." Her eyes flicked to Max. "Mmhmm. Your stepson." Another pause. "Oh, you're already on campus? Perfect."

Max's stomach dropped. Somehow, in the heat of all today's insanity, he'd completely forgotten that this was also the first day of Parents' Weekend at Ventus.

"Well, that was easy." Bea hung up and leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking under her weight. "She'll be up in a few minutes."

"How do you know her?" Max demanded, his voice cracking. If he'd realized that his stepmother was on such seemingly close terms with the president of this school, he would have reconsidered applying in the first place.

BRRRRRRRRT

Bea's only response was a deep, resonant fart that vibrated through the desk like a subwoofer. The sheer force of it sent Max tumbling backward, his arms flailing as a visible ripple passed through Bea's pinstripe pants. The stench hit him like a physical blow—a thick, musky cloud of espresso, garlic, and something distinctly feral that made his eyes water instantly.

Bea sighed, stretching luxuriously as if she'd just taken a sip of fine wine rather than unleashing a biological weapon. "Excuse me," she murmured, though her smirk suggested she wasn't sorry at all. She pushed herself up from the desk, her massive rump jiggling pleasantly as she shuffled toward the bathroom. "Nature calls."

The door clicked shut behind her, and for a moment, there was silence. Then, as Bea settled down, Max could hear the creak of the toilet seat straining, followed by a low, breathy sigh. 

PFFFFFFFFFFFBBLBLBLBBLLRRRTTTTT

The noise of the dump that followed seemed to shake the very walls. Max clapped his hands over his ears, but it didn't stop the smell from seeping under the door in a matter of seconds—a wave of decay and heat that rolled over him like a fog. He gagged, his eyes watering, as the stench filled the office: an even more concentrated version of the fart she'd just hit him with.

When the bathroom door finally swung back open, Max was on his knees, coughing. Bea stepped out, adjusting her blouse, looking utterly unbothered. The air behind her was visibly hazy, and she didn't even flinch as another gust of foulness wafted into the room.

"Much better," she murmured, stretching her arms overhead with a satisfied groan.

As Max struggled back to his feet, the intercom on Bea's desk crackled to life—and a flustered, breathless voice squeaked through. "P-President Clydesdale? There's a goddess—I-I mean, a woman here to see you!"

"Thank you, Flo." Bea rolled her eyes fondly. "You can send her up."

By the time Max got enough stink-free air into his lungs to attempt speech again, the door to Bea's office was already opening. Max's breath caught.

Even at his normal size, Victoria was overwhelming—but at three inches tall, she was a colossus. Her curves — from her XL chest to her XXL butt — filled the doorway, her hips swaying as she strode forward in skintight jeans and a low-cut blouse that barely contained her copious cleavage. Her perfume — warm vanilla and jasmine — hit Max like a truck, mingling with the lingering remnants of Bea's bathroom break to create a dizzying, intoxicating cocktail.

But Victoria wasn't looking at him. As her dark eyes locked onto Bea, Max could feel the air between them thicken. A slow, knowing smile curled onto the Mexican MILF's full lips. "Bea."

"Tori," Bea replied, her voice dropping an octave.

Victoria closed the distance between them in two strides, her arms wrapping around Bea's waist with an ease that spoke of long familiarity. Bea's hands settled on Victoria's hips, her fingers digging into the soft flesh just above the waistband of her jeans. The tension was palpable. Max might as well have been invisible.

"I swear," Victoria murmured, her voice husky as she gave Bea's ass an appreciative squeeze. "You get thicker every time I see you."

Bea chuckled, her own hands sliding down to palm Victoria's equally formidable backside. "And you're still dressing like you're trying to give every man on campus a heart attack."

Victoria tossed her hair. "Guilty as charged."

"You could've called." Bea's grip tightened possessively. "It's been what, eight months?"

"Seven and a half." Victoria's smirk turned wicked. "But who's counting?"

Max could feel his face getting red as he watched them, his tiny hands balling into fists. "Uh, hello? Victoria?"

Victoria finally glanced down at him, her expression shifting from smoldering to amused in an instant. "Oh, Max," she cooed, stepping closer and glancing back at Bea. "What happened to him?"

"What does it look like?" Bea shrugged, smirking. "He got dosed."

"No kidding." Victoria shook her head, returning Bea's smirk. "Looks like the good stuff, too."

Max bristled. Somehow, he didn't detect a shred of concern in his stepmom's voice. "You've seen this before?"

"What, shrinking serum? Of course!" Victoria laughed. "Back when I started modeling, it was everywhere. I think about half the guys I dated back then ended up in my purse." She shot a knowing glance at Bea. "Or Bea's toilet."

Before Max could even start to process what that could mean, his stepmother was leaning down over him, her cleavage threatening to spill out of her blouse and squash him flat. "Honestly, I'm just surprised it took this long for it to happen to you."

Max's face burned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think we both know." Victoria straightened, exchanging a glance with Bea. "He's always been… fragile."

Bea chuckled. "I can see that."

"Are you kidding me?" Max's fists clenched. "I'm three inches tall, and you're both acting like this is normal!"

Victoria waved a dismissive hand, her gold bangles jingling with the motion. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. You know I don't like it when you get like this." Her full lips curled into a teasing smirk as she turned back to Bea. "Now... I suppose this means I have to pull him out of here, right?"

Max's stomach lurched. The thought of being trapped under Victoria's thumb at home again — now at a fraction of his size, with no escape from her suffocating presence — sent a fresh wave of panic through him. "No! Please, I—I can't just leave school! I just got here!" His voice cracked, desperation seeping into every word. "There has to be another way!"

Bea's dark eyes glinted with amusement. "And what exactly do you propose, Max? You can't exactly attend lectures like this." She gestured to his tiny form, her smirk widening as he squirmed under her gaze. "Legally speaking, you'd need some kind of a... supervisor."

"Good luck getting any of the girls around here to do that." Victoria let out a rich, throaty laugh, her massive chest shaking with mirth. "You should have seen him back in high school."

As memories of high school started flooding back to him, Max's face went redder than ever. The way girls would smirk and turn away when he tried to talk to them, their whispered giggles following him down the hallway. The way his stepsister frequently cornered him in the hallway, demanding an impromptu foot rub. All the times his stepmother had insisted on escorting him to school—not just driving him to the door, but walking him all the way to his first class of the day. In retrospect, it was no wonder he was still so insecure around women.

Bea settled back into her chair and exchanged another glance with Victoria. "You might have a point, Tori. Most of our female undergrads aren't terribly... accommodating toward guys like Max. Especially the girls in House Juno." She smiled. "I suppose I wouldn't be opposed to looking after him for you. For old time's sake."

Victoria's eyes narrowed playfully. "Oh, really?" She placed a hand on her hip, her curves accentuated by the motion. "I seem to recall you having a very particular way of handling shrunken men, Bea. And it usually involves them ending up in... compromising positions."

"You're one to talk, Tori," Bea chuckled. "Weren't you the one who 'lost' three of them during that photoshoot in Milan?"

Max's breath hitched as the two towering women continued their banter, their words painting a picture of a world where his current predicament wasn't just known—it was common. And now, they were discussing his fate like he was some kind of pet to be passed between them.

His voice came out as a strained squeak. "You—you can't just decide what happens to me like this!"

Victoria finally seemed to notice his distress. Her smirk softened slightly, and she crouched down, bringing her face closer to his level—though even then, her sheer presence was overwhelming. "I suppose you're right," she cooed, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. "That would be unfair, wouldn't it, sweetie?"

She shared another knowing glance with Bea before turning back to him with a theatrical sigh. "Fine. Since you're so adamant about having a say in this…" She spread her hands. "You can choose. Me, or Bea."

Max scowled. "That's not a choice!"

"Of course it is," Bea chimed in, her voice smooth as silk. She leaned forward, her massive breasts pressing against the edge of the desk as she loomed over him. "Either you go home with your stepmother, where you'll be safe—" She grinned. "—or you stay here with me. And trust me, Max, I can think of plenty of ways to make sure you don't fall behind in your studies."

The way she emphasized studies made him flinch. He didn't need to imagine what she meant—the look in her eyes said it all.

Victoria, meanwhile, had taken a step back, her arms crossed under her chest, pushing her cleavage even higher. "Well?" she prompted, tapping one sandaled foot impatiently. "What's it going to be, sweetie?"

Max gulped. Both options were nightmares in their own ways. With Victoria, he'd be subjected to her smothering affection and the ever-present threat of Izzy's mischief. But with Bea…

He eyed the bathroom door, the memory of that earth-shaking dump still fresh in his mind. He was screwed either way.