After much deliberation, Billy chose to go with his mom to the bakery. It was a familiar environment, and he knew she'd be more attentive to his needs than Linda, who was always wrapped up in her own world of classes and parties. Plus, the bakery had fewer people, which meant less risk of being discovered.

Mrs. Hartman, ever resourceful, had already thought of a plan to keep Billy hidden. She pulled out a tiny, custom-made pocket from her apron, lined with soft fabric to keep him comfortable. "You'll stay right here," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "I'll keep you close so you can still be part of our day, but no one will see you."

The pocket was surprisingly cozy, and Billy felt a sense of security nestled against his mother's warmth. He watched as she expertly kneaded dough, her hands moving with a grace that seemed almost superhuman from his new perspective. The smell of fresh bread and sugar filled his nose, and he realized that even at six inches tall, the world was still a beautiful place, filled with familiar comforts.

As the morning rush at the bakery slowed to a crawl, Billy couldn't help but feel a little restless. He had been in the pocket for hours, unable to move more than a few inches in any direction. The kitchen counter, a landscape of rolling hills and towering cliffs just moments ago, now called to him like a siren's song. "Mom," he whispered, "Can I come out for a bit?"

Mrs. Hartman glanced down at him, her expression torn between concern and understanding. "Billy, you know the rules," she said, her voice low. "You can't be seen."

"But no one's here," he pointed out, his eyes wide with excitement. "Please, just for a little while."

With a sigh, she relented. "Okay," she said, her voice a mere murmur. "But you have to promise me you won't go anywhere you're not supposed to."

Billy nodded eagerly, and she carefully placed him on the countertop. The cool, smooth surface was a stark contrast to the warmth of her pocket. He looked around, his heart racing with the thrill of his newfound freedom. The world had never looked so vast and exciting. He took a tentative step, his legs wobbly from disuse. The floor was a mile away, a sea of tiles that could swallow him whole if he fell.

Mrs. Hartman watched him with a mix of pride and anxiety, her hands never straying far from her apron strings. Billy took a deep breath and started to explore, his tiny fingers tracing the patterns etched into the countertop. He was so focused on his new environment that he didn't hear the bell above the door chime, signaling a customer's arrival.

Mrs. Hartman's eyes widened in horror as she spun around to face the intrusion. A middle-aged woman with a kind smile was approaching the counter, her eyes scanning the display of pastries. "Just a moment," Mrs. Hartman called out, her voice a little too loud in the otherwise quiet bakery. In a flash, she scooped Billy into her hand and held him behind her back, her heart racing.

"What's wrong?" Billy whispered, his voice barely audible. She shushed him, her eyes darting around the room for a place to hide. The woman's footsteps grew closer, and Mrs. Hartman's palm grew slick with sweat.

With no other choice, she made a split-second decision. Carefully, she bent down, hiding Billy from view, and slid him down the back of her pants, his tiny body snug against her skin. He felt the fabric tighten around him as she straightened up, and the world grew warmer and quieter. "Welcome to the bakery," she called out to the customer, her voice a mask of calm.

Billy's heart pounded in his chest, his hands gripping the fabric of his mother's pants as if they were the ropes of a lifeboat in a stormy sea. The scent of her perfume was overwhelming, and he could feel the gentle rhythm of her breathing as she interacted with the customer. It was a strange and uncomfortable sensation, being so intimately close to her without being able to see her face or communicate.

The customer, oblivious to the tiny stowaway, placed her order, and Mrs. Hartman moved swiftly to prepare it. Billy clung to the fabric, trying to keep his balance as she bent and stretched, her movements sending him on a dizzying ride through the warm, dimly lit space between her butt cheeks. He felt every shift in weight, every step she took reverberating through her body and into his.

The encounter ended, and Mrs. Hartman exhaled a sigh of relief, her body relaxing slightly. She quickly ducked into the bathroom, her eyes searching for a mirror. With trembling hands, she pulled out Billy, his face flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, honey," she whispered, her eyes apologetic. "It was the only way to keep you safe."

Billy looked up at her, his cheeks burning. "It's okay," he mumbled, not quite meeting her gaze. "I guess I'll have to be more careful."

Mrs. Hartman nodded solemnly. "You're right," she said, her voice still shaking slightly. "We can't have that happen again." She paused, her expression contemplative. "Maybe we should find a better hiding spot for you."

Billy's mind raced. "But where?" he whispered. "Everything's so big now."

His mother thought for a moment before her eyes lit up with an idea. "I know," she said, her voice hushed. "How about my buttcrack?"

Billy's eyes widened in horror. "What?" he squeaked. "You want me to spend the day in your butt?"

Mrs. Hartman nodded, a slight blush creeping up her neck. "It's the most secure place," she reasoned. "No one will ever think to look there."

Billy's protests fell on deaf ears as she carefully tucked him into the waistband of her underwear, his tiny body nestled between her cheeks. "But it's so...so..." he couldn't find the words to express his discomfort.

"It's just for the day," she assured him. "And I promise to be as still as possible."

Billy felt the fabric tighten around him as she pulled her pants back up, and he was forced to cling onto the waistband for dear life. The world grew hot and stuffy, and he could feel every step she took, every subtle shift in her weight. He couldn't believe this was his life now.

As the day went on, Billy's initial protests turned into resigned acceptance. It was surprisingly comfortable, and he had a unique view of the bakery from his new vantage point. He watched as his mother moved with grace and efficiency, serving customers and baking bread. He felt a strange sense of pride, knowing that he was her secret helper, even if he couldn't do much more than hide.

But the hours grew long, and the confined space began to feel claustrophobic. His legs grew tired from clinging to the fabric, and the constant warmth made him feel sticky and overheated. He tried to distract himself by imagining the conversations he'd have with Linda when he saw her again, the tales of his adventures in the vast wilderness of their mother's body.

Finally, the bakery closed, and Mrs. Hartman let out a groan of relief. Billy felt the shift in her posture as she leaned against the counter, her breathing heavy. "Mom, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice muffled by the fabric.

"It's nothing, sweetie," she replied, 'I...'