Joining the Laundry
One Foot Tall Fiancé
chapter 9
by
copier
· original author:
phantomstriker
Kimberly let out a long sigh, and strolled over to the wicker basket. Hearing her approach, you wiggled a bit deeper into the basket, letting a frilly pair of panties slide over you and further obscure you. It was pretty dark all around you by this point, and you desperately pleaded that the towering giantess above you wouldn’t see you. You kept absolutely still, not even breathing. The tension was high.
“Well…I really should start the load.” Kimberly said out loud. “It’ll topple out onto the floor if this pile gets any bigger.” Bending at the waist, she hefted the wicker basket up into her arms, and began carrying it out of the bathroom.
You should’ve noticed it earlier, but this was the exact moment when the catastrophic failure of your own plan crashed down around you. As soon as the basket was lifted, your lightweight body slipped further down, more lingerie and clothing piling on top of you. As the pressure increased, so too did your body begin to squish and flatten a bit, your miniscule body entrapped on all sides by silky smooth undergarments and unmentionables.
Kimberly carried the basket downstairs without much need to care, letting it bounce and sway in her arms. You were jostled and shaking around like a deflated ragdoll, banging against the sides of the basket and all sorts of dirty or slightly sweat clothing items. Your malleable body crumpled and folded more and more, reducing both in size and visibility. Your hopes of going unnoticed increased tenfold…as your chances of escaping this horrible hiding spot drastically went down!
Kimberly passed her daughters in the living room before finally reaching the back room near the kitchen which contained the washing machine and dryer. Popping open the metallic lid to the washing machine, Cassie’s mom heaved the basket into the air with a bit of effort, and tilted it over, letting the contents inside pour out and into the machine.
The tilting basket was like an erratic amusement park ride, the floor dropping out beneath you suddenly and sending you and the dirty lingerie tumbling away. You let out a scream, which was cut off after only a second by a skimpy thong slapping against your mouth, squishing your lips shut. Worse still, the brief sound you did make went unnoticed as Kimberly booted up the electronic washing machine, a beeping jingle drowning out your desperate plea.
For perhaps a quarter of a second your body was visible, as it exited the wicker basket and fell into the cold, dark depths of the washing machine. In the middle of a waterfall of undergarments, you theoretically could’ve been spotted, had one been paying precise and total attention. Even still, if someone HAD seen you, they’d lean forward and peer into the washing machine in confusion, only to see normal panties and bras lying on top, concealing you underneath.
And, of course, Kimberly hadn’t been looking at all. She’d been dialing the washing machine to the ‘delicate’ setting, and also unscrewing the top from the name brand detergent she used on lingerie. Once the basket was empty, she turned on the machine’s water flow and spin cycle, drizzled in a measured amount of detergent, closed the lid, and grabbed a nearby seat, returning to the good book she’d started earlier.
Inside the now pitch-black machine, you felt the metallic tumblers begin to spin you and the other dirty underwear, slowly at first but quickly gaining speed. As this happened, freezing water rained onto you from above, filling the machine from the bottom like a growing lake. Tangy detergent stung your eyes and overwhelmed your sense of smell. The rumbling of clothing compacted and squished your body even more than before. In minutes, a scary situation literally became hell on earth.
A moment later, and your tiny form collided with incredibly the slick fabric of a clothing item of some sort. Your squishy face embedded into the fabric, the rest of your gummy-like body following suit. Your misshapen, flat form adhered tightly to the mystery clothing, and as more wet underwear compiled around you, you found yourself unable to move or reform, held tightly in place. Each passing second crushed you flatter than the moment before.
By a cruel twist of fate, the lingerie you were stuck to happened to drift near one of the water streams of the washing machine. You mentally screamed out as the ice-cold water drenched you, the pounding akin to a waterfall. From the pressure alone, your body smeared and stretched a bit, flattening even more onto the fabric.
More noticeably, the application of water triggered the fabric cleansing and protection particles of the laundry detergent. The goop that had drizzled onto your earlier began soaking into your skin as well as the fabric of the lingerie. With a moment’s realization of horror, you felt your squishy body begin binding itself to the clothing, strands of fabric practically weaving themselves into your thoroughly squished skin.
You’d experienced this sensation before, but only with other human beings. Occasionally, enough sweat and pressure over time would build up and culminate in your body practically fusing with flesh, not unlike you’d become a tattoo. It was a rare occurrence, and one you could (obviously) be freed from with enough effort and outside help, but this was the first time you’d experienced it with fabric. The laundry detergent was somehow affecting your body, and there was nothing you could do about it.
By the time the wash cycle ended, the damage had been done. The spinning ceased, the water drained out of the machine, and Kimberly threw open the lid, but your temporary prison had been sealed. Numbly, you tried to do literally anything, and found it impossible. No movement (not even a twitch), no talking, no reforming, no nothing. Even your panicked brain had slowed down. What use was freaking out now? You could only pray for a miracle.
Kimberly took out one clothing item after another, and dutifully tossed them into the open and waiting dryer. Finally, she reached the clothing you were stuck to, as you felt your body lift up into the air. Pressed face first in the fabric, you couldn’t see anything at all. You also couldn’t taste, which was maybe a saving grace. You could still hear and smell though, and what Kimberly said next both concerned and intrigued you.
“Ah, these aren’t underwear at all.” The titanic woman said aloud. “These are bikini bottoms. Someone must’ve tossed them in here.” She ran her fingers over the simple but attractive swimsuit bottoms. As it happened, your form was fused into the fabric of the bikini bottoms right at the back of the suit, facing out. Her warm hand passed right over you, without feeling a thing. In her sweeping gaze, she didn’t spot you either.
Of course, how could she be blamed? The near-fusing of your body and the fabric of the bottoms meant that your flattened body was nearly imperceptible against the fabric. Not only that, but the bottoms you’d been engrained into were the same tan shade as your skin tone (like you’d failed to realize earlier, almost all the lingerie in the basket was flesh toned). Only the faintest outline of your squashed lower half could be seen, and even that missed Kimberly’s brief inspection.
Your chances of being found were infinitely small, and that realization was crushing. Someone would have to practically shove their face up to the back of the bikini bottoms and stare intently to see you, then work for well over an hour to free you, hoping that some other twist of fate didn’t mess things up. It was bleak, but you held onto a small kernel of hope, however small. Your fate was currently in Kimberly’s hands.
Holding the bikini bottoms, Kimberly quirked her mouth to the side in a motion of indecision. “Hm…I guess these don’t technically need to be in the dryer then. I could just hang them up outside…I wonder who they belong to…” She trailed off, unsure. They were stretchy and comfy enough to be Maddie’s, modest enough to be Cassie’s, cute enough to be Sophie’s, and big enough to be her own. Although, her daughters were catching up to her in the size department each passing year.
Shrugging, Kimberly…
“Well…I really should start the load.” Kimberly said out loud. “It’ll topple out onto the floor if this pile gets any bigger.” Bending at the waist, she hefted the wicker basket up into her arms, and began carrying it out of the bathroom.
You should’ve noticed it earlier, but this was the exact moment when the catastrophic failure of your own plan crashed down around you. As soon as the basket was lifted, your lightweight body slipped further down, more lingerie and clothing piling on top of you. As the pressure increased, so too did your body begin to squish and flatten a bit, your miniscule body entrapped on all sides by silky smooth undergarments and unmentionables.
Kimberly carried the basket downstairs without much need to care, letting it bounce and sway in her arms. You were jostled and shaking around like a deflated ragdoll, banging against the sides of the basket and all sorts of dirty or slightly sweat clothing items. Your malleable body crumpled and folded more and more, reducing both in size and visibility. Your hopes of going unnoticed increased tenfold…as your chances of escaping this horrible hiding spot drastically went down!
Kimberly passed her daughters in the living room before finally reaching the back room near the kitchen which contained the washing machine and dryer. Popping open the metallic lid to the washing machine, Cassie’s mom heaved the basket into the air with a bit of effort, and tilted it over, letting the contents inside pour out and into the machine.
The tilting basket was like an erratic amusement park ride, the floor dropping out beneath you suddenly and sending you and the dirty lingerie tumbling away. You let out a scream, which was cut off after only a second by a skimpy thong slapping against your mouth, squishing your lips shut. Worse still, the brief sound you did make went unnoticed as Kimberly booted up the electronic washing machine, a beeping jingle drowning out your desperate plea.
For perhaps a quarter of a second your body was visible, as it exited the wicker basket and fell into the cold, dark depths of the washing machine. In the middle of a waterfall of undergarments, you theoretically could’ve been spotted, had one been paying precise and total attention. Even still, if someone HAD seen you, they’d lean forward and peer into the washing machine in confusion, only to see normal panties and bras lying on top, concealing you underneath.
And, of course, Kimberly hadn’t been looking at all. She’d been dialing the washing machine to the ‘delicate’ setting, and also unscrewing the top from the name brand detergent she used on lingerie. Once the basket was empty, she turned on the machine’s water flow and spin cycle, drizzled in a measured amount of detergent, closed the lid, and grabbed a nearby seat, returning to the good book she’d started earlier.
Inside the now pitch-black machine, you felt the metallic tumblers begin to spin you and the other dirty underwear, slowly at first but quickly gaining speed. As this happened, freezing water rained onto you from above, filling the machine from the bottom like a growing lake. Tangy detergent stung your eyes and overwhelmed your sense of smell. The rumbling of clothing compacted and squished your body even more than before. In minutes, a scary situation literally became hell on earth.
A moment later, and your tiny form collided with incredibly the slick fabric of a clothing item of some sort. Your squishy face embedded into the fabric, the rest of your gummy-like body following suit. Your misshapen, flat form adhered tightly to the mystery clothing, and as more wet underwear compiled around you, you found yourself unable to move or reform, held tightly in place. Each passing second crushed you flatter than the moment before.
By a cruel twist of fate, the lingerie you were stuck to happened to drift near one of the water streams of the washing machine. You mentally screamed out as the ice-cold water drenched you, the pounding akin to a waterfall. From the pressure alone, your body smeared and stretched a bit, flattening even more onto the fabric.
More noticeably, the application of water triggered the fabric cleansing and protection particles of the laundry detergent. The goop that had drizzled onto your earlier began soaking into your skin as well as the fabric of the lingerie. With a moment’s realization of horror, you felt your squishy body begin binding itself to the clothing, strands of fabric practically weaving themselves into your thoroughly squished skin.
You’d experienced this sensation before, but only with other human beings. Occasionally, enough sweat and pressure over time would build up and culminate in your body practically fusing with flesh, not unlike you’d become a tattoo. It was a rare occurrence, and one you could (obviously) be freed from with enough effort and outside help, but this was the first time you’d experienced it with fabric. The laundry detergent was somehow affecting your body, and there was nothing you could do about it.
By the time the wash cycle ended, the damage had been done. The spinning ceased, the water drained out of the machine, and Kimberly threw open the lid, but your temporary prison had been sealed. Numbly, you tried to do literally anything, and found it impossible. No movement (not even a twitch), no talking, no reforming, no nothing. Even your panicked brain had slowed down. What use was freaking out now? You could only pray for a miracle.
Kimberly took out one clothing item after another, and dutifully tossed them into the open and waiting dryer. Finally, she reached the clothing you were stuck to, as you felt your body lift up into the air. Pressed face first in the fabric, you couldn’t see anything at all. You also couldn’t taste, which was maybe a saving grace. You could still hear and smell though, and what Kimberly said next both concerned and intrigued you.
“Ah, these aren’t underwear at all.” The titanic woman said aloud. “These are bikini bottoms. Someone must’ve tossed them in here.” She ran her fingers over the simple but attractive swimsuit bottoms. As it happened, your form was fused into the fabric of the bikini bottoms right at the back of the suit, facing out. Her warm hand passed right over you, without feeling a thing. In her sweeping gaze, she didn’t spot you either.
Of course, how could she be blamed? The near-fusing of your body and the fabric of the bottoms meant that your flattened body was nearly imperceptible against the fabric. Not only that, but the bottoms you’d been engrained into were the same tan shade as your skin tone (like you’d failed to realize earlier, almost all the lingerie in the basket was flesh toned). Only the faintest outline of your squashed lower half could be seen, and even that missed Kimberly’s brief inspection.
Your chances of being found were infinitely small, and that realization was crushing. Someone would have to practically shove their face up to the back of the bikini bottoms and stare intently to see you, then work for well over an hour to free you, hoping that some other twist of fate didn’t mess things up. It was bleak, but you held onto a small kernel of hope, however small. Your fate was currently in Kimberly’s hands.
Holding the bikini bottoms, Kimberly quirked her mouth to the side in a motion of indecision. “Hm…I guess these don’t technically need to be in the dryer then. I could just hang them up outside…I wonder who they belong to…” She trailed off, unsure. They were stretchy and comfy enough to be Maddie’s, modest enough to be Cassie’s, cute enough to be Sophie’s, and big enough to be her own. Although, her daughters were catching up to her in the size department each passing year.
Shrugging, Kimberly…
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March 28, 2025
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