Elsa's Sweat Pants
Tiny Tutor (Re-Upload)
chapter 9
by
Bobob1
Elsa dutifully followed homestay parent into the kitchen, more than willing to help the woman who had so kindly opened up her home to her with preparing dinner. Cassandra smiled warmly at her foreign exchange student, her maternal instincts cherishing every second spent with her gorgeous, helpful visitor. Cassandra thanked her parents every night for forcing her to take several years of Swedish study class during high school.
Elsa swept around the kitchen, oblivious to how graceful her every movement was, and equally oblivious to the tiny squishy guy helplessly pressed into her butt, adhered to her tight pants and covered in sweat. She flung open the fridge, grabbed a few items and food, and bounced the door shut with a light butt bump. You groaned as her impressive rear end squished into the fridge, freezing cold metal chilling you to your core.
The two women worked in perfect sync, and soon a scrumptious meal was spread out before them. They settled into chairs facing each other, Elsa unceremoniously crushing you beneath her ass for the umpteenth time that day. All of her weight bore down on you, the hard, wooden chair offering no respite. You could practically feel Elsa’s hot flesh through her sweat pants, and begged the heavens for some sort of reprieve from this hell.
Elsa twirled with a long strand of her alluring hair while taking small bites out of her salad. Her plush lips pursued as she opened her mouth to speak. “How…was…work?” She enunciated slowly, her voice angelic and demure, her eyes locked on Cassandra’s. Her accent was thick, but it was almost adorable how hard she tried to make her question clear. Of course, you only heard muffled, incomprehensible nonsense from your booty prison, all sounds nearly muted underneath Elsa.
Cassandra grinned. “It was good, Elsa. Thank you.” Cassandra took a sip from her glass of water, and reached for another slice of garlic bread. As fate would have it, she worked as a receptionist for the exact same modeling agency that your mother was employed at, and had even engaged Shannon in passing conversations from time to time. “My work can be fun. You should come sometime.”
Elsa’s lips quirked to the side, her brows furrowing, and Cassandra knew she had lost her exchange student. She repeated her offer in Swedish, and Elsa’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Det låter bra! När kan vi gå?” Elsa hastily asked, wondering when she could go with Cassandra to work.
Cassandra laughed, a rich, warm sound. “Jag ska tänka på det. Kanske nästa vecka.” She said, assuring her student that they might have a chance next week.
The rest of the meal passed fairly uneventfully, and once finished, Elsa and Cassandra cleaned up their used dishes. Elsa bent down to slide the plates into the dishwasher, her prodigious ass stretching the fabric of her sweat pants taut against her ass. Through sheer coincidence, Cassandra happened to be looking right at her, and it was fairly hard to miss the roughly one-inch long tan smear on her exchange student’s otherwise gray sweats.
Not wanting to embarrass Elsa by saying anything, Cassandra pretended to have not noticed, and Elsa stood back up with a sigh, letting out a cute yawn. Blushing slightly, the goddess of a girl left the kitchen and headed up to her room. You wobbled to and for with the sway of her hips the entire way up the steps, mentally groaning for this punishment to end. You were frustrated that you didn’t even have someone to blame for this hellish situation, as you certainly couldn’t fault a girl who barely spoke or understood a word of English.
Once in her room, Elsa wiggled the sweatpants past her ass and down her thick thighs, letting the fall into a heap on the floor. Your heart leapt for joy at finally having no more intense and uncomfortable pressure and squashing, but knew your pain was far from over. Once her shirt and lingerie were off, Elsa bunched up her dirty clothes and tossed them right into the nearby hamper.
You and the clothes fell into the hamper, and you cursed vehemently upon realizing how thoroughly Elsa had scrunched up the sweat pants. The sweat pants were folded in on themselves multiple times, your body firmly hidden from view and pressed in from both sides, preventing your slim hope of reforming. It dawned on you that, despite being free from the terror of Elsa’s ass, you were nowhere near rescued from this dangerous situation.
The Swedish beauty spent a few more hours on her phone and reading a book before finally turning in for the night. You wallowed in self-pity for the better part of two hours before finally succumbing to exhaustion yourself, despite the rather unpleasant stench filling your nose from Elsa’s sweaty clothes. At least you could listen to the girl’s cute little sounds as she slept, but it was hardly any consultation.
The next morning, you were awoken by your whole world shaking, and you momentarily forgot where you were, before remembering you were still engrained into the back of Elsa’s sweatpants, tucked into her hamper of dirty clothes. From the way the hamper rocked and shook back and forth, and from a soft humming sound, you inferred that someone was carrying your hamper out of Elsa’s room.
Indeed, it was Cassandra who carried her house guests dirty clothes down to the basement, humming a little tune while she walked. Upon reaching the washing machine, she pulled open the lid and began tossing articles of clothing in, one at a time. She paused when she reached the sweat pants you were stuck to, unfolding the gray pants and glaring at the back of them.
“I have no idea what that little mark is.” Cassandra huffed, tracing your body with her finger. “But I have just the solution!” She opened up a cabinet and retrieved a chemical bottle from within. The chemical was designed to react uniquely with clothing, and enhance the effects of fabric dye. Essentially, if Cassandra were to pour the chemical on a red shirt with a blue stain on it, the blue stain would soon turn the same red shade as the rest of the shirt, and the problem would be solved.
You had no idea what was happening as Cassandra poured a generous puddle of the chemical onto your body and the surrounding patch of gray fabric. You only mentally screamed in pain as your squishy flesh seemed to bubble and fizz, your gummy-like body reacting dramatically to the effects of the chemical. The searing pain continued for five minutes, until eventually ceasing, leaving you drained and frantically worried.
Cassandra grinned, looking down at the sweatpants that bore no trace of the ugly tan smudge that had existed mere minutes prior. Indeed, your body’s skin tone had been forcibly turned to the same gray shade as Elsa’s sweatpants, your squishy body reacting even stronger than Cassandra had anticipated. No, there truly was no trace, no visible sign of you still being stuck to the sweatpants. It was like you had never been there at all.
Cassandra tossed you into the washing machine, dumped a few more clothes in for good measure, and turned on the water. She flicked on the spin cycle, closed the lid, and relaxed in a nearby chair, reading the morning newspaper to pass the time. Inside the washer, you could only dread what your future would hold. How could you possibly escape from sweatpants you blended in perfectly with, and which were worn by someone who appeared to have forgotten you even existed, and couldn’t communicate with you even if they did notice you?
What happens after the wash?
Elsa swept around the kitchen, oblivious to how graceful her every movement was, and equally oblivious to the tiny squishy guy helplessly pressed into her butt, adhered to her tight pants and covered in sweat. She flung open the fridge, grabbed a few items and food, and bounced the door shut with a light butt bump. You groaned as her impressive rear end squished into the fridge, freezing cold metal chilling you to your core.
The two women worked in perfect sync, and soon a scrumptious meal was spread out before them. They settled into chairs facing each other, Elsa unceremoniously crushing you beneath her ass for the umpteenth time that day. All of her weight bore down on you, the hard, wooden chair offering no respite. You could practically feel Elsa’s hot flesh through her sweat pants, and begged the heavens for some sort of reprieve from this hell.
Elsa twirled with a long strand of her alluring hair while taking small bites out of her salad. Her plush lips pursued as she opened her mouth to speak. “How…was…work?” She enunciated slowly, her voice angelic and demure, her eyes locked on Cassandra’s. Her accent was thick, but it was almost adorable how hard she tried to make her question clear. Of course, you only heard muffled, incomprehensible nonsense from your booty prison, all sounds nearly muted underneath Elsa.
Cassandra grinned. “It was good, Elsa. Thank you.” Cassandra took a sip from her glass of water, and reached for another slice of garlic bread. As fate would have it, she worked as a receptionist for the exact same modeling agency that your mother was employed at, and had even engaged Shannon in passing conversations from time to time. “My work can be fun. You should come sometime.”
Elsa’s lips quirked to the side, her brows furrowing, and Cassandra knew she had lost her exchange student. She repeated her offer in Swedish, and Elsa’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Det låter bra! När kan vi gå?” Elsa hastily asked, wondering when she could go with Cassandra to work.
Cassandra laughed, a rich, warm sound. “Jag ska tänka på det. Kanske nästa vecka.” She said, assuring her student that they might have a chance next week.
The rest of the meal passed fairly uneventfully, and once finished, Elsa and Cassandra cleaned up their used dishes. Elsa bent down to slide the plates into the dishwasher, her prodigious ass stretching the fabric of her sweat pants taut against her ass. Through sheer coincidence, Cassandra happened to be looking right at her, and it was fairly hard to miss the roughly one-inch long tan smear on her exchange student’s otherwise gray sweats.
Not wanting to embarrass Elsa by saying anything, Cassandra pretended to have not noticed, and Elsa stood back up with a sigh, letting out a cute yawn. Blushing slightly, the goddess of a girl left the kitchen and headed up to her room. You wobbled to and for with the sway of her hips the entire way up the steps, mentally groaning for this punishment to end. You were frustrated that you didn’t even have someone to blame for this hellish situation, as you certainly couldn’t fault a girl who barely spoke or understood a word of English.
Once in her room, Elsa wiggled the sweatpants past her ass and down her thick thighs, letting the fall into a heap on the floor. Your heart leapt for joy at finally having no more intense and uncomfortable pressure and squashing, but knew your pain was far from over. Once her shirt and lingerie were off, Elsa bunched up her dirty clothes and tossed them right into the nearby hamper.
You and the clothes fell into the hamper, and you cursed vehemently upon realizing how thoroughly Elsa had scrunched up the sweat pants. The sweat pants were folded in on themselves multiple times, your body firmly hidden from view and pressed in from both sides, preventing your slim hope of reforming. It dawned on you that, despite being free from the terror of Elsa’s ass, you were nowhere near rescued from this dangerous situation.
The Swedish beauty spent a few more hours on her phone and reading a book before finally turning in for the night. You wallowed in self-pity for the better part of two hours before finally succumbing to exhaustion yourself, despite the rather unpleasant stench filling your nose from Elsa’s sweaty clothes. At least you could listen to the girl’s cute little sounds as she slept, but it was hardly any consultation.
The next morning, you were awoken by your whole world shaking, and you momentarily forgot where you were, before remembering you were still engrained into the back of Elsa’s sweatpants, tucked into her hamper of dirty clothes. From the way the hamper rocked and shook back and forth, and from a soft humming sound, you inferred that someone was carrying your hamper out of Elsa’s room.
Indeed, it was Cassandra who carried her house guests dirty clothes down to the basement, humming a little tune while she walked. Upon reaching the washing machine, she pulled open the lid and began tossing articles of clothing in, one at a time. She paused when she reached the sweat pants you were stuck to, unfolding the gray pants and glaring at the back of them.
“I have no idea what that little mark is.” Cassandra huffed, tracing your body with her finger. “But I have just the solution!” She opened up a cabinet and retrieved a chemical bottle from within. The chemical was designed to react uniquely with clothing, and enhance the effects of fabric dye. Essentially, if Cassandra were to pour the chemical on a red shirt with a blue stain on it, the blue stain would soon turn the same red shade as the rest of the shirt, and the problem would be solved.
You had no idea what was happening as Cassandra poured a generous puddle of the chemical onto your body and the surrounding patch of gray fabric. You only mentally screamed in pain as your squishy flesh seemed to bubble and fizz, your gummy-like body reacting dramatically to the effects of the chemical. The searing pain continued for five minutes, until eventually ceasing, leaving you drained and frantically worried.
Cassandra grinned, looking down at the sweatpants that bore no trace of the ugly tan smudge that had existed mere minutes prior. Indeed, your body’s skin tone had been forcibly turned to the same gray shade as Elsa’s sweatpants, your squishy body reacting even stronger than Cassandra had anticipated. No, there truly was no trace, no visible sign of you still being stuck to the sweatpants. It was like you had never been there at all.
Cassandra tossed you into the washing machine, dumped a few more clothes in for good measure, and turned on the water. She flicked on the spin cycle, closed the lid, and relaxed in a nearby chair, reading the morning newspaper to pass the time. Inside the washer, you could only dread what your future would hold. How could you possibly escape from sweatpants you blended in perfectly with, and which were worn by someone who appeared to have forgotten you even existed, and couldn’t communicate with you even if they did notice you?
What happens after the wash?
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April 23, 2025
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