Waiting it out between mother's breasts
Tiny Way to Die
chapter 10
by
copier
· original author:
fearboy
Your options are limited, stay where you are or leave. If you leave, your mother will find you, learn your not dead just really small, you’ll have a brief reunion and in anywhere to a few minutes to a dad you’ll be gone again. You don’t want your mother’s last memory of you to be of a bug sized son. Let her think your dead and let sleeping dogs lie. It’s better this way.
Besides, this isn’t such a bad place to spend the short remainder of your life. Your mom’s cleavage is warm, snug and silky soft. You sigh contently against the side of the massive mammary, feeling your head sink into the pillowy flesh. This may be a very inappropriate place to be, but somehow you feel comfortable here. You snuggle up against the soft walls that encircle you, allowing yourself to relax in the confided space between your mother’s breasts.
The steady beat of her heart can be heard not far from you, lulling you into a drowsy state. You listen to everything around you as you drift off. Your mind begins to wander as you listen around you. Maybe you’ve snapped from the stress or it’s a side effect of shrinking because you feel almost drunk.
“What are we supposed to do now? Do we call the doctor or the police to say our son is gone? Should we inspect the bed sheet, he may still be on it?” That’s your dad’s panicky voice, franticly wondering what to do and how can you blame him? You’ve basically disappeared into thin air. He must be struggling with what to do in this moment of grief, even as he deals with your supposed death. You almost chuckle at that thought. You’re not dead at all, you’re only a few feet away from him hidden in his wives cleavage.
“I’m not sure, what do you do when your son shrinks away.” Your mother’s voice is much louder then your father, ever time she speaks her cleavage rumbles around you. It hurts to hear your mom sad, but you’re sure what your doing is for the best. Maybe when you shrink down smaller then an atom, her body will absorb you and you’ll always be with her. It’s a nice thought and not half as crazy as this disease you have, maybe it’ll happen.
“The problem, Barbara, is I just don’t know what to do. Our son is gone and there’s nothing we can do now. I just wish I knew what we should do now?” Your heart goes out to your dad, a man that thrived on knowing accentually what to do and how. He’s lost for maybe the first time in his life and has no idea what he’s going to do. It must be a very scary for the strong, burly man.
“We move on, Hank. We cry for our son and move on. Maybe we can have that new kid we’ve been talking about.” You get a little angry. You wanted your parents to not linger on your death too much, but you thought they would wait at least a day before thinking about replacing you.
In frustration, your leg kicks out, smacking against your fleshy surroundings. A small quack shakes around you and you hear your mother gasp. Did she feel your tiny blow inside her cleavage? If so, then you didn’t have to worry about dying because of your ailment. Your drop dead with embarrassment if your mom finds you tucked away between her breasts.
Besides, this isn’t such a bad place to spend the short remainder of your life. Your mom’s cleavage is warm, snug and silky soft. You sigh contently against the side of the massive mammary, feeling your head sink into the pillowy flesh. This may be a very inappropriate place to be, but somehow you feel comfortable here. You snuggle up against the soft walls that encircle you, allowing yourself to relax in the confided space between your mother’s breasts.
The steady beat of her heart can be heard not far from you, lulling you into a drowsy state. You listen to everything around you as you drift off. Your mind begins to wander as you listen around you. Maybe you’ve snapped from the stress or it’s a side effect of shrinking because you feel almost drunk.
“What are we supposed to do now? Do we call the doctor or the police to say our son is gone? Should we inspect the bed sheet, he may still be on it?” That’s your dad’s panicky voice, franticly wondering what to do and how can you blame him? You’ve basically disappeared into thin air. He must be struggling with what to do in this moment of grief, even as he deals with your supposed death. You almost chuckle at that thought. You’re not dead at all, you’re only a few feet away from him hidden in his wives cleavage.
“I’m not sure, what do you do when your son shrinks away.” Your mother’s voice is much louder then your father, ever time she speaks her cleavage rumbles around you. It hurts to hear your mom sad, but you’re sure what your doing is for the best. Maybe when you shrink down smaller then an atom, her body will absorb you and you’ll always be with her. It’s a nice thought and not half as crazy as this disease you have, maybe it’ll happen.
“The problem, Barbara, is I just don’t know what to do. Our son is gone and there’s nothing we can do now. I just wish I knew what we should do now?” Your heart goes out to your dad, a man that thrived on knowing accentually what to do and how. He’s lost for maybe the first time in his life and has no idea what he’s going to do. It must be a very scary for the strong, burly man.
“We move on, Hank. We cry for our son and move on. Maybe we can have that new kid we’ve been talking about.” You get a little angry. You wanted your parents to not linger on your death too much, but you thought they would wait at least a day before thinking about replacing you.
In frustration, your leg kicks out, smacking against your fleshy surroundings. A small quack shakes around you and you hear your mother gasp. Did she feel your tiny blow inside her cleavage? If so, then you didn’t have to worry about dying because of your ailment. Your drop dead with embarrassment if your mom finds you tucked away between her breasts.
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June 1
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