Scaling Mount Jason (Underwear Entrapment Path) Untitled Babysitting Story (Yes That is the Real Name, Deal With it) chapter 3 by 2kfsk

“Aw *come on!*” How would she get back to normal now?

The shrink ray was beside him, nestled between the couch cushion and the backrest, at risk of getting lost within the leather like a TV remote. Not only was it a heck of a trek, but she had no assurance she would be able to operate it at this size.

Franky huffed. Then, she cracked her knuckles—or tried to, at least. She hadn’t really gotten the gesture down yet, despite how often she witnessed it in TV or cartoons. Nevertheless, determination filled her. She’s conquered miles and miles of shrunken terrain from the carpet forests of The Living Room to the desert wastes of The Kitchen. Sure, they didn’t sound so impressive when spoken about frankly, but the point remains that Franky had done things most girls her age neither could nor would ever dream of doing; she was plenty capable of figuring out some way to activate the ray by herself.

First though, she would need to get there. It may across the human bridge that was her babysitter’s sprawled out body. What started as minor huffs had become all out snores; neither one was worth any mind at normal size, but at the size of a bug they were droning rumbles that made Franky want to crawl into a hole. She ripped a clump of lint away from Jason’s pants and stuffed some into each ear. It was surprisingly effective, and Franky was numbed to the bass tones of Jason’s heaves.

Franky was not a girl given to wasting time; on the contrary, she could be brutally efficient when she wanted to. So, she boldly went. She was on the knee of Jason’s pant leg. It would take at least a few minutes to make it to the side of the couch where Jason slept.

The construction of Jason’s pants didn’t help matters though. He was wearing blue jeans, and the rough-spun material formed easy creases, casually exceeding Franky’s size in height or depth depending on if she was dealing with a peak or a valley. Every time Franky encountered such a fold, she had to do a kind of mental calculus on if it would be a better use of the very limited energy in her itty bitty body to go over these crests or find some other path forward. Of course, Jason likely didn’t iron these pants (you can jot it down for why boys, even older boys, are much grosser and less clean than girls) before putting them on, meaning there were few avenues Franky could wind her way through that wouldn’t involve overcoming at least a few of these hurdles. It was a workout, but Franky was dedicated. She didn’t want to risk Mom coming back home while she was tiny; who *knows* what could happen then!

Her journey took her to where Jason’s upper thigh broadened before transitioning into his hip, and Franky felt she could breathe a bit easier with more ground to crawl on. Luckily, Franky had nearly reached the part of Jason’s body that was on the couch by now. Unluckily, it happened to be positioned beneath…

“*The private part*,” Franky murmured with disgust. Where once the pants were an idle collection of stiff and loose fabric paths, that changed upon reaching Jason’s crotch. Between his legs lay a gently-sloping bulge that nevertheless made the outer fabric taut enough to erase the crumples of the pants. Every part of Jason was huge to Franky, but it was often huge in a more abstract, less relatable way. Something about how this part of her babysitter’s body was otherwise quite small compared to the rest of him made Franky gulp at how utterly it dwarfed her regardless. She was as entranced with seeing it in the flesh as she was disgusted by her mere proximity to it. That said, the most direct path to the sofa involved crossing the bulge before hopping off Jason’s body; if she jumped off the train any earlier she’d end up on the floor.

Franky took a step forward. The bulge inclined gently, though she wouldn’t be able to see past it until she was closer to its apex. “Not a problem, Franky. I just… won’t… think about it. And maybe hold my breath.” Whatever detergent this boy used, it wasn’t enough to completely mask the scent his body emitted through his clothes. At her size, smells and sounds were amplified thirtyfold, and even plugging her nose she could practically *taste* the potency of that musk on her tongue. It made Franky giggle—after all the times he’d told *her* to shower after a lovely jaunt in The Living Room carpets, she felt vindicated in knowing so intimately how inevitable it was for some parts of the body to become odorous over the course of the day. Daily showers feel like just another arbitrary standard adults force on children that don’t even do anything in the long run! When Mom gets back, she’ll be sure to explain this to her, using her experience sniffing the thing between Jason’s legs as her proof. Surely then, Mom would let her Franky shower only when she *felt* like it.

Assured, Franky continued. It wasn’t going to take more than a minute or two to ascend the bulge, and that was only because it was *unusually* squishy, squishier than his shins, feet, or even his thighs. Her feet sunk into it meaningfully beneath the fabric of his pants, and it wasn’t hard for her to grab fistfuls of the skin into her hands. She idly tugged and remarked a bit at the stretchiness before letting go. Even with the buffer of his jeans, whatever skin was underneath snapped back into place like rubber.

“Whoa…”

So, Franky tried it again… but, wait. Something had changed. She tried to grab another clump of the skin beneath, but she only managed to grab fistfuls of denim. When she tried—like, *really* tried—Franky was able to reach the skin below, but it had become tough and far less malleable.

“Huh. Interesting.” She was close enough to the peak that she could peer over and catch Jason’s face. It was still blissfully asleep, and his snores continued to rock his body with their rumbles. Unless he was pretending, his body did that on his own.

“Boys… your ways will never cease to elude me.” Franky said in much the same way one might talk about a deep-ocean cephalopod. Franky crawled ahead.

The trip down was a lot easier than the trip up, even if it felt like the bulge had somehow grown in size in the interim. Surely it wasn’t *always* that big, was it? Earlier it was the size of a decently large, small-sized hill. Now? It was no smaller than a decently small, *medium-sized* hill. And that toughness made it easier now to see the thick, snake-like coil that formed the hill’s slope imprinted against the jeans. It once again filled Franky with morbid curiosity. Curiosity she had no time to sate—she’d reached the end of Jason’s pants.

Franky let out a sigh of relief. Something about being on the bulge just gave her the willies. His shifting in his sleep had pinned a clump of his shirt beneath him, and now a sliver of bellybutton was exposed. It was lightly dusted with brown fibers, but they were fuzzy soft, and provided little barrier for her to dig her hands into his equally-soft skin. A different sort of soft than she’d just encountered on the bulge, but soft all the same. And Franky couldn’t deny that being here on the belly of her big, great, giant friend made her feel safe. Even as Jason’s mouth quivered, and he mumbled something unintelligible, she felt absolutely safe. “Mmmmrmmm… yeahm, it’s… just…”

Franky stood up and cocked her head, transfixed as Jason spoke to nobody. A deep groan quaked from his mouth. Then his arm—which had, until this point, been resting peacefully on his belly, started to rub down his torso.

Toward Franky.

“Oh, beans, oh *beans*.” Franky didn’t have time to think as a hand the size of a house was preparing to steamroll her. She could only act. So she did the first thing that came to mine—turn tail and run. The waistband of Jason’s pants was just behind her, and she doubted his hand would venture down there. What would be the point? Except scratching an errant itch, perhaps.

But Franky hadn’t reached the pants before she was swept into the palm. “***WHOA!!***” The wind was knocked out of her just before the hand stuffed itself beneath the waistband—and the underwear. Pulling Franky along with it.