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RR Vignettes #6 Samantha Beaurmont
🕑 Added 2023-09-01 00:59:08 +0000 UTCRR Vignettes #5 - Samantha Beaurmont
Chapter 1 - A Visit to RR Labs
[2010-02-06]
Samantha Beaurmont had always been a quiet and introspective girl. Her thoughtful nature and keen observations made her a great listener and a loyal friend, if only to her mother Marilyn and big sister Candice.
As her high school graduation approached, Samantha’s optimism shrank, becoming overshadowed by a growing sense of dread. From the background, she’d listen to the other girls in her classes discussing their college plans with stars in their eyes and wings on their hearts, excitedly describing every detail down to what type of latte they’d start their morning classes with.
Samantha was not as excited about going off to college. In fact, the idea terrified the 18-year old; she felt like she’d only just started to figure out high school!
The thought of being in a new environment, surrounded by unfamiliar faces much older than hers, and having to navigate through a multitude of social interactions was overwhelming to say the least. Samantha imagined herself stumbling over her words, her heart racing, and her face turning red in embarrassment as the entire student body and staff united in bellowing laughter at her expense. Even the idea of introducing herself to a new professor or making small talk with classmates in a lecture hall sent shivers down her spine.
Despite her anxiety issues, Samantha knew that she had to break out of her shell, but she’d taken a half-measure. Samantha ultimately settled on a community college–one that was close enough to home that she wouldn’t have to move out.
Samantha stood at the sink, washing the dishes when she heard the door open.
“Shoot.” Samantha hissed, scrubbing faster. Her mother was home.
“You here, Sammi?”
“Crap…crap…crap…” Samantha chanted as she tried to hurry, soapy clouds of fluff floating through the air as she noisily racked the last dish just as her mother rounded the corner. The last thing she wanted right now was to have the conversation she just knew her mother wanted to have.
She’d just dried the last fork when her mother came around the corner, standing with a tired smile.
“Hey sweetheart.”
“Hi, Mom. Good day at work?”
Samantha’s mother sat down in her dining room chair, resting her left ankle atop her right knee and began kneading her overworked, stocking-clad foot. “Oh, not too bad. I got a call today from your guidance counselor.”
‘Here we go…’ Samantha said, nervously turning away from her mother and began cleaning the sink.
She felt the weight of her mother’s hands on each of her shoulders.
“Sweety…come on, let’s talk about this.”
Samantha turned around, her butt sinking into the edge of the counter as she did her best to maintain eye contact.
“Are you sure you don’t want to think a little longer about maybe going to state, honey? You’ve got the grades for it.”
Samantha’s gaze remained fixed on the pink laces of her white running sneakers. “I….I dunno…didn’t they–”
“Sweetheart…” Samantha’s mother said, placing a finger up against her daughter’s chin and gently lifting. “Eye contact…remember? You know how important it is.”
“Yeah..sorry.”
There were only two people on Earth with whom Samantha was comfortable and one of them was her mother, Marilyn. Even so, maintaining eye contact during such a stressful and panic-inducing conversation brought on so many butterflies in her stomach Samantha feared she might float away.
“Umm..” Samantha started. “At state…don’t they require the Freshmen to live on campus?”
“Most of the state universities do, Samantha.” Marilyn said.
“Like, in the dorms?” Samantha asked, her heart racing.
Marilyn nodded.
“I really think I’m gonna be fine going to the community college down the street, Mom.”
“Are you sure, sweety?” Marilyn asked, running a tender finger along Samantha’s iron-straight brown hair. “You’ve got a perfect GPA and scored so well on your SAT’s. You really could get into any school you wanted.”
Samantha looked back down at her feet again, the tips of her sneakers bulging as she wiggled her toes nervously. What was that in her shoe under her foot? It was far too small to be a rock. It slipped around…was it a piece of paper?
“I know, Mom…and that’s what I want. I want to go to community college.”
She could be firm with her mother when she needed to be, but doing that while making eye contact? Ha! She may as well have been asked to play Truth or Dare with the girls from school!
“Okay, Sammi,” Marilyn said. “I just hope you’re not making this decision based solely on not wanting to leave home.”
“Of course that’s why…” Samantha mumbled under her breath, drying her hands at the sink and heading upstairs to read.
At the heart of Samantha’s bedroom stood a cozy, full-sized bed adorned with soft, inviting pillows and a thick down comforter. Against one wall was her walk-in closet, its door slightly ajar and revealing a spectrum of casual clothing, most of which were hand-me-downs from Candice that were…not quite Samantha’s style. A well-worn desk occupied a corner where her pale pink laptop was stationed ahead of a tucked-in computer chair.
The most popular area of her room, however, was the small bookshelf against the wall. There was no longer any space on the shelves for her book so she’d resorted to stacking them on top, the shelves sagging under the weight of her cherished treasures–science fiction, horror, mystery, fantasy, and even a romance novel or two that Samantha made sure to keep tucked all the way in the back of the shelf. She smiled with a sigh of content comfort as she reached for the only book with a bookmark sticking out, collapsing onto her bed for another journey into the page.
After several hours of losing herself in the accolades of adventurous young women far more courageous than she ever could be, the brunette teenager sighed and shut the fiction book. She began brushing her long hair and getting ready for bed.
Samantha had always shied away from the skintight jeans all the other girls wore, including her darling older sister Candice. Instead, she opted for more of a baggy look due to some pretty standard girlish insecurities about her body. Samantha kicked off her sneakers and slid her pink and black checkered socks off her feet, using her toes to gather up the cotton and denim and toss them into her half-full clothing hamper. Staring down with a frown at her chubby toes, she criticized herself in her own mind for having such boxy, chubby feet. It didn’t make sense! She herself was petite…well…mostly petite. Why couldn’t she have elegant, dainty feet like her mother and older sister?
Samantha addressed a persistent wedgie before pulling on a fuzzy pair of flannel pajama bottoms. A favorite pair of hers for years now, and despite her remaining mostly petite all throughout high school, the pajamas didn’t fit quite so well in the back these days. Samantha sighed as she wiggled her mint-green painted toes into a fresh, clean pair of white socks before getting under her thick comforter and pulling the blankets up to her chin.
She just felt so powerless…like the weakest little thing in the entire world. She wasn’t strong enough to pursue a prestigious college. She wasn’t brave enough to get the things she wanted…whether it was friends, boy crushes, or jobs. She really wasn’t even adventurous enough to be doing Community College…it was honestly the only positive decision of hers in which she could take pride. Why couldn’t she be more like her sister? Or her mother? She relied so heavily on them for support. How did they have so much confidence? Where the heck did it come from?
Samantha was just about to doze off, likely into another nightmare about bad dreams when she suddenly had a persistent thought: the paper she’d felt in her shoe.
The 18-year old brunette turned on her bedside light and got down on her hands and knees, peering under her bed. There they were, her white Nikes with pink laces. The soles inside were originally hot pink, but they’d dimmed significantly after hundreds if not thousands of slams from her heel.
“What’s this?” Samantha said out loud, slipping a finger and thumb into her sneaker. “Is that…a business card?”
Samantha plopped down on her bed, turning the white cardstock over onto its front. “How did this get in my shoe?”
She’d taken them off earlier today at school but only for a moment. Did someone drop this by mistake? Or on purpose?
Samantha’s brown eyes narrowed in on the front of the business card.
“What’s RR Laboratories?”
The Waiting Room [2010-02-22]
Samantha’s gaze remained fixed on the thongs of her brown and teal polka dotted flip flops. The anxiety was gnawing at her and the stress she was feeling should have been more than enough to send her running out of this quiet, mostly empty waiting room. However, if everything that Dr. Bexley had told her on the phone was true…then this silly, strange experiment was the answer to her problems.
Well…one of her problems. The problem of income. Strangely enough, it was currently amplifying her other problem of anxiety to newfound extremes.
Samantha’s mother Marilyn was very well off and more than willing to foot the bill for Samantha’s college education just as she did for Samantha’s older sister Candice. All that Marilyn expected of her daughters was that they maintain some form of income to cover the cost of luxury and comforts. No doubt due to the younger daughter’s notable anxiety, Marlyn clarified that Samantha would still receive a generous allowance if she was not able to succeed in establishing a supplemental income.
Marylin was a self-confessed coddler of her two daughters. Samantha’s sister Candice, older by five years, seemed to thrive on the attention. She was a social butterfly all throughout school and was now flourishing as an interior designer. Samantha, on the other hand, had suspicions that her parent’s protective, helicopter-mom treatment might have had a different effect on her, contributing to a stunted social development and severely compromised ability to handle stressful situations.
Samantha didn’t blame her mother; everyone makes mistakes and Samantha’s upbringing was otherwise perfect. She wondered if her lack of confidence and self-worth really even was her mother’s fault or if it was just ingrained in her DNA. Maybe it was like the ‘Chicken or the Egg’ argument. Did her mother baby her because Samantha was a little ball of anxiety or was Samantha a little ball of anxiety because of her mother’s babying?
“Cute flip flops” the voice said, coming from two seats to Samantha’s left.
Samantha looked up to see a woman in her early-20’s, an interior design magazine laying across her thick denim-clad thighs. She had chestnut-brown hair and beautiful chocolate brown eyes that sparkled with friendliness.
“Oh, thanks. They’re a gift from my mom.” Samantha said timidly.
“Well, she’s got great taste.” The woman said, lifting her butt just high enough to clear the arm-rests of her chair. She scooted over to her right to fill the empty seat that previously separated her from Samantha.
“Flip flop season’s almost over, ya know…better where those for as long as you can.”
“Oh, I will,” Samantha giggled, looking back down at her toes and then over at the friendly woman. She looked so friendly and open…something about maintaining eye contact with her was…easier.
The friendly woman also wore flip-flops, her feet just as boxy and toes just as chubby as Samantha’s but where they differed: Samantha’s toes were painted mint green, the friendly woman’s were a beautiful vibrant blue.
“Yours are really cute, too.” Samantha said.
“Oh, thanks. They’re my lucky pair.” The friendly woman said, wiggling her toes against the orange thongs. There were adorable little sunflowers cuddling up against each of the friendly woman’s big toes. “I’ve had them for a long time.”
“Oh, they look brand new.”
“I know.” The woman said with a proud and sly smirk, looking around the otherwise empty waiting room and then winking at Samantha. “Tricks of the trade.”
Samantha smiled, not fully understanding what the friendly woman meant but Samantha thought it appropriate to try and introduce herself. The words, however, just couldn’t find their way out.
The friendly woman must have sensed Samantha’s discomfort. “Are you new here?”
Samantha’s eyes slanted into defeat, anxious about being so anxious. “Is it that obvious?”
She smiled. “Only if you’ve been here a few times; it’s pretty easy to spot the newbies.”
The friendly woman held out a hand to Samantha, introducing herself. “My name’s Becca. It’s nice to meet you.”
Samantha accepted Becca’s handshake. “I’m Samantha. Thanks for talking to me.”
Becca smiled, “Oh of course. I was in your shoes not too long ago, you know. Listen…it’s totally okay to be nervous.”
Samantha’s gaze reflexively went down to her flip flops once more, but she forced herself to look back up at Becca’s pretty brown eyes. “You were nervous, too?”
Becca giggled, shifting her wide bottom left and right into the seat. “Oh God, like you wouldn’t even believe! My friend told me about this experiment and kinda convinced me to give it a try. Honestly I didn’t believe it was true until I was back in one of those exam rooms for the first time.” Becca said, gesturing beyond the windowless door a few feet away.
As if on cue, that very door opened abruptly, calling both Samantha’s and Becca’s attention. Two women appeared from the other side of the door.
The first was a striking African-American woman, seemingly in her late-20’s or mid-30’s. Her faded bluejeans clung to her thighs as if they were painted on, conforming perfectly to her curvaceous lower half. The fabric not only traced every contour and curve of her shapely thighs, noticeably faded where the two fleshy towers would constantly rub, but also led the eye to an astonishing marvel that defied fashion and physics: her impossibly generously sized rear.
Samantha watched in awe as the large woman walked with purpose toward the receptionist’s desk, her impossibly wide hips swaying calling the attention of every woman in the waiting room.
“Is she a Participant?” Samantha whispered to Becca. The enormity of the waddling woman’s behind was a sight to behold and Samantha couldn’t bring herself to look away from the huge, jiggling spheres of denim-packed flesh.
“Probably.” Becca said. “She’s definitely suited for it, huh?”
Samantha ogled the African American woman’s hefty cheeks in sheer disbelief and fascination. She’d never seen a butt so big before! How could someone…carry something like that around with them all day? It must have felt strange to sit with all that cushion! And as mystifying and out of this world as that massive butt was to a normal sized girl like Samantha, she couldn’t imagine how overwhelmingly large it must be to a tiny little subject! She’d spent a few days worth of time wondering what it would be like for the little boy that would go between her own butt cheeks and how large they’d appear to him. The thought of a little boy being somewhere in there…buried in all that flesh…golly!
“What do you mean suited?” Samantha asked curiously, unable to rip her eyes from the woman’s hefty buns. The stitching of her jeans traversed up the center of her vast expanse, valiantly attempting to hold together the dimensions of her prodigious backside. The stitching resisted ripping with defiance, but as a consequence of its Herculean task, the stitching jutted out, straining to maintain integrity as the two soft, bouncy boulders on either side fought for freedom and pushed the poor stitching to the limits of its endurance.
“I mean…her butt is really big, ya know? I mean, I’m no expert or anything, but big butts usually mean soft butt cheeks, and soft butt cheeks mean cushion for the little guy inside of it. It’s what this is all about, after all…” Becca said, losing interest in the spectacle that was Chantel’s epic denim globes and returning to her magazine. “...keeping the boy safe while we do our thing.”
Becca probably had no idea the impact her words had on Samantha, but something inside the nervous teenager’s mind just clicked.
Sure, she was going to be making great money by volunteering for this experiment thing, as strange as it was. But she didn’t think about how…well…useful she was going to be to the tiny little boy. If Becca was right and this really was all about keeping vulnerable, shrunken little boys safe then how horrible would it be to let her big, soft, cozy butt cheeks go to waste?
“Excuse me? Chantel?”
The second woman was slightly out of breath, walking briskly behind the big-butted woman. She was young, perhaps only a few years older than Samantha. Her skin tan suggested she might be hispanic and she moved with grace, her dark brown eyes lightly magnified by her glasses as she followed the woman in front of her. She wore a lab coat like the other doctors, but her lab coat appeared to be made of cheaper material.
“What you need, Rose?” Chantel asked.
.
“Sorry to be a bother, but can we see you back in the exam room? We forgot to…ummm…collect the Assessment Peg.”
Chantel cackled loudly, looking over her shoulder at her enormous, gravity-defying booty. “Oh, you talkin’ bout the pink foam nub?”
Long, manicured fingernails scraped against the stretched denim as the boisterous, loud woman looked over her shoulder and jiggled and jostled her ample butt cheeks. “Ha, I straight up forgot that joint was even there! Funny it's feelin’ kinda good, you know? Like, now that I’m really zoning in on it and all. You sure I can’t hold onto it? Least till I get the real thing?”
“What’s an Assessment Peg?” Samantha whispered to Becca.
Becca smirked knowingly without looking up from her magazine. “You’re here for your install, right?”
Samantha nodded her head. “Yeah, I think that’s what they called it.”
Becca giggled quietly, “Then you’ll see.”
Rose spoke politely and professionally to Chantel. “Unfortunately, we’re required to keep the Assessment Pegs on file for later analysis.”
“Alright, alright...you can have it back then…but you better watch out with it, you know?” Chantel said, lifting her shirt to unbutton her jeans, “...the lil’ thing is probably damn near radioactive by now!”
“Ms. Martin!” The intern said, urgency in her tone. “Would you like to go back to the exam room with me? …So that you can have some privacy?”
Chantel looked around, for the first time noticing Samantha and Becca. Samantha’s gaze pulled down to her own feet like weighted anchors the moment that Chantel made eye contact.
“Oh shit, sorry y’all.” Chantel chuckled.
The pretty hispanic intern and the heavy-cheeked, thick-thighed Participant-to-be made their way back from where they’d come, leaving the room quiet once more.
“Samantha?” Laura called from behind the receptionist desk, breaking the abrupt calmness of the waiting room. “Dr. Bexley is on her way here now to see you.”
Samantha’s heart pounded hard within her chest and her breathing noticeably quickened.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s a piece of cake.” Becca said.
“Really? It’s not…weird?” Samantha asked.
“Oh, it's DEFINITELY weird.” Becca giggled, gently shifting her wide hips in her seat. “Like…without a doubt. But it's more of a silly and cute weird, if you ask me.”
“How long have you had yours?” Samantha asked and then quickly added. “...if you don’t mind me asking!”
“No, not at all. Hmmm….I’m trying to remember; I think it was around when I got this top.” Becca thought out loud, playing with the sleeve of her pretty, slate-grey blouse. “Pretty sure it was back toward the end of 2006. September something.”
Samantha gasped, “That’s almost 4 years!”
“Wow, you’re right,” Becca chuckled. “Time really does fly, huh?”
“I couldn’t…” Samantha had started to say in a normal voice but then quickly quieted down, leaning over toward the pretty, wavy-haired brunette. “I couldn’t imagine getting used to it. The feeling of him…like…down there…I mean…”
Samantha gestured with her hands, as if she was opening an imaginary book with both sets of fingers or in this case, spreading an imaginary set of butt cheeks
”...like…in between them.”
Samantha was challenging Becca to either agree or disagree but the woman to her left did neither. She only smiled and pat Samantha on her knee.
“You’ll see.”
The door to the rest of RR Labs opened once more, but this time she was greeted by the friendly, calm face of Dr. Alexandria Bexley.
“Hi Samantha!” Dr. Bexley said.
Participant Screening Assessment [2010-02-22]
Dr. Bexley escorted Samantha into the Participant Screening Assessment room where Jane was already waiting.
“Jane, this is Samantha Bearmount. I believe you two met last time she was here.”
“Hi, Samantha, welcome back.” Jane said, shaking Samantha’s hand.
“We met?” Samantha asked.
“You don’t remember?” Jane grinned sheepishly. “The toe ring?”
Samantha sat in silence for a few seconds, the social pressure of the situation forcing anxiety through her body like lightning. Then her eyes widened. “Oh yes, I remember!”
Samantha remembered two weeks earlier meeting Jane in one of the exam rooms where Dr. Bexley had escorted Samantha to. She definitely remembered Jane because the gothic intern was sitting on one of the cushioned stools, her left ankle resting atop her right knee. Jane was staring at her bare foot with a smug smirk and she seemed to be mumbling as if she was speaking to someone. She was wiggling her toes, the glimmer of a beautiful jeweled toe ring catching Samantha’s eye.
When she saw Dr. Bexley and Samantha, Jane snapped out of her trance, quickly stretching her black ankle sock back over her wiggling toes and roughly stuffed her pale, sun-starved foot back into her sneaker.
“It was pretty fancy, huh?” Jane asked, looking down at Samantha’s flip flops. “It got lost, unfortunately…well, the best part of it, anyway. Major pity; you’ve got cute feet, maybe we could have sent him–it home with you.”
Samantha blushed, looking down at her feet. By comparison, Samantha’s feet were a bit blockier and her stubby toes a bit chubbier than Jane’s, which were more narrow and longer. Samantha didn’t know if this was a good thing or not.
“Oh, I don’t usually wear things like that.”
“She’s here for her Participant Screening Assessment, Jane.” Dr. Bexley said, the apparent firmness of her tone thinly veiled by the sing-song fluency of her cadence. “Not for procuring foot jewelry.”
__________
“Are you okay, Samantha?” Dr. Bexley asked. “Do you need to take a break?”.
Both the raven-haired doctor and her gothic intern sat across from Samantha who had so far unbuttoned her jeans with shaking fingers and showed off only the waistband of her white panties before freezing.
“I’m sorry, doctor...I…I know you told me about where the boy would be…going. I just didn’t know that I would…have to do all this.”
Dr. Bexley took on a tone that reminded Samantha of her own mother. “I understand, dear. This is an uncomfortable experience for a lot of women. And I promise we wouldn’t be doing it if it weren’t absolutely necessary for our research.”
“I understand that.” Samantha said. Her vision had become cloudy through a growing wall of tears that she fought with all her might to keep from falling to her cheeks. She’d struggled to even maintain conversations with her peers in high school and somehow she thought that she’d be able to come to this lab and stand practically naked in front of two strangers?
Dr. Bexley sighed, her dimples dented from the hint of a patient smile. “How about this? If rear-installation is too much for you, we can take a look at some other RR Labs experiments.”
“We’ve got a lot of irons in the fire.” Jane assured.
“Or maybe this is all just a little too much too fast? Would you like to take some time to reconsider your participation?” Dr. Bexley asked with sincere concern in her voice. “There’s absolutely no shame in that. Nothing wrong with it whatsoever. It’s very important to the lab…and to me personally…that you know that no one is forcing you to do this. If you’re truly uncomfortable with it, we can stop…right now. No one will be upset with you.”
“No, no. I know this is up to me.” Samantha quickly replied. The genuine compassion in Dr. Bexley’s voice breathed a new, foreign strength into the nervous teenager. “I know you’re not forcing me.”
Samantha was floored by her own courage as she unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down. The thongs of her flip flops slipped out from between her toes as the denim pulled her flip flops off her feet. Bare soles contacted the cold tile floor of the RR Labs exam room as Samantha bent at the waist to pick up the pile of crumpled denim, her thighs sprouting goosebumps from the cold.
Samantha nervously folded her jeans and set them down on the floor atop her flip flops and climbed up onto the exam room table. She’d never truly understood the term ‘fake it till you make it’ until this very moment as she stood before Dr. Bexley and Jane, completely nude on the bottom half and trying so hard to resist the urge to cover herself. To their credit, Dr. Bexley and Jane were both exceedingly professional, which helped Samantha to feel more comfortable, fostering an environment for a slow but steady blossoming of confidence.
“So, I just take this orange foam thing…and put it between my cheeks?” Samantha asked.
“That’s right.” Dr. Bexley said. “Wedged in place as firmly as it can be without entering your body.”
It was a strange sensation. The only thing Samantha had ever felt up between her butt cheeks was underwear. It wasn’t a bad feeling…just new. She quickly forgot the feeling of the nestled foam peg, however, as she completed a list of tasks. Samantha was made to do a variety of physical activities such as squats, ‘sit-and-stands’, and even a mile on the treadmill. It was explained to her that each of these tests were meant to simulate extreme examples of normal day-to-day behavior that could potentially dislodge the subject from between the Participant’s cheeks.
When it was explained that way, Samantha felt even better about the labs’ motives. This was all just to make sure that Samantha was the right person to take care of the little subject–that he’d be safe and sound with her. And Samantha could tell from Dr. Bexley’s and Jane’s cheerful encouragement that she was passing each test with flying colors. Before she knew it, Samantha was dressed again, following the two women down the RR Labs hallway to the last room before she’d be able to go home: the Exam and Installation Room.
Installation [2010-02-22]
“Okay, Samantha. If you could just take off your jeans, we can get your new subject nice and settled. Just like last time, it’ll only need to be your bottoms. You can leave your shirt on if you like.”
As strange as it was to have these two women staring at her fully exposed butt, it was somehow easier than looking them in the eye. It was much easier than running and squatting bottomless with a little weird orange ear-plug between her butt cheeks.
And it was DEFINITELY easier than letting Jane literally scrub her butt down with warm soapy water to get it ready for the subject’s installation.
Samantha’s straight, brown hair bounced on her back and draped down over her shoulder as she turned her head to see what Dr. Bexley and Jane were doing. That’s when she saw him for the first time.
Samantha knew that he’d be small but holy cow! She couldn’t believe just how little he looked in Jane’s hand!
Samantha had no desire to be a mother, at least not yet at her age…but she could at least kinda get the whole maternal instinct thing when she watched the pink, naked little nub struggling in the intern’s hand. She immediately felt this foreign, strange surge of confidence. These beautiful, talented women of science not only trusted Samantha, but they trusted her to take care of this tiny little squeaky thing. And maybe…just maybe she could do it. Maybe she had everything she needed to keep him safe without even trying…and apparently…there was no better way than with her big soft butt cheeks.
“Is he okay?” Samantha asked. “He’s…moving around a lot.”
“Oh, don’t worry about him.” Jane said with a light, dismissive chuckle, giving the subject a gentle but firm and–at least from Samantha’s perspective–a seemingly unnecessary squeeze within her fingertips. “They get really nervous when they’re out in the open like this.”
“That’s one of the reasons why we need to get him settled…” Dr. Bexley said, gently patting Samantha’s large left butt cheek. “...where he’ll be nice and safe.”
‘I guess she’s right.’ Samantha thought, feeling a strange sense of pride as her hefty left cheek continued to jiggle several seconds after Dr. Bexley’s pat. ‘He really will be super safe in there.’
“I’m just going to pull your buttocks apart a little so we can get him situated. Is that okay, Samantha?” Dr. Bexley asked.
Samantha nodded and then shivered as she felt a small hand spread its short fingers over as much of her bare left butt cheek as it could. The fingertips squeezed, sinking into the supple smooth, pillowy flesh and pulled the massive globe away from its twin. She’d made it through high school having only kissed a single boy, and he grabbed her butt during the kiss. It was the only other time she’d had somebody else’s hands on her butt cheek, and Jason’s hand wasn’t on her bare cheek, it was over top of her jeans.
Samantha heard squeaks coming from the subject; she couldn’t blame him for being nervous..she was nervous, too.
“Remember to trace the cheek.” Dr. Bexley pepped cheerfully to Jane.
“Oh, yes.” Jane replied, bringing her right hand down toward Samantha’s right butt cheek. Samantha’s heart skipped a beat when she felt him for the first time. The tiny, naked little boy that was now squirming against the bare, supple flesh of her butt cheek.
“Trace the cheek?” Samantha asked, her voice quivering.
“Oh, it's just a technique our other co-founder pioneered.” Dr. Bexley explained. “The new experience of rear-housing will be challenging for subjects, and we find that giving them a bit of a ‘preview’ of the cushion, warmth, and size of one buttock in some preliminary skin-to-skin contact serves as a nice transition to full-pressure confinement between the buttocks.”
“That makes sense.” Samantha said, feeling Jane’s fingers guiding the flailing subject up along the curvy hemisphere of her butt cheek and then making a sharp left hand turn, forcing him closer toward the valley where her expansive glutes meet.
It was a strange sensation, feeling him move closer and closer to her crack and as he dipped down into the valley, tickling the more sensitive skin that rarely saw sunlight, the nervous teenager couldn’t help but let out a giggle.
“Sorry, it tickles.” Samantha said, burying her face in her hands.
“No apology needed.” Dr. Bexley chuckled along with Samantha, patting her on her shoulder with her free hand. “They definitely can tickle.”
Dr. Bexley’s tone came off as sincere and dismissive of Samantha’s giggling as a big deal, which lended greatly to Samantha feeling more comfortable about the entire silly situation. Still, in an effort to stifle more laughter, Samantha bit her lower lip as she felt Jane’s finger’s plunging down into the depths of her crack.
On the sensitive inner walls of her ample cheeks, Samantha felt the bones of Jane’s knuckles grazing her skin as they retreated from her crack, leaving behind the source of all that interesting and new movement writhing between her still parted ass cheeks.
“Good job, Jane.” Dr. Bexley said, slowly releasing her grip on Samantha’s left butt cheek. Jane followed suit, releasing her grip on Samantha’s other cheek. The two large mounds of soft flesh rushed back in together, amplifying the sensation against her skin of the tiny little subject’s movements deep in her crack. The faint squeaking she’d heard was completely muffled and silenced by the ample flesh of her butt cheeks swallowing the little boy up between them.
“You did great, too Samantha.” Dr. Bexley said with a smile.
“It really tickles, Dr. Bexley!” Samantha said, her cheeks puffing out as she struggled to hold in her laughter.
“Don’t worry, dear. I know the sensation is quite new and may be a bit overwhelming but his movement will become less intense as he gets used to the environment of your rear.”
“And you’ll also get used to the feeling of his movements, too.” Jane added.
“Boy, it’s hard to imagine getting used to this.” Samantha said, rolling over onto her back and sitting up. The subject’s movement in her crack reached a new peak of intensity as her bare soles dangled over the floor, her full weight pressing down onto her thick thighs and ample rear. If she’d been standing, her knees might have given out.
“Both of you will, trust me.” Dr. Bexley said, handing Samantha her folded jeans and flip flops.
“I’m so proud of you, Samantha.” Dr. Bexley beamed with a big smile, gently patting Samantha on the shoulder. “After you’re dressed, Jane will escort you to the receptionist’s desk where we’ll schedule you for your follow-up…”
Samantha sighed in deep relief at the final statement of Dr. Bexley:
“Then you and your subject can go home.”
~
