Two weeks on and it was starting to become increasingly apparent that Trina’s tiny cling-on wasn’t going to be leaving her skin any time soon. Despite the fact you had become a little more human, be it a very small one, you were still very much an extension of a much larger vessel. Over time, eyes, legs and to your mothers annoyance, a mouth had formed and you were now very visibly Lucian again.
Not that your mother was initially keen to express celebration of this. For the entire first week you hadn’t got to see much of the outside world beyond the view of the inside of your mothers loose fitting T-shirt or dress whilst she went about her life as normal. Her normal midriff-bearing wardrobe had been put away until she had resolved her little inconvenience.
You did however get the unfortunate opportunity to intimately witness every single thing your mom did with extreme detail. You were there for every sweaty gym visit, boiling hot bath and awkward toilet break she needed to take. Including the more triumphant shit where she finally passed your Mk2. You were there every time someone asked after you and had to listen to her awkwardly make up some excuse. You were there when her friends would talk about how handsome you had become, and that her one friend Sarah could simply just “eat you up.” Which your mom was quick to advise against.
Trina eventually did warm to the situation and even started to find advantages. Gradually the playful personality that had been present upon your ingestion had returned. She was still very cautious in making sure no one else knew of your new existence but there was plenty of fun to be had when she was alone with her new toy. Your mother seemed to start getting a real kick out of having absolute control of you and was finding more and more situations to torment you. She would frequently take immense joy in undulating her stomach, causing you to roll with the rhythmic waves of your flesh prison as you were forced to partake in an impromptu belly dance. She would often then laugh uncontrollably causing you to violently vibrate.
“Morning mini-man, did you sleep okay?” Your mother boomed one morning after a long and uncomfortably hot night.
“Not great mom, do you have to sleep on your stomach? It gets very stuffy under you.” You fire back, not expecting any form of sympathy.
“Haha sorry, did I squash you again? Mommy doesn’t mean to.” She laughed as she stretched her arms above her head.
“Now, the question is, do we go take ourselves for a run, or do I go stuff myself with breakfast?”
Both these options had a negative effect on you. A run meant you were going to be firmly pressed against her tight fitting sports vest for an hour whilst your whole body is jiggled around on a wall of salty sweat. A heavy breakfast on the other hand meant you had to spend the rest of the morning listening to it squelch through her digestive system, which was still causing you some sever post traumatic stress.
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