writer's note: I didn't do much tweaking to these AI written chapters, so don't judge the content too hard. Some chapters may not make total sense and some chapters are a little weird content-wise. (no full incest or anything crazy like that at least)
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You step carefully across the living room floor, your tiny feet barely making a sound on the hardwood. It’s a daily ritual for you—navigating the world like a mouse in a giant’s house. Your mother’s laugh echoes from the kitchen, loud and carefree, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of both awe and dread. She’s six feet tall, with curves that could knock over a building, and you’re… well, you’re one foot tall. Scrawny. Frail. Living in the shadow of her ass—literally.
Her voice booms through the house. “Where’d you go, little guy? I need your help with something!” You wince. It’s not that you don’t want to help her—it’s just that helping her usually involves some form of humiliation. Last time, she had you climb into her purse to fetch her keys, and she’d absentmindedly zipped you inside for a good ten minutes before realizing. “Oops!” she’d said with that airhead grin of hers. “Forgot you were in there!”
You hesitantly make your way to the kitchen, where your mother is bent over the fridge, her enormous ass practically blocking the entire doorway. Each cheek is bigger than your entire body, and the sight of her in those tight yoga pants makes you feel like an ant staring up at a mountain. You clear your throat, a feeble attempt to announce your presence.
She straightens up suddenly, nearly knocking you over with the movement. “Oh, there you are! I was just looking for the butter.” She turns to face you, a can of whipped cream in her hand. “Could you check the lower shelf for me? You’re so good at fitting into small spaces.” Her tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s no malice behind it. It’s just who she is—confident, carefree, and completely oblivious to how her words might sting.
You nod, your cheeks burning as you duck under the fridge door. The lower shelf is a maze of jars and containers, and you have to squeeze between them, your tiny frame dwarfed by the sheer size of everything. You find the butter wedged behind a tub of cream cheese and carefully pull it out, holding it triumphantly above your head.
“Aha! You’re a lifesaver,” she says, taking the butter from you with a grin. “What would I do without my little helper?” She takes the butter from you with a grin, her massive hand practically swallowing yours whole. “You’re a lifesaver,” she says, turning back to the counter. Without a second thought, she swings the refrigerator door shut, the whoosh of air nearly knocking you off your feet. Before you can even call out, the door latches, and you’re trapped inside the chilly, dimly lit fridge.
You press your tiny hands against the glass, trying to get her attention, but she’s already humming to herself, her back turned as she spreads butter on a slice of bread. Your voice is too small, too muffled by the thick door, and she doesn’t even notice. The cold starts to seep into your bones, and you shiver, feeling like a forgotten snack.
A few minutes later, the door swings open again, and there she is, her eyes widening in surprise as she spots you. “Oh my gosh! I forgot you were in there!” she exclaims, her hands flying to her cheeks in mock horror. “Oops! Sorry, little guy. You’re just so good at blending in, I guess!” She laughs, her tone light and carefree as always, but there’s a hint of sheepishness in her smile as she scoops you out of the fridge.
You’re shivering, but not just from the cold. It’s moments like these that remind you just how small you are compared to her. Not just physically, but in every way. She’s a force of nature, and you’re… well, you’re just you.
She turns back to the counter, humming as she spreads the butter on another slice of bread. You watch her for a moment, marveling at how effortlessly she moves through the world. Everything about her is so much more—her laugh, her presence, her body. You feel like a shadow in comparison, always trailing behind her, always trying to keep up.
But then, as if on cue, disaster strikes. She takes a step back, her foot coming down right where you’re standing. You barely have time to let out a yelp before her enormous foot lands on you, pinning you to the floor. “Oh my god!” she gasps, quickly lifting her foot. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She kneels down to check on you, her face filled with genuine concern.
You cough, struggling to catch your breath. “I’m fine,” you wheeze, though your pride is more bruised than your body. It’s not the first time she’s stepped on you, and it probably won’t be the last. She’s just so big, and you’re so small. It’s hard not to feel a little humiliated every time it happens.
She scoops you up gently, cradling you in her hands like a fragile doll. “I really need to be more careful,” she says, her voice softer now. “You’re so tiny, I forget how easy it is to hurt you.” There’s a hint of guilt in her eyes, and for a moment, you feel a pang of sympathy for her. She doesn’t mean to hurt you—she just doesn’t realize how much of an impact she has on everything around her.
She sets you down on the counter, her massive hands lingering for a moment before she pulls away. “Here,” she says, breaking off a piece of her buttered bread and handing it to you. “A peace offering.” You take it, nibbling on the edge as you watch her go back to her task. She’s already forgotten the incident, her laughter filling the kitchen once again.
You can’t help but smile, just a little. She’s a lot to handle, but she’s your mom. And despite everything, you wouldn’t trade her for the world. Even if it means living in the shadow of her ass.
“Oh, by the way,” she says, turning to you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I was thinking of rearranging the furniture in the living room. You’re so good at crawling under things—mind helping me move the couch?”
You groan inwardly, but you nod anyway. After all, what else can you do? When she asks, you can’t help but say yes.
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