Despite striving with every fiber of your being to reform and jump to safety, or at the very least, roll away to safety, your stubbornly squishy body refused to yield. Still crumpled up into a little flat lump, your body was dumped out of the clothes basket right down into the awaiting maw of the washing machine, along with all of the rest of the dirty laundry. You certainly hadn’t expected this chain of events this morning, but fate always did like to screw you over.
You splashed down into the already mostly-filled washing machine, the bone-chilling water soaking you to your core instantly. You mentally cried out in pure surprise at how freezing the temperature was, but didn’t have much time to think as a bundle of thongs landed on you next, forcing you further under the water, deeper and deeper into darkness.
All around you was a sopping mass of lingerie and other assorted articles of clothing, the light from the washing machine’s open lid already blocked out. You felt your senses slipping away from you, the absurdly cold water draining you of stamina and the will to stay awake. Your struggled to reform grew weaker and weaker, and your situation only became worse with each second.
The basket empty, Shannon wiped a bit of sweat off of her brow and slammed the lid shut, blissfully unaware she had trapped her own son inside of the washing machine with the rest of her and her daughter’s clothes. Turning on the spin cycle, Shannon strolled back upstairs, ironically wondering where her tiny son had run off to.
Inside of the washing machine, you silently screamed as the spinning kicked in, starting slow but quickly rocketing up to an almost unfathomable degree of g-force. You and the rest of the clothes were spun around and around and around in circles ceaselessly, your tiny body propelled faster than the clothes around you.
You smacked into countless articles of clothing in the pitch-black washing machine, everything moving to erratically to tell what was up and what was down. Your consciousness held on by only a thread, until finally, a metal belt buckle from one of Stacy’s skirts smacked into your face, knocking you unconscious. You remained oblivious to your fate as your predicament grew exponentially more terrible.
Shannon returned after about an hour and transferred the soaking clothes into the dryer, still not noticing her tiny little squishy son. Inside the dryer, your slumbering form was tossed over and over, baking under the intense heat the dryer emitted. The drying lasted only about half an hour, but your position was firmly sealed by that time.
Unbeknownst to your unconscious mind, your body had finally stuck to a particular article of clothing, and your squishy body had adhered to it from the forces and pressure acting on you. As time had passed, your gummy-like body had engrained itself more and more to the fabric of the clothing, growing dangerously close to permanently fusing with the specific clothing item you were stuck to. Your clothes had been torn to shreds, and your human features had been partly smeared away from both the wash and dryer cycles.
It was only when Stacy came to fold the now warm and clean laundry that you finally awoke, and were terrified yet not wholly unsurprised to find yourself unable to budge an inch, firmly entangled with the very fibers of the fabric you were glued to. It would take considerable effort to reform now, and you would most likely even need outside help to get free. Of course, your giantess family would have to notice you first in order to free you.
From your peripheral vision, you were able to see you were stuck to something tan, which caused you to internally groan. Of course you would be stuck to something that matched your skin color. As if the often-oblivious woman in your life needed another reason not to notice you. At least you were facing outward, so your face was slightly visible, but even then it would take more than a quick glance to spot your minuscule form.
That thought was proven, as your sister swept her gaze carelessly over your body without a second thought, and then dropped the article of clothing you were stuck to into one of the two baskets beside her, moving on to the next item instantly. Stacy was usually a very observant girl, and her caring tendencies had saved your life hundreds of times. Still, she was only human, and had no reason to ever think you were in the dryer plastered to a piece of clothing in the first place.
More clothes were soon stacked on top of you, hiding you from view and preventing any slim hope of reformation (though you doubted escaping the binds you were fused to would be that easy in the first place). You sat in silence and mulled over your fate, coming to the depressing realization that escaping of your own volition was practically impossible now. Your future depended on either Stacy or Shannon saving you now.
The real, pressing question, as you began to think about the implications, was what were you glued to, where were you stuck, and who did it belong to?
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