Butt Massage Therapy and the Alarm Clock Army
Firearms, Swords, Explosives Control Act. Squish. Squeeeze. Squelch. Crunch. How the hell was this a massage? It was straight-up torture. Crack. Grind.
"Hear that sound? Feels amazing, right? This is a type of chiropractic adjustment…"
"Th-that just sounds like bones popping to me…"
I scraped at the floor. A fistful of rug fur came loose. Poor magic beast wolf. Not only desecrated while alive, now forcibly depilated in death.
"Hold still! I need to find the pressure points… Huh?"
She wobbled. Elma lost her balance.
"Kyaa…!"
Thud! Elma plopped right onto my back. A heavy butt bomb.
"Guh…"
My breath caught. The air in my lungs was forcibly expelled.
"Ow ow ow…"
Elma rubbed her butt. "Why can't you stay still, honey? I can't keep my balance!"
"You're… heavy…"
"What?! Heavy?!"
Elma bellowed. She stomped on my back. The impacts reverberated through my organs.
"Take it back! Retract it right now! Say I'm light as a feather!"
"F-feather! A feather made of lead!"
"Ugh…!"
Elma pouted her lips. "No more stepping!"
Thank goodness. My herniated discs were safe now.
I panted raggedly and lifted my head. "Alright, let's call it quits…"
"Who said we're done?"
"Guh."
Elma pressed down again. Tiny thing, but strong as hell.
"Massages aren't just one type, you know!"
"Huh?"
Elma's eyes sparkled again. …That gleam spelled danger.
"If stepping's too hard, we'll go with hot compress."
"Hot compress?"
"Yeah. Thermal compression therapy."
Elma crawled down to my waist. "You know my body temp's higher than a human's, right?"
"Yeah."
It was true. Holding her felt great. Cozy like an electric blanket.
"And my butt's got a nice cushion to it?"
That too. She smirked, curling the corner of her mouth.
"I'm gonna sear those knots with my butt."
Elma plopped, smashing down onto my back.
"…Wow."
This time, no pain. Just heavy. A snug embrace compressing my erector spinae. And the texture. Soft, chewy skin. Like piling a mound of glutinous rice cake on me.
"How's that? No pain this time, right?"
"…Yeah. This one's pretty good."
"See? My butt's top-shelf quality, huh?"
"Oh ho ho!" Elma let out a frivolous laugh. Then she wriggled her butt. Side to side. Rubbing.
Squish, soft. Squish, soft.
A strange shiver ran up my spine. Her scorching body heat seeped between my vertebrae. A languid haze settled in.
"Feels good…"
"Hehe. Honey, this spot's all stiff. I'll melt it for ya."
Elma adjusted her position. Spread out fully. Like lounging on a beanbag, she put her full weight on my back.
Squuuuush-. Buried in dough. Not bad. Honestly, pretty damn nice.
"Hey! Tin Cans!"
Elma yelled from atop me. She snapped her fingers.
"Bring mandarins! And comics!"
"…?"
Wait. Something's off here?
"Elma? Weren't you doing hot compress?"
"Yeah. I am. With my butt."
The golems scurried over. A tray piled with mandarins. And Elma's favorite comics too.
Rustle. Pop. Peeling sounds.
"Mmm…! Even the cheap house mandarins are so sweet these days?"
Smacking lips echoed. From my back.
"Um, Elma?"
"What. Nyom. Don't talk. Messes with circulation."
Flip. Page-turning rustle.
I realized it then. I wasn't getting a massage. I'd become a human sofa.
"Comfy?"
"Yep. Your back's so wide, honey. Perfect fit for me."
Elma bounced her butt. Squishing and rubbing to level herself out. The heavy mass jiggled.
"Spread your arms and legs more. You're wobbling."
"O-okay."
I spread limbs as ordered. Starfish pose. Topped by a tiny queen.
"Hehe. Heaven. You like it too, right?"
"Well… it's warm."
Not wrong. The pressure was oddly soothing. Like one of those trendy weighted blankets.
Plus the sounds. Mandarin peeling. Page flips. Occasional grumbles like, "Why does this author shoehorn in their self-insert like that?"
And the little twitches transmitted through her butt. Everyday white noise.
"Honey."
"Yeah."
"Sorry about earlier."
"For what?"
"Falling asleep alone."
Elma mumbled around a mouthful. "I wanted to stay up with you too… but I sleep too much…"
"Beauties need their beauty sleep, right?"
"Really? Am I a beauty?"
"Obviously."
Elma giggled, twisting her body. Her butt wriggled in tandem.
"Still…"
She leaned forward. Pressed her cheek to my back.
"You're working so hard. I wanted to help somehow."
"…"
Warmth seeped through. Clumsy, but sincere affection.
"Thanks. My fatigue's melting away."
"Really? Feels that good?"
"Yep. Must be the magic of Elma's butt."
"Hehe. Of course! It's my butt!"
Elma shook her butt more vigorously in excitement. Bouncy resilience danced. I gave a wry smile, resting my chin on the floor.
If this was massage… not bad at all.
============================
30 minutes later.
"Yaaawn…"
Elma stretched.
"Tired… beat…"
Just comics and mandarins. What was so exhausting?
"Good work. Time to get off."
"C-can't… move…"
Elma slumped fully onto my back. Like a melted slime.
"Drained my energy… Massaging takes… more stamina than I thought…"
"You barely did anything."
"What? Holding tension's hard work! My butt nearly cramped!"
Impressive labor.
"Get up. I'm getting uncomfortable."
"Ugh… nooo…"
I twisted to shake her off.
Roll.
"Kyaa…!"
Elma tumbled onto the rug. Flopped starfish-style, wriggling.
"So mean… dumping a patient like that…"
"Weren't you the doctor?"
I sat up. Definitely felt refreshed after being squished and released. Blood rushing.
I looked down at Elma. Staring up from the floor. Eyes sparkling. Expectant.
"…What?"
"My shoulders are knotted."
Shameless.
"Massage me."
"Me?"
"Yeah. I sacrificed my whole body for you. Time for payback."
Elma flipped prone. Pat pat. Tapped her shoulders.
"Here! Press hard!"
"Sigh…"
Pretending reluctance, I positioned myself. Hands on her shoulders.
Squish. Squish.
"Haaah…"
A groan escaped Elma. Tiny shoulders. Adorable arms fitting in one hand. Yielded softly when kneaded.
"Honey… not there… lower…"
"Here?"
"Yeah… around the shoulder blades…"
I pressed my thumb into her scapula.
"Hyaaang!"
Near-scream moan. Elma clawed the floor.
"Hurts?"
"No… feels good… tingly…"
Elma writhed. Blissful squirms.
"Your hands… too good…"
"Feel better?"
"Yeah… melting…"
Her reactions were spot-on. Fun to knead.
Up the nape, press press. Down the shoulders, squish squish arms.
Elma's body loosened languidly. Spreading flatter on the floor.
"What can't you do…?"
"Psh, this is nothing."
"No… this is… the touch of god…"
Her voice slowed. Eyelids drooping.
Nod.
"…"
Elma's head dropped. Steady breathing followed.
"Elma?"
No reply. Passed out asleep. She sure slept well.
I chuckled, stopping my hands. Stroked her back.
"Good job, Doc."
I scooped her up. Limp little body. Snug in my arms. Warm, soft weight.
Tucked her back under the covers.
"Mmm… mandarin…"
Sleep-talking, she smacked her lips. Fingers stained yellow.
I kissed her forehead, then her citrusy fingers. Pulled the blanket to her neck and headed out.
On the way to the study. Back still a bit stiff. But my heart was light.
This semester. Grades unknown, but happiness? A+.
======================
Next night.
"Exam tomorrow, right? The required one."
"Yeah."
"Covers from Intro to Mana Circuits to Nonlinear Structures."
"Yep."
Elma nodded solemnly. Tension etched on her face. Even though I was the one taking it.
"Alright. Time to prep."
Elma snapped her fingers. A dozen tiny golems huffed and puffed, hauling a big box.
She pulled out… one. Two. Three.
…Ten?
"…What are these?"
"Can't you tell? Alarm clocks."
Alarm clocks… sure. If you squinted. More like air raid sirens.
Blood-red cylinders. Iron horns on both sides.
"No alarm clock looks like this!"
"What? I poured my heart into developing these! They'll snap you awake. Rips your eardrums!"
She proudly clenched her fist. …Rips how?
"Plus, I boosted output by 10 decibels this time."
10 dB? That's ten times louder. Already beyond noise regs. Straight into Firearms, Swords, Explosives Control Act territory.
"How can I watch my husband flunk from oversleeping?"
Ignoring my dismay, Elma reached for the clock.
"I'll just set my phone alarm."
"How can you trust that? Electronics betray you, but analog never does!"
Analog or digital, my eardrums were the issue.
Before I could argue, Elma started winding.
Click. Creeeak. Ominous from the start.
She lined them up by the bedhead. Ten crimson alarms. Like a bomb site.
"Isn't this overkill?"
"Quiet. Managing your grades is wife duty too!"
Elma furrowed her brow. Gnawed her nails. Legs jittering.
"What if you don't wake? Breakfast? Gotta feed you hearty to kickstart your brain."
"I'll handle it. Don't worry."
"No! I'll wake you for sure!"
Resolute eyes. …Please let my eardrums survive tomorrow.
I prayed silently.
============================
Dawn, 4 AM.
Rustle.
"…"
I sensed movement. Cracked an eye.
Elma. Still up. Pacing around the bed.
Tip-toeing. Checking clocks now and then, tucking my blanket to my chin.
Not sleeping, huh.
Almost called out. But didn't want to disturb.
5 AM.
"Ugh…"
Tiny yawn. I peeked again.
Elma perched on the sofa. Head nodding. But forcing eyes wide. Pinching her thighs.
Idiot.
My chest ached. For professor pride, husband's exam? Going this far.
6 AM.
Elma staggered. Limit hit?
She leaned toward me.
"Honey…"
Whisper. "Gotta get up… eat breakfast…"
Trying to wake me? More sleep-talk.
"Whatcha want…? Rolled omelet…? Or bacon…?"
Hand reached. Paused mid-air before shaking my shoulder.
Wobble.
"Hnyaam…"
Thud. Collapsed. Onto my chest.
Out cold. The end of the tiny soldier's all-night watch.