You take a moment to process just what has happened to you - shrinking inexplicably on the way to your beach side rendezvous - then nearly being eaten alive by her, and then miraculously found - only to be rolled around under fet sandy feet, stuffed in her sandals, and finally, stashed in her cleavage.

It was just your luck - you tried to wriggle free, but Sloane’s soft chest was pressing against you on all sides. You can see the light of the setting sun far above, past the soft curve of her breasts that towered over you like looming canyon walls.

“Akaw, lil’ dude - you cozy?” Sloane speaks down to her chest with a giggle. “Thank you for choosing Air Sloane, haha!” She says, cracking herself up and drowning out your protests. You can feel her voice rumbling behind you, shaking all around you as she takes a minute to laugh at her own joke. Your poor tiny senses were bombarded with the essence of her, the smell of her body wash - something citrus-scented? It had been a while since her last shower, so you couldn’t be certain. The natural scent of her body, the heat of her skin, the scent of sea-spray and sweat from the hot day all mingling around you to form the unique scent of the surfer girl’s cleavage.

And then she started to walk. The first step made you lose your tenuous perch on the curve of her breasts, and you fell bit by bit deeper into her chest with every step, until you were essentially pinned on all sides by the sun-kissed flesh of her breasts - you take a moment to recognize that Sloane must do a good deal of topless tanning - all of her body seemed to be that same shade of golden tan. She started to hum to herself again, drumming in air as she totally zoned out walking, obviously forgetting all about you as the beads of sweat caught the last rays of sun, sloping gently down the curve of her breast to roll into your tiny form, soaking your clothes and hair in her perspiration. The heat only grew as you slipped further down, and your wriggles seemed to remind Sloane that you were, in fact, still there in her top.

“Ch’yeah, little dude! You like my singing, dancin’ round in there?” She says, and presses her hands to her chest, squishing her boobs together and smothering you in her hot tits as she walks. “We’re almost there, sit tight, broski.” She says, and rubs you up and down inside her tight cleavage canyon once more.

You were smushed rather thoroughly by her impromptu massage, cramped in the hot pocket of sweaty bosom as the sun sets, leaving you in the twilight half-dark of Sloane’s top. It was hot - and judging by her breathing, she was walking pretty fast, or maybe up an incline? You couldn’t tell much for certain, given your humble abode - it might have been quite nice, if you hadn’t been so worried that Sloane was totally unconcerned at your doll-sized body.

She takes a moment to catch her breath, running her fingers through her hair with a sigh. You can feel the rise and fall of her chest all around you, and the heat from her body as she worked up a bit of a sweat - wherever it was she was taking you for the next part of your “date” - you had a feeling you would find out sooner rather than later.

It wasn’t long you had to wait - soon, Sloane’s fingers were clumsily digging around in her cleavage, searching for your shrunken form. Eventually, they manage to find you, grabbing you by the shoulders and pulling you up from the hot canyon between her breasts, into the open air.
“Whoah, little dude! You really got in there, huh?” Sloane asks with a bit of laughter in her voice, poking at you with her free hand. She lets you fall into her open palm, and you take your first breath in what felt like ages that didn’t smell like concentrated Sloane.

Night had just fallen, and you blink slowly as you roll your shoulders and stretch your legs on the plain of tanned skin that was the surfer girl’s open palm, working out the kinks and cramps from being crammed in Sloane’s top like a wad of loose cash.

Before you can protest the manner in which Sloane had decided to transport you, she continues on without a moment of hesitation. “So like, this is my fave spot for miles, little dude!” She says, brushing her hair back with one hand as she swings you around to see. “Peep that view, cuz!” She says with a soft exhalation and a wide grin on her face, as if proudly displaying her own handiwork. You had to admit - it was pretty spectacular. You could see down the entire coastline from up here - the lights of the small town were all slowly flicking on as the sun finished setting, glimmering in the growing darkness and reflecting along the waves of the shore, the water like a glossy black mirror - if you hadn’t been reduced to a fraction of an inch tall, this probably would be the perfect date spot. For a brief moment, you almost forgot about your uniquely troubling circumstance entirely.

Sloane seemed to be equally enraptured, looking out over the bluffs and hearing the waves crash on the rocky cliff sides alongside you - it was strangely peaceful, all things considered.

Sloan turns the tanned palm to face her, and you can see her grin take up your field of view. “Alright, since you bought the hot dogs - you can sneak one kiss.” Sloane snickers before bringing her palm up to her face at high speed, her lips looming in front of you, approaching fast. Before you can even blink, you are pressed against the soft lips, the scent of cheap strawberry chapstick rolling over you like a wave, the soft flesh pinning you against the tan skin of the surfer girl’s palm - you were pressed, spread-eagle, into the slightly tacky surface of her plush lips, the heat and moisture from her lips making you squirm against her advances.

You hear the peeling sound of her skin breaking away from you, where you weren’t covered by your clothes, that is - the sound filling your ears like a wet paint roller, leaving you suffused with the scent of her strawberry lip balm. The scent of her breath washes over you, still smelling faintly of the hot dogs she had scarfed down earlier. You hear her suppress a giggle. “Wow, you’re a pretty good kisser for a little dude, huh?” Sloane flashes down a carefree grin, before you hear the ding of her phone.

“Oh, snap!” She exclaims, and you’re momentarily worried she may drop you to the dirt while she scrambles for her phone, forgetful as she has been so far - but your luck holds, and she merely clasps you in a loose fist, surrounding you with her skin on all sides as she fishes her phone free with her other hand. “I totes forgot I was supposed to check in with my roommate if the date ran long - yanno, so I don’t get kidnapped, or whatever?” Sloane says, offhandedly - and the irony of the fact that she had basically kidnapped you seems utterly lost on her.

“Mmkay lil’ brah, I need both hands to text.” Sloan says, looking around for a moment before lifting up her arm and shoving you underneath it. You don’t have any time to protest the unfortunate location before the floral fabric of her short-sleeved shirt comes back down, sealing you in the darkness underneath her arm. You quickly realize that while the shirt may look floral - it smells pretty far from it, the scent of Sloane’s natural body odor having suffused into the shirt after who knew how many days of repeated wear, and her trek up the mountainside having made it all the more fresh to experience, your tiny senses given a front-row seat to the lazy beach going girl’s armpit.

She feels you squirming in discomfort, the thick, heavy scent of her sweat and body lotion mingling with the sea spray and the scent of some long-forgotten deodorant stick she had slapped on some time ago. “Hah, come on lil’ dude! I’m ticklish!” She says with a laugh, clenching her arm to her side hard and sealing you even tighter in the cramped pocket of her pit, surrounding you on all sides with hot, damp fabric that seemed to ooze sweat as you gasped for fresh air, finding none. You had come here hoping for a nice date, and wound up crammed in the armpit of a ditzy surfer girl, her fingers tapping away at her phone, totally oblivious to your plight in the virtual sauna that she had made for you with her underarm.

She talks to herself absentmindedly above, and you can hear her voice, slightly muffled by the flesh surrounding you, pressing you into the damp pocket of fabric that further mussed up your hair and moistened your face with an entirely different cocktail of sweat and bodily odor. “Not… murdered…” She says, her fingers tapping idly on the screen of her phone - “Might bring him back to the pad, if u want to meet him - I think you’ll like him….” She laughs. “Lil dude, should I do a winky face, or just like, let her guess? I think she’ll flip, it’s gonna be so rad.” Sloane says, talking to you as if you weren’t currently jammed face-first into her sweaty armpit, tapping out her winky face on the screen.

“Oh, sorry about the B.O, lil’ brah - Work hard, play hard, yanno?” She says, her fingers clasping around your ankle and pulling you out to dangle in front of her face as she grins. “Wanna meet my roomie? She’s like, super chill, if you’re not in the ring with her!” Sloane snorts at her own joke, confusing you. “C’mon, she’ll love you! I’m so stoked.” She says, and dangles you by the leg as she smiles. She squints at you as if trying to make out what you’re saying - before tossing her hand up nonchalantly. “Sorry lil’ dude - I can’t hear you over the surf, so we’re gonna just get going, kay?” She says with a laid-back smile, and then bends down to kick off one sandal. You were about to be given a front row seat to Sloane’s soles after her hike up a mountain - like it or not. Sloane flashes her trademark grin as she tosses you gently into the dark imprint made by the ball of her foot, already checking her phone before you even hit the sandal, laughing as she taps out a reply, her toes curling in the air above you like tan tree trunks.

You don’t have much time to adjust yourself before the heat of Sloane’s foot grows stronger - sliding her sole back over the imprint it had made through who knew how many years of wear and tear, bulldozing you like a tsunami made of sea salt and sweaty foot flesh. Any pleas you would have been able to squeak out at that point were thoroughly drowned out by the squeaking of the worn out faux leather on her skin, the rasping of the slightly calloused heel as it settled down into the old, familiar crater it had worn in the comfortable sandal, the surfer chick already teasing her roomate with the vague surprise she had for her - trying not to ruin it before she got back, because she wanted to see her face!

You, however, weren’t privy to any of that - your world had been utterly replaced with a shifting mass of slightly sweaty, dusty, utterly overwhelming tan sole, the soft wrinkles pressing down on you and flattening you out against the insole, suffusing you with the essence of the beach bum’s soles. You were getting to know your date a lot better than you had ever expected to - up close and personal was an understatement.  Sloane had already checked out, tapping on her phone as she took a few more steps down the slope of the now dark mountain - it was a miracle she didn’t slip and fall, given how little care she seemed to pay to her surroundings.

You, meanwhile, were treated to the very leisurely pace that your date decided to take home -  giving you a front row seat to the absolutely unstoppable mass of her bare, dusty sole. Your shouts of protest were growing less polite as the sun tanned flesh slowly tenderized you as if you were nothing more than a pebble under your date’s foot.

SLAM

THWAP

SLAM

The process repeated for what felt like hours - even though it was probably only about 25 minutes before Sloane finally arrived at her apartment, a small collection of rooms not far from the college. For a moment, she goes about her routine as if you weren’t even there-  tossing her keys in a pile of junk by the door, stretching and making herself at home in the messy apartment.

“Oh shit, that’s right!” She exclaims, kicking off her sandal to see you plastered quite thoroughly to the dark print made by her sole. “Max is gonna flip!” She giggles, peeling you off like a sticker with two fingers as she excitedly hops into the next room.

She shuffled in to reveal a living room space decorated with a large number of posters plastered on the walls - all sorts of bands, surf contests, and live music events mingling with promotional flyers for MMA fights, boxing matches, and famous athletes. What a strange combination - but most striking was the girl in the center of the room - standing in a small circle cleared of clutter with a pair of weights on the floor.

That must be Max - she was wearing nothing but a pair of tight shorts and a blue sports bra, skin noticeably a little shiny with perspiration as she knocked back a water bottle with an audible gulp. Sloane wasn’t out of shape or anything - but this girl made her look like a couch potato by comparison, her abs visible as they caught the light from the ceiling fan, the defined musculature making her look more imposing than she actually was - you had to remind yourself that she wasn't’ some giant, towering figure - you were just small.  Her hair was strawberry blonde with slightly darker roots, cut to a rather short length and curling into a nest atop her head, strands here and there sticking to her forehead from sweat. She wipes her brow with the back of one hand, squirting water into her open mouth from a sports bottle.

“So? What was so crazy I just had to see it?” Max asks, rolling her shoulders as she sets down her bottle. Sloane was practically bursting to unveil you, her fist clenching tightly around your tiny form. Without further ado, she opens her palm like a proud child with a prize, displaying you to her roommate.

Max blinks once, leaning in to get a better look, her blue-grey eyes focusing on your tiny form. She squints, and Sloane bounces on the balls of her feet. “He’s a real tiny dude! Isn’t that gnarly?”

Max blinks, and then reaches out a hand - which you are promptly dumped into without a care. Max’s hand was a bit larger than Sloane’s - and noticeably a bit tougher under your tiny body. The scent was altogether different as well, the beachy smell and fruity lotions replaced with a mist of hardworking sweat and a metallic  scent from the weights she had been handling. Her fingers curled in a little, penning you in as she brings her other hand around to cup you on the surface. Her fingertip curls up and presses you flat against her still-sweaty palm.

“Can it talk?” She asks, nonchalantly, as if Sloane had brought home a parrot from the pet store and not a shrunken person - your hopes of being helped back to normal size were, fittingly - looking to be about as small as you were. This girl was already calling you an “it”!

Sloane waves her hand in the air. “Kinda? Like, he squeaks a lot but I didn’t really listen because it’s kind of hard, yannow?” She shrugs. “Oh, but! You can, like,  totally hang out with him for a bit if you want, cause I gotta hit the showers!” She says, and Max shrugs her assent.

“Sure, I guess.” She says, nonchalantly. Sloane bounds off to the bathroom, where you soon hear the hiss of running water. As you start to protest your treatment to Max, she holds up a finger, silencing you. “Whatever you’re squeaking about down there can wait, pipsqueak - I haven’t finished my reps yet, so you’re gonna help me.” She says matter-of-factly, sitting cross-legged on the slightly dingy apartment carpet.

Without further ado, she plucks you up by the torso with her forefinger and thumb, leaning back, and tosses you onto her stomach. You hit the plain of tight, hot flesh with a slight bounce, feeling her muscles move under you as you roll down the moist surface, coming to rest in the crease of her well-toned abs.

“There you go - now I won’t lose you. Maybe you can get some exercise too, while I’m at it.” She says, and lays on her back.

Max starts in to a slow controlled crunch, her abs flexing beneath you, feeling like a thick, steel cord at your size. You cling to the slick skin, but start to slide down into the crease formed by her bending - and then she starts to fire off situps. You find your poor body smashed between the walls of her hard abs, sandwiched between two sweaty walls of flesh that were far harder than the treatment you received between Sloane’s soft breasts. Max showed no signs of slowing down, either, starting to break a sweat as she exhaled in time with her sit ups, the powerful crunches making it feel like you’d be smeared into paste on her toned abs.

Mercifully, you seem to stay intact - at least for now, as Max finishes up her set, taking a breather - the faint sheen of sweat on her muscular form caught the light and almost seemed to make her glitter a bit as she shot a stream of water from her sports bottle into her mouth, a little dripping down her chin like some sort of naturally formed waterfall, splattering on her sports bra above like a rainstorm. She wipes her chin with the back of her hand, and you catch a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of nose you hadn’t noticed before. She flashes a grin down at you.

“You look like you could use some exercise, anyway, shrimp.” She says, laughing a little to herself, shaking your whole world as you cling to the hot abs beneath you.

Your ears were ringing a little from the chaotic treatment, head swimming - but Max was far from finished. She tosses her bottle back on the coffee table with a clank, and stretches her arms wide. “Ready for the next set?” She asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer, lunging forward with surprising speed and clutching you up in her hand. “Just kidding! They don’t ask you if you’re ready in the ring, so I don’t either.” She asserts, and swivels on her hips to lie sideways. “For this next one, you might as well make yourself useful - I’m going to do clamshells, and you’re going to be my resistance, okay?” She says, as if the very idea was hilarious to her. She lies on one side, and bends her knees a bit, tossing you down against the wide plain of skin on her left thigh. She was a bit paler than Sloane, but that was pretty far from your mind at the moment - there was a slight lip where her tight lycra shorts met her toned thighs, just above where she had set you. Above you was her other leg - hovering at a 45 degree angle like a guillotine ready to come down on you.

“Alright pipsqueak, I’m not going easy.” She says, and without further delay, lets her thigh fall down on you like an avalanche. It was soft and smooth, but underneath it was that same hard, strong muscle that she had worked so hard to cultivate. Your cries of protest were quickly and effectively smothered out by the tomboy’s sweaty thigh as she pressed them together, utterly erasing you from sight in the canyon of soft skin. You were flattened like a pancake in moments, unable to find any purchase on the slippery flesh, your entire body totally overpowered by the simple motion of her exercise.

Max, however, was totally in the zone. Having a tiny exercise buddy wasn’t half bad, she thought - and it seemed to tickle some part of her brain that she hadn’t expected it to. It might be a pretty good way to motivate her to go that extra mile, right?

Of course, you were providing some very lackluster resistance for her leg raises - as the girl’s thighs parted with a slightly tacky sound, you found yourself totally plastered to the top thigh, held there like a sticker from the heat and pressure - and then, it came back down, smothering you in the realm of thick thighs once more. You could barely even breathe! The world became a while of pressure, heat, motion and overwhelmingly powerful thighs - you started to lose count of how many times they had slammed you together, losing track of where you were as you stuck to one and then the other - your head dizzy from the heavy scent of a rubber workout mat, sweat, and Max’s own signature scent.

Just as you think you’re about to pass out from the intensity, she finishes her last rep - and promptly switches sides, without even a break!

SLAM

You were totally ignored as the toned tomboy worked out, her eyes on the prize -unlike Sloane, you got the feeling that she definitely remembered you were there - she didn’t care. After all, she had more important things on her mind, like finishing her set, her exhibition match tomorrow - really, anything other than you seemed higher on her list.

SLAM

You start to see stars, your whole world filling with the taste of copper and the scent of Max’s workout sweat, and you shout as loud as you can- only to be totally muffled by the muscular thighs as they close around you, trapping you in darkness once more.

You actually do pass out - not for long, but the next thing you notice is a finger roughly jabbing you in the ribs. “Wow, you’re kind of a wuss, huh?” Max’s voice rings out, her tone sounding like she was actually surprised at how easily you went down.

“That was just the warmup, pipsqeuak. Looks like you and I have a lot more work to do, huh?” She says, snickering as she peels you off of her thigh. With her free hand, she shoots another stream of water into her mouth with a loud gulp - then, seemign to think again, swishes a little around and leans over you.

“Here-” she says, mouth full of water.

PHTOO -

She spits out a thick droplet of second-hand water down at you, before you can even process what she was up to- the lukewarm combination of her saliva and the liquid hits you like a water balloon, full on in the face - and you do indeed get some in your mouth, but you’d hardly call it refreshing - soaking your clothes yet again.

Max can’t help but let loose a snorting laugh as she sees you reel back. “I can’t make out all the squeaking, so I’m gonna assume you’re saying thanks, shrimp - and you’re welcome.” She grins wide, beaming.

You splutter and cough, the water cannon having woken you from your daze - just in time to hear the shower turn off. Sloane was just finishing up her shower - who knew what fate had in store for you next?