Ariana stared at the team captain, frozen in her squat, thrusting her hips at the tiny little man like a weapon. She had good curves, good tone, pretty skin, but she seriously wielded it all like a weapon of violence. This was something Ariana knew she could not do, herself. Bad enough she nearly smothered that little fucker under her ass, and only because Jenice forced her to. If it was up to her…
Shit, if it was up to her, she’d be on a normal fucking volleyball team that didn’t bully anyone and certainly never found itself crouched around this supernaturally weird little fucker. If it was up to her, she’d be asleep in bed right now. She’d be anywhere else in the world, not wedged between tormentor and tormented like this.
Frances could hold that squat for a very long time. When she worked out, upper-body day was full of squats and lunges; lower-body day was tantamount to manslaughter. Frances had as little tolerance for the weakness of her own body as she did for other people in general, altogether. To say she was goal-focused was an uninformed oversimplification, but also a concise summary. Frances had a vision in her head, only partially glimpsed by various of her teammates, and she dragged her own body toward that vision as though she were leagues underwater and running out of air.
Squatting over a little man was nothing. She could hold this position for an hour, corded thighs bulging, without even a tremble. She could, but she wouldn’t. The tiny man would obey her orders, or she’d bring her firm, unforgiving ass down on him. She had no idea that Jenice had done the same thing, mushing him around with her pony buttocks, nor that he’d been buried under Ariana’s gluteal planetoids, stuffed deep within them for an extended period. None of that mattered: she told the little man to worship her, and she was counting down in her head.
“You’re really taking to this naturally,” Jenice said carefully. “You’re not surprised to see a tiny man at all, like we were. We were freaked out at first, but you… it’s like you were expecting him.”
Frances did not look at her. “He must be here to worship me. There’s no other explanation. I’m a powerful, beautiful woman, and he has come to me so I can force myself upon him and make others understand. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Jenice had nothing to say to that. Who was to say otherwise?
It did not surprise or disappoint her to feel tiny hands stroking the inner curves of her buttocks. It was nothing more than the fulfillment of an order. The shrunken man stood up beneath her, engulfed in her shadow, and stabilized himself on the wrinkled vinyl upholstery to reach up and rub her immense ass. Not as large as Ariana’s, of course, but even one as small as Jenice’s looked gigantic to him.
He rubbed her attentively, hoping this was the way out. He ran his palms down the valley where her inner butt cheek gave way to the slight rise of her pussy. Usually this was an acute triangle of pale skin where the sun couldn’t reach, but Frances didn’t fuck around with tanning. Everything was an even, delectable milky caramel hue, even in the deepest crevices. You did something right or not at all, in her mind; you didn’t accept the flaws and try to dress them up as beautiful in their own way. You did it right. The tiny man had to appreciate this, even in the midst of his own terror, that her skin was attended to and uniformly colored, all the way down to her reproductive organs, which now held above him like a low ceiling in a prison cell.
His fingers nonetheless picked out the stubble from an incredibly close shave two days ago. She couldn’t control whether her skin when goose-pimply in this air, baring her ass to a complete stranger, and his tiny fingertips bumped over the raised follicles. On either side of him, her pert, developed butt cheeks hovered like an unspoken threat; to break and dart under them would surely invite their immediate descent.
So he returned to his work, stroking and stretching up to kiss the sweet, cultivated skin in places, because what choice was there. “Worship me” could mean anything, and Frances didn’t seem like the explaining type, so he could only interpret it in the broadest terms, stroking her curves adoringly and placing kisses to demonstrate the adoration her ass inspired. Sometimes his hands ran a little too close to the thick labia that piled up on either side of her thong, and sometimes his hands ran over them. The giantess didn’t react as his light, ticklish fingertips ran over the wrinkles and stubble, tracing the lines between follicles and caressing the outer curve of her skin.
Sometimes his fingers crept a little too close to the radial pucker of her anus, which was shaved, bleached, and tanned to a degree of perfection that screamed money. Still, the ceiling of giantess hips never registered a rebuking twitch or shudder, no matter how nearly he dared slip his fingers. The sphincter was hidden behind the rolled thong, but the wrinkles spread out clearly around it, and he could gingerly touch these without any reaction. Should he? Was this what she meant, when she said “worship me” and thrust her ass at him? It was impossible to tell, but so far he wasn’t killed for fondling her anal wrinkles. It was a dizzying, tantalizing moment cut short by the lightning-quick strike of her hand, and he found himself couched in her palm, lying before her broad, tall face.
“Who told you to get a hardon,” she growled, and he realized his cock was pointing at her eyes. The tiny man covered himself with both hands. It felt very good, as frightened as he was, and he tried to estimate how much it would piss her off if he milked his cock right now. After all, she had a lovely face with high cheekbones, shaped eyebrows curving over wise Scand eyelids, and a long, thin nose that butted cutely over rosy, bee-stung lips that pouted and pushed very close to where he lay in her hands.
“Nasty little creep. Disgusting. I told you to worship my ass, not to get hard.” Her thumbs unfolded from either side and pried his forearms away from his body, pinned them into her palms. The tiny man stammered a quiet apology, unheeded by the Scandinavian giantess. She glowered at him, lower eyelids swelling contemptuously, and brought him closer to her face. Her puffy, perfect lips sucked his cock up, and it was lost immediately between folds of tender, warm tissue. Her mouth clenched and puckered, pressing as well as it could against the mere sliver of a sexual member. Her nose rhythmically gusted warm air upon his body, raising sensitive, shy goosebumps up and down his entire length, and her glacial blue eyes stared unblinking upon him.
Her lips broke from pulsing and her large head reared. “Disgusting. You perverted little freak. You shouldn’t be enjoying this, you fucking asshole.” Immediately her lips pinched his cock once more, pulsing and tugging at him. His arms apprehended, he could only drive his head back into her palm and moan, full-throatedly and loudly. Louder, when the hot, slick tip of her tongue peeked through her lips to swipe across the head of his cock. His fists flexed and clawed at her palms, his thighs clenched and his heels dug at her skin, while the gigantic woman dragged hundreds of tastebuds over his cock, under it, over the end, slowly probing around the sides. She pulled back—“you sad, sorry, faithless fucker, you little piece of trash”—and latched onto his erection again, shoving the tip of her tongue irresistibly between his thighs, wedging his legs apart as it nudged painfully into his balls and sought out his tiny butt.
“I can’t believe you,” she breathed upon him, and he stared horrified into her dancing lips, her clashing teeth, the inky void behind these. “You’re a disgusting pervert. I should crush you like a cigarette butt and throw you in the fucking trash. I wouldn’t even use you to wipe my ass, you vile, shameful human refuse.” Now her tongue poured out and widened and covered him almost entirely. Frances lapped at him ruthlessly, dragging her tongue up from his tiny feet, flattening his legs no matter how he bucked, smothering his chest and shoulders and entire face. She lapped at him repeatedly, licking off his sweat and salt and working hard at his skin. When his face wasn’t covered with the film building up between her tastebuds, he stared into the flexing vortex of her throat, listened to the roar of her breath surrounding his head, issuing up from her unimaginable depths. Terrified he was, watching that yawning chasm stretch open for him, and then thrilled with the incredible sensation of this young woman’s tongue ravishing every square inch of his body, finished with more insults about how embarrassing and repulsive he was, and then all over again.
Frances scowled at the little man, writhing himself into knots with mounting, unexpressed arousal. “You sicken me,” she spat, and abruptly tugged her waistbands open and dropped him down the front of her panties, scrupling not to arrange him with any care. “Jenice, you come with me.” She turned on her heel and sidled into the last seat on the bus, behind Rachael. Jenice nearly jumped after her, only barely remembering to play it cool. She noticed the car behind the bus was still maintaining a safe distance. She tucked her short skirt under herself and looked at her captain, awaiting the next order. With only a nod from her captain, she pulled out her phone and signaled the rest of the team to step up and form a barrier.
Rachael gasped with the relief of Dee-Dee’s weight lifting from her. Her arms ached badly, and they tingled with blood returning to its normal flow, but she was free now. Not so free she could run up to the front of the bus and alert the chaperons, but she could wiggle around and sit up, alleviating the cramps up and down her spine. The three women formed an unassailable wall. They wouldn’t have to lift a hand to stop her, with the simple physical force of their bodies. Three women clearly guarding something in the back of the bus should’ve been a warning flag to everyone else, but most people were asleep and most were trained to ignore this group of young women. It just wasn’t worth it to interfere.
With her new freedom, all Rachael could do was kneel on her seat and peek behind her. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Frances, but please, I really need to get that little man back,” she wanted to say, but the scene tore the words from her throat. Frances slumped into the corner of the seat, having pulled her tights and underwear down around one graceful foot, hanging off the bus seat. The other shapely leg peaked up behind Jenice, who leaned into Frances’s crotch with her good camera, framing the perfect shot of Frances’s long, elegant fingers slowly rubbing the shrunken man up and down her lips.