As the music wore on, giant legs started to hem me in from
all sides. Oscillating body parts twisted and turned around past me, knocking
into me, sending me spinning away again. Half the time the body parts didn’t
belong to my fiancée. I bounced off foreign shoulders, breasts, stomachs and
thighs.
Airborne fingers extended to poke me, sending me swinging
around in mid-air. Jennifer’s irritation at the unwelcome attention peaked, and
then we broke away from the ocean of bodies and were weaving through the crowd
as she moved off the mosh to the seats at the side, and reclining in one, not
resting but watchful.
My body came to rest on the brawny floor of her
pressed-together thighs, but only for an instant as I was progressively winched
up into the air as she wound the dangling strings tighter around her palm,
until her palm hovered low overhead like a huge sunshade, leaving me very
little dangle room.
She leaned forward in her seat. Suddenly I was diving
through the air like a dying insect as she reached with both hands for her bag.
My body careened into the side of the soft leather, lifted again for the bag to
plop onto her lap.
I kicked and groaned as my tiny body dragged against the
leather, feeling like an incidental accessory that happened to be attached to
her hand, like some keys.
“PATIENCE, LITTLE LOVER,” she assured me.
Then I was thrust down into a dark cauldron suffused with
creamy lotion smells. Plastic containers and tubes and packets slapped me in
the face and jabbed into my torso as her hand searched around. With my arms stretched
up over my head, my soft belly and sides were cruelly vulnerable to pounding by
hard lid edges and pole-like depilatory wands and cosmetic instruments. Air
leaked out of my lungs.
Suddenly I was soaring again, and stabilized in front of her
face, and the dancing lime lasers lit up the whites of her eyes, which were
widened in earnest surprise.
“SLIP OF THE HAND,” she said in an alcohol-smoothed tone. She
hadn’t meant to thrust me into the bag, it had happened by instinct.
Then she noticed my hand at my side, rubbing gingerly. Her
pinky finger raised and tenderly waved my hand away, giving my insulted stomach
muscles a soft poke.
“LET ME TAKE A LITTLE LOOK, TOUGH GUY.”
“I’m okay.”
“WHAT IF I TAKE THE STRING OFF?” she offered.
She reached into her bag again (with her other hand) and
held a shining steel pair of tiny scissors. My muscles stiffened in alarm, but
presented my wrists to her to delicately snip the binds off.
Then her nails swept around to my back and began to scratch
and pinch gently – the sharp edges prickling my shoulders – until the Velcro
seam tore apart. Hooking a nail into the back to stretch it up, she lifted and
pulled at the stretchy fabric to help me de-clothe. To stabilize me, two
fingers and a thumb automatically tightened around my midsection, placing
strain on my tender stomach. I winced and she loosened her grip.
Even with my chest exposed, she continued to tug, until the
costume legs slipped free and I was left quivering and naked against her hand.
She directed a flick at the tip of my member.
“I WAS RIGHT – COMMANDO,” she said, and, not entirely
seriously: “YOU’RE BRAVER THAN I AM.”
Then her soft fingertips were sweeping around my front,
pushing in soft circular motions, testing for sensitivity. Wherever there was a
sensitive spot, the muscles twitched and trembled, and it caused my back to
arch in discomfort.
Keeping me still on her lap, her hand disappeared into her
bag again. I wondered if she was retrieving me a painkiller, but instead she pulled
out a tube of pink guava lip balm and, twisting the top off, ran it swiftly
over her lips. I should have taken this as an ominous sign but I was too
distracted figuring out how to get my costume back; it was balled up in the
fist that poised the balm in front of her pursed lips.
Without warning, her ring hand lifted, yanking me up into
the air, and with precision, directing my face to land on the tight moist bud
of her puckered lips with a wet squish. At contact, her lips pulsed and
contracted like flexing muscles, latching onto my face, pinching and smacking
to test the balm, and probably also attempt to distract me from my stomach pain.
I had only just enough time to shut my eyes before the monstrous sucking masses
applied itself to my forehead and began sucking with enough force to scrunch my
brow. It felt like some alien orifice had attached around my head and was
trying to suck my brain out through my mouth.
Meanwhile, her head was tilting back, and back, jaw angling
upwards, and I had no idea…
Suddenly
the moist supple bulwarks weren’t there anymore. They parted like an air vent
flipping open. I was poised over her face with my ankles clasped, hanging in
mid-air. For an instant I was tipped down like this, my chin balanced
delicately on the tip of her tongue, which flicked rapidly like a snake’s
tongue against my throat, tickling mischievously. The balm oiled opening
stretched wider. Then I was bob sledding down the chute of her curled tongue,
pulled inexorably into the darkness. I let out a surprised squeak before her
tongue pushed up into my stomach, clamping me against the soft, wet ridged
palate, snuffing out my cry.
With her
lips shut, it was pitch black inside her mouth, yet there was a paradoxical
feeling of constant surveillance, a sense of all-seeing gaze that lay me out,
totally exposed. Everything I came into contact with – from my palms, the soles
of my feet, my butt – was sending her immediate signals of where I was, what I
was doing, how my body was positioned inside her. There was nowhere I could go
to escape her, and she enjoyed an omniscient awareness of every move I made. I
was like a stone in her shoe; impossible for her to forget I'm there.
Everything felt magnified, scandalous by the fact no one could see me. I was a
plaything for her tongue, flipped over at whim, idly explored and enjoyed
without apology.
The weight
of the beefy wet muscle on me was sensual and hot as it traced all over my
body. When it wanted access to anatomy out of reach, I was bucked and flipped
over without warning, or scooped out of her cheek and swished about, head over
feet, gargling a wave of thick saliva before hitting the opposite side of her
mouth, and sticking in place behind the wall of molars.
For fun,
she tried tucking me underneath her tongue, and then delicately holding me
sideways in place between the row of her incisors, running the tip of her
tongue from my temple, down my body to my foot.
She made
great sucking motions as if to click her tongue, and the oral walls squeezed me
in and out like a squishy toy, putting my muscular tension to the test, working
my flexibility to the limit until joints creaked and my vertebrae strained.
Then a wall of shadow fell over me as the oral entrance closed again, shutting
me away in a dark, humid prison with no easy means of escape.
The
internal heating system roared to life with her exhalations, warm air stirred
up from her lungs and rushed at me, condensing over my flesh with clammy mist. Every
time she exhaled it puffed my lungs up with her warm, second-hand air, and
every time she inhaled, it felt like my airways were being pinched shut as the
air was suctioned out again. It was as if she had taken control of my
breathing, carrying the air in and out of my lungs.
The air in
this hot confine became weighted with moisture as it collected saliva, and this
airborne moisture was also packed inside my lungs, which I had to cough and
spit up.
Then the
enormous grainy mound of her tongue unexpectedly tensed, reaching up and easily
batting me to one side of the mouth. My back hit the inside of a cheek, skin
sticking with a small wet squelch. For a moment my soft bare body moulded to
the inside of her cheek like a wet tissue, before sliding down. I curled into a
ball as drops of saliva rained down the moist walls of her mouth, rolling over
me in waves, conspiring to glue me in place.
She must
have re-joined the dancing, I was stuck in place for some time, and it didn’t
necessarily get any easier or more comfortable. She liked me to be packed in
her cheek like a tight wad so her mouth was free for other things – drinking
and making out with guys.
Her loud
heavy breathing gusted around the inside of her mouth like a great wind
preceding a storm. I soon grew very warm and wet, as my skin softened and
wrinkled, which seemed to only mould me even more against the inside of her
cheek. Unfortunately, this correspondingly made me even more comfortable for
her to carry inside her mouth, slightly squishy and flexible. The tip of her
tongue entertained itself by pushing against different parts of my body,
satisfying itself with the give of my puny body to the strength of the oral
muscle.
My brain
tuned out while an unknown period of time passed. The monotony of my
predicament was muted with some light sleep, distracted by a dream I was back
in my bedroom, normal size. My carefree slumber was ripped apart by a groaning
sound that tumbled out of the unseen throat somewhere behind me. I awoke with a
snap, remembering where I was, and some dread washed over me again.
The groan
was not her voice, but something else, not so friendly…
It came
again: a rumbling, bestial growl and the air at my back seemed to flare and sizzle
as if a furnace door had opened up. In a span of nanoseconds a burst of gaseous
pressure pumped into my sinuses and the airspaces in my head, like my head was
swelling and going to explode, leaving my temples throbbing.
“Whoa,” I
gasped, holding my head between my hands, giving myself my crushing massage.
“Don’t do that again.”
The rows of
teeth divided as she spoke, letting in flashes of laser beamed dancing body
parts.
“AW, DID I MAKE
YOU JUMP?” she said, treating me to disappointingly brief views of the outside
world from between her two rows of teeth as she uttered words. “JUST THOUGHT
YOU WERE GETTING A LITTLE COLD IN THERE.”
“Well, that was a whole blowtorch of heat.”
Refreshingly
cool air rushed in as the lips parted to speak again. The movement of her jaws
as she spoke was unnerving, as it simulated a munching motion. I pulled my body
tighter to ensure I was all clear of her snapping molars.
“ACTUALLY,
I WAS TRYING TO PUFF YOU UP AND POP YOU; BECAUSE, SEE, FOR A SECOND I CONFUSED
YOU FOR A TINY HUNK OF BUBBLEGUM. YOU’RE SO TIGHT JAMMED IN THERE.”
“Yeah,
tight,” I scoffed. “I’m clapped up in a brazen bull. And you’re cooking me
alive even before I hit your stomach juices.”
Her tongue
swung at me, accidentally battering my head into her rubbery cheek pouch and
causing it to rebound, as the wet muscular mass tried to drape itself across my
shoulders in a consoling way.
“OH,
LIGHTEN UP. IT WAS JUST A LITTLE HICCUP. SIT BACK AND LET ME STROKE ALL YOUR
PROBLEMS AWAY...”
I grimaced. That was bullshit. It was a burp.
“If that was a hiccup, then I—mmf.”
The tip of
her tongue flattened itself over my face and pressed hard, squashing my head
against her inside cheek, extinguishing my voice. Once satisfied I’d abandoned
my argument, the tongue retracted again, settling back in the center of the
cavernous mouth.
But the
sudden aromatic airbursts happened several other times, particularly as she
continued to ingest the alcohol and spill back more fuel onto the metaphorical
fire. And every time caused a small gaseous explosion of rapid air compression
behind my eyeballs, causing them to water. The hot fizzling air didn’t just
light up the sensitive nerve pathways in my nasal cavities, but rapidly
expanded my windpipe and lungs to painful capacity, until my whole body seemed
to be stinging. It was the sharp pain of carbonated bubbles shooting up the
nostrils, but across my entire body. If she’d just opened her mouth, it would
have prevented the explosive, rapid-fire compression that tore through my body
tissues. But every time, she held her closed mouth against her hand. Her desire
for discretion trumped my comfort and caused me major, literal headaches.
“Open your
mouth!” I screamed in pain, after the fourth time in fifteen minutes.
“WHO DO YOU
TAKE ME FOR?” she shot back, oblivious to my suffering. “SOME KIND OF BOORISH INBRED?”
I groaned
in defeat, just as another burst rattled through my head, making my ears pop
“Why is
this happening?”
She mistook
it for a non-rhetorical question.
“IT’S A
THING THAT HAPPENS IF I DRINK AFTER EATING LACTOSE,” she answered in a low,
somewhat bothered voice, as if self-conscious. “NOW GET OVER IT.”
“Well, make
it stop, I—ulfff!” my voice squeaked
and died beneath the stampeding grumble of another wave of hot air, drowned out
by the sharp wet popping sound in my ears as my head fought to equalize the
intolerable pressure. My eyeballs itched painfully, feeling like they had been
on the verge of exploding.
Now so much
air had built up inside the airspaces of my thoracic cavity that my torso felt
stiff and wooden. I thumped my fist into my stomach, trying to deflate myself,
until I made myself burp.
The oral
cavern thrummed with her laughter.
“You’re
doing this!” I said, trying to burp again to relax the strain in my abdomen.
“ANY MORE
TALK AND YOU’RE A HYPOCRITE,” she said smugly, before giving my face a flick
with the tip of her tongue. Then stopped, thinking, and the tongue dropped into
my lap and began massaging my belly as she did so, unconsciously or not. I
secretly wished it would press harder to help deflate me, but then it slipped
away again so she could conclude:
“WHERE’S
THE WATER…?”
Sizzling
gas or frigid liquid? I couldn’t decide which was worse. But with all my facial
features ringing in pain, I doubted anything could be worse than another
infernal alcoholic belch. And I thought the water would extinguish what felt
like bubbles crackling inside my brain.
“Please,
yes. Anything.”
Her voice
rang through the dark chamber of her mouth as she conveyed her order over the
bar, and giving me a surreal view of the bartender’s face appearing and
disappearing repeatedly between the frame of her top and bottom teeth as she
spoke, awash in the vivid lights and flickering shadows.
Everything
went black.
Again, her
upper and lower incisors, like silhouettes of castle battlements, parted, not
to speak, but to admit the glassy edge of a tumbler to protrude in. As it
tilted, its clear contents curled over the edge like an ocean wave breaking
into her mouth. With a good mouthful sucked in, the glass edge tilted away as
the upper and lower teeth drew together, blinding me again.
There was
an ominous hissing sound as a river surged in over the tongue, and as the ocean
tide of water rolled over my body, I sucked in my breath a fraction too late
and got a nose full of freezing liquid down my throat. There was only an
instant to register I’d made a horrible mistake before my head exploded in
agony.
It was
carbonated water – explaining the hissing – and the hateful cold did not merely
pierce but snapped and bit like teeth as the bubbles burst inside my body. The
shock of the sudden temperature shift shook up my delicate epithelial tissue
into inflamed overdrive.
“Aaaargh!”
It felt
like I was being immersed in liquid nitrogen. My stomach began to convulse in a
mime of regurgitation. The icy wave lapped down my face, swishing sideways, the
immense pull of the wave threatening to wrench me sideways with it, but instead
I was hugged against the slick rock of molar wall, keeping me in place. I
spluttered underwater, then, as soon as my head was exposed again, I let out a
scream:
“Stop—!”
then the wave of bubbling frosty drink reversed direction, slapped down over my
head, dumping me under another dizzying world of mind-numbing ache. Then flipped
away, before crashing in over my head, smacking the inside cheek wall, the
flipping to the other side with a wet slapping sound, before careening back
into my face. Again, and again.
She must
have been swishing the water around, I thought dismally. Maybe she thought it
was helping me, but it was making things worse. Each cold wet slap to the face
thrust my head under a wall of frigid bubbles that sluiced up my raw,
sensitively enervated nasal passages, tearing them open with pain.
Finally the
torrent drained back towards the void at the back of the cavern, and the throat
muscles squeezed to pull the water down. The rapid compression caused by her
vacuuming swallow delivered me a walloping climax of facial nerve pain.
The tongue
searched for me in the dark, probing tip slipping under my jaw and affectionately
stroking my neck, or checking my pulse, or both.
As stars
seemed to fly around my eyes in the dark, her lips parted again, exposing a
panoramic disco lit view of the outside world, framed above and below by the
dark, crenulated ridges of teeth. At the same time, the neck of an open bottle
was pointing in at me and—
“No, no,
no!” I yelled.
--the
cavern tilted back, the bottle neck tilted down, and a pressure hose of cooled
fizzling water came spilling in at me again, dunking my head under a . It felt
like I was made of ice and someone was trying to carve me up; my head was
clanging like the worst dental surgery in the world.
I must have
passed out for an instant. When I awoke my cheek was sliding and squeaking down
the inside wall of her cheek, while something like a huge fish was flicking in
my face. It was no fish, but the tip of her tongue, probing around my neck for
my pulse again. The tongue disappeared and then there was a bass rumbling in my
bones; her voice, and as commanding as if it was booming out of the nightclub’s
sound system.
“—TO PLAY
THAT GAME?” her voice segued back mid-speech, “WELL, I CAN PLAY, TOO.”
She thought
I’d gone silent on her.
As soon as
she finished speaking, the mass of her tongue curled around and the wet tip
mashed into my face, poking me in the eye.
I wrenched
my head away, and the tip ran down my chest, brushing my groin briefly as it
identified my waist. Each stretch of my anatomy was pinpointed and palpated by
the dribbling bulk of spongy muscle. I imagined her visualizing my anatomy as
she probed me, using her ultra-sensitive tongue as the interfacing medium to
maintain a 3D map of my body in her head, a tiny model of male anatomy, helpless
but to lend itself uncomplainingly to her infelicitous exploration and
manipulation, and delight in its automatic biological responses; a quickening
heartbeat, softening, stretching muscles, and stiffening organ.
The massive
tongue touched to my hipbone and stopped. It began trying to rock my hips,
sliding beneath my butt and cantilevering my body side to side, half smushing
me into her cheek. As her tongue ran loosely around my pelvis, thrusting me, using
force to buck and bounce me, it accidentally slipped down my lower belly and
squashed my penis, sending barbs of twinging sensitivity up the shaft. I
yelped.
Suddenly
the tongue was battering all around me as if in a panic, practically smothering
me. It seemed to be trying to vigorously dislodge me from her cheek, hooking
under my arms to lift me, poking my hips back and forth, but also in effect,
ramming me further into the cheek. It's was like her tongue was trying to poke
me to death. It made scooping motions up under my butt, causing me to bounce
wildly and painfully, head whipping and teeth and eyeballs rattling inside my
skull.
I felt like
a little kid being bounced on his parent’s knee, but this wasn’t fun; it was
out of control and humiliating. My joints ached as they were jolted and jarred
together with the stress of vigorous bumping.
A pathetic
wail issued from my throat:
“S-s-s-stop-p-p
i-t-t-t J-J-J-en-n-i-if-f-fer-r-r-r-r-r!” But my voice clacked into
incoherence. A strange rumbling squeak trickled out from the invisible gullet.
She was trying not to laugh at the silly sounds I’d made. I must have sounded
like I was yelling into fan blades.
Disoriented,
I fought against the tongue, until it occurred to me my bobbing motions were
timed to the loud music throbbing outside her mouth. She was trying to bounce
me with her tongue to make me 'dance' in time to the music.
The
paddling of her tongue caught my erection numerous times, flicking and bouncing
it with solid strikes. It was caught and stretched by the gluey, saliva-soaked
tongue muscle, and battered to and fro like a tennis ball. Every stroke sent an
aggressive, striking pounding sensation from the tip of my penis into my balls.
My body was filling up with hot blood.
One of
these strokes sent my dick beyond the limit, and my balls screwed up so tight I
thought they’d explode. My load burst forth, splashing indivisibly into great
bubbling globs of saliva, and I fell into a relieved slump. The tongue
continued to bump and grind against me, trying to make me buck to the music,
but eventually she seemed to get the idea I’d become an exhausted, leaden wad,
and her tongue departed again.
I scooted
my butt into the cheek wall, hugging my knees up to my chest as my stomach somersaulted
giddily.
Outside,
the song was winding down to a crossfade into a new piece of music.
To get my
attention, the tip of the tongue clambered over and performed a manic drumroll
against the tiny drum of my ribcage. I groaned in utter dismay at this new,
painful subjugation. My torso was so sensitive and raw from the slightly acidic
saliva, my flesh and muscle quivering from all the exertion, that my body felt
paper fragile against the energetic spearing of her tongue tip, like it could
have popped my abdomen like a balloon.
The new
song was starting to climb to the first chorus and the ravers were ready to
erupt at the beat drop. The tongue swept away for an instant so she could breathlessly
exclaim:
“I LOVE THIS
SONG – READY…?!”
My eyes
shut and I let out a small sigh, muscles quivering in anticipation for the next
round of tongue hammering invisible nails into my body.